"Oh, you islanders! Nobody can fathom what is going on in your hearts. You never make any mistakes; you always seem to know which paths to pursue; you are always right, always, always. I'd like to see you commit a folly, Betty; it's a wicked wish, I know, but I honestly wish it. There is certainly more Spanish blood in my veins than German. I am always making mistakes; I never know which path is the right one; I am always wrong. Do you believe it possible for a woman of birth and breeding to fall in love with a man whom she has known only three days?"
"Three days! Are you crazy, Hildegarde?"
"Call me Gretchen!"—imperiously.
"Gretchen, what has come over you?"
"I asked you a question."
"Well,"—-a bit of color stealing into her cheeks,—"it is possible, but very foolish. One ought to know something of a man's character," went on Betty, "before permitting sentiment to enter into one's thoughts."
"That is my own opinion, wise little white owl." Her Highness took her friend in her arms and kissed her, held her at arm's length, drew her to her heart and again kissed her. It was like a farewell. Then she let her go. "If there is anything you need, make yourself at home with my cases." And her Highness was gone.
Betty gazed at the door through which dear Gretchen had passed, gazed thoughtfully and anxiously.
"How oddly she acted! I wonder—" She made as though to run to the door, but stopped, as if ashamed of the doubt which flashed into her mind and out again.
The little clock on the mantel chimed forth the seventh hour, and she rang for her maid. It was time that she began dressing.