“I cannot tell you much—” she began, and he interrupted her at once.
“Stop,” he said, “you must tell me nothing. It was not unwitting. I am here for a purpose. I am here to learn everything—but not from you.”
“Martin hinted at that,” said Wanda, slowly, “but I did not believe him.”
And she looked at Cartoner with a sort of wonder in her eyes. It was as if there were more in him—more of him—than she had ever expected. And he returned her glance with a simplicity and directness which were baffling enough. He looked down at her. He was taller than she, which was as it should be. For half the trouble of this troubled world comes from the fact that, for one reason or another, women are not always able to look up to the men with whom they have dealings.
“It is true enough,” he said, “fate has made us enemies, princess.”
“You said that even the Czar could not do that. And he is stronger than fate—in Poland. Besides——”
“Yes.”
“You, who say so little, were indiscreet enough to confide something in your enemy. You told me you had written for your recall.”
And again her eyes brightened, with an anticipating gleam of relief.
“It has been refused.”