"And if you did, could you make him happy?"
"I make him happy! Oh, but you do not know."
"Tell me," said Beatrice, "are you not the tool, the slave of someone else? Has not Mr. Faversham an enemy, and are you not working for that enemy?"
Her clear, childlike eyes were fixed on the other's face; she seemed trying to understand her real motives. Olga Petrovic, on the other hand, regarded the look with horror.
"No, no," she cried, "do not think that of me! I would have saved Dick from him. I—I would have shielded him with my life."
"You would have shielded him from Count Romanoff?"
"Do not tell me you know him?"
"I only know of him. He is evil, evil. Ah yes, I understand now. He sent you here. He is waiting for you now."
"But how do you know?"
"Listen," said Beatrice, without heeding her question, "you can be a happy woman, a good woman. Go back and tell that man that you have failed, and that he has failed; then go back to your own country, and be the woman God meant you to be, the woman your mother prayed you might be."