“That’s what they call a marriage, you know, contracted between a scion of a ruling house and—and a common mortal. They made Eugenia a Baroness, poor woman; but that was all they could do. Now they want to dissolve the marriage. Prince Adolf, between ourselves, is a ninny; but his brother, who is a clever man, has plans for him. Eugenia, naturally enough, makes difficulties; not, however, that I think she cares much—she’s a very clever woman; I’m sure you’ll like her—but she wants to bother them. Just now everything is en l’air.”
The cheerful, off-hand tone in which her visitor related this darkly romantic tale seemed to Gertrude very strange; but it seemed also to convey a certain flattery to herself, a recognition of her wisdom and dignity. She felt a dozen impressions stirring within her, and presently the one that was uppermost found words. “They want to dissolve her marriage?” she asked.
“So it appears.”
“And against her will?”
“Against her right.”
“She must be very unhappy!” said Gertrude.
Her visitor looked at her, smiling; he raised his hand to the back of his head and held it there a moment. “So she says,” he answered. “That’s her story. She told me to tell it you.”
“Tell me more,” said Gertrude.
“No, I will leave that to her; she does it better.”
Gertrude gave her little excited sigh again. “Well, if she is unhappy,” she said, “I am glad she has come to us.”