“She is not like one of us, Miss Cahere,” replied Deulin.
“Why?”
“Because we are plebeians, and she is a princess.”
“Oh, then she is married?” exclaimed Miss Cahere, and her voice fell three semitones on the last word.
“No. She is a princess in her own right. She is a Pole.”
Miss Cahere gave a little sigh.
“Poor thing,” she said, looking at the Princess Wanda, with a soft light of sympathy in her gentle eyes.
“Why do you pity her?” asked Deulin, glancing down sharply.
“Because princesses are always obliged to marry royalties, are they not—for convenience, I mean—not from . . . from inclination, like other girls?”
And Miss Cahere's eyelids fluttered, but she did not actually raise her eyes towards her interlocutor. An odd smile flickered for an instant on Deulin's lips.