The Presence replied to this remarkable defense with laughter, laughter in which Maurice detected an undercurrent of bitterness.
“Monsieur Carewe, you are not acquainted with affairs in Bleiberg, or you would know that I am a nobody. When I pass through the streets I attract little attention, I receive no homage. Enter: I command it.”
“If your Highness commands—”
“I do command it,” imperiously. “And you would have pleased me more fully if you had accepted the invitation and not obeyed the command.”
“I withdraw all objections,” he said hastily, “and accept the invitation.”
“That is better,” the Voice said.
Maurice, still uncovered, sat down on the front seat.
“Not there, Monsieur; beside me. Etiquette does not permit you to ride in front of me.”
As he took the vacant place beside her he felt a fire in his cheeks. The Voice and Presence were disquieting. As the groom touched the horses, Maurice was sensible of her sleeve against his, and he drew away. The Presence appeared unmindful.
“And you recognize me?” she asked.