Then she began to cry and, holding out both hands to Reggie, “Let me go to him—please—please.”
“Not now. Not yet. He must have no emotions. You will go to your room and sleep.”
“You—you are a boy.” She laughed through her tears, and thrust her hands into Reggie’s.
“I beg your pardon, madame,” Reggie said stiffly. The creature was absurdly adorable.
“You? Oh—Englishman.” It was made plain to him that he was expected to kiss her hand. He did it like an Englishman. Then the other was put to his lips.
He cleared his embarrassed throat. “I must insist, madame, you will say nothing of this to any one. It’s necessary the household should suppose the Archduke still in danger.”
“Why?” A spasm crossed her face. “You are afraid of Leopold!”
“And you, madame?” Reggie said.
“Afraid? No, but”—she shuddered—“but he is not a man.”
“Have no anxieties, madame. I have none,” Reggie said, and opened the door. Then, “She’s a bit of a dear,” he said to himself, and rang for his lunch.