And for a moment Netty was silenced by she knew not what.
“You say that to please me,” she said at last. And her voice was quite different—it was low and uneven.
“I say it because it is the truth. There is no one more beautiful than you in all the world. Heaven knows it.”
And he looked up with flashing black eyes to that heaven in which he had no faith.
“But who is there in Warsaw,” he asked, “whom any one could dream of comparing with you?”
“I have no doubt there are hundreds. But there is one whom Mr. Cartoner compares with me—and even you must know that she is prettier than I am.”
“I do not know it,” protested Kosmaroff, again taking her hand. “There is no one in all the world.”
“There is the Princess Wanda Bukaty,” said Netty, curtly.
“Ah! Does Cartoner admire her? Do they know each other? Yes, I remember I saw them together at the races.”
“They knew each other in London,” said Netty. “They knew each other when I first saw them together at Lady Orlay's there. And they have often met here since.”