CHAPTER XXIX — ANGLO-RUSSIAN
At bedtime Catrina went to Maggie’s room with her to see that she had all that she could desire. A wood fire was burning brightly in the open French stove; the room was lighted by lamps. It was warm and cheery. A second door led to the little music-room which Catrina had made her own, and beyond was her bedroom.
Maggie had assured her hostess that she had every thing that she could wish, and that she did not desire the services of Catrina’s maid. But the Russian girl still lingered. She was slow to make friends—not shy, but diffident and suspicious. Her friendship once secured was a thing worth possessing. She was inclined to bestow it upon this quiet, self-contained English girl. In such matters the length of an acquaintance goes for nothing. A long acquaintanceship does not necessarily mean friendship—one being the result of circumstance, the other of selection.
“The princess knows Russian?” said Catrina suddenly.
She was standing near the dressing-table, where she had been absently attending to the candles. She wheeled round and looked at Maggie, who was hospitably sitting on a low chair near the fire. She was sorry for the loneliness of this girl’s life. She did not want her to go away just yet. There was another chair by the fire, inviting Catrina to indulge in those maiden confidences which attach themselves to slippers and hair-brushings.
Maggie looked up with a smile which slowly ebbed away. Catrina’s remark was of the nature of a defiance. Her half-diffident rtle of hostess was suddenly laid aside.
“No; she does not,” answered the English girl.
Catrina came forward, standing over Maggie, looking down at her with eyes full of antagonism.
“Excuse me. I saw her understand a remark I made to one of the servants. She was not careful. I saw it distinctly.”
“I think you must be mistaken,” answered Maggie quietly. “She has been in Russia before for a few weeks; but she did not learn the language. She told me so herself. Why should she pretend not to know Russian, if she does?”