Beverly was speechless.
"Of course, your highness," said Baldos, deep apology in his voice, "Ravone is woefully misinformed. He is honest in his belief, and you should not misjudge his motives. How he could have been so blind as to confound you with that frisky American girl—but I beg your pardon. She is to be your guest. A thousand pardons, your highness."
She had been struck dumb by the wording of the note, but his apparently sincere apology for his friend set her every emotion into play once more. While he was speaking, her wits were forming themselves for conflict. She opened the campaign with a bold attack. "You—you believe me to be the princess, sure 'nough, don't you?" But with all her bravery, she was not able to look him in the face.
"How can you doubt it, your highness? Would I be serving you in the present capacity if I believed you to be anyone else?"
"Ravone's warning has not shaken your faith in me?"
"It has strengthened it. Nothing could alter the facts in the case. I have not, since we left Ganlook, been in doubt as to the identity of my benefactress."
"It seems to me that you are beating around the bush. I'll come straight to the point. How long have you known that I am not the princess of Graustark?"
"What!" he exclaimed, drawing back in well-assumed horror. "Do you mean—are you jesting? I beg of you, do not jest. It is very serious with me." His alarm was so genuine that she was completely deceived.
"I am not jesting," she half whispered, turning very cold. "Have you thought all along that I am the princess—that I am Grenfall Lorry's wife?"
"You told me that you were the princess."