She disappeared for a moment, and came back in an exquisite garment of pale-blue silk with borderings of dark fur. She had seemed to Martha very splendid and beautiful before, but now she was so winning, so sweet, so adorable, that the young girl felt her whole heart glow with delight as, with a long-drawn sigh of ease, the princess threw herself on the lounge at her side.
“Now,” she said, as her hand closed on Martha’s, “talk to me.”
Poor Martha! What could she say? Her gratefulness for this unexpected confidence and friendliness moved her almost to tears, but she was silent.
“Talk to me, Martha,” said the princess, coaxingly. “I may call you that, may I not?”
She called it “Mart’a,” with her pretty foreign utterance; and Martha thought her homely name had suddenly become adorable. But she could not even tell this to the princess. How dull and stupid she was! Her consent must have shown itself in her eyes, however, for the princess went on:
“I can’t call you Martha unless you call me by my name, too. Will you? I have a fancy to hear you say it now. Will you call me by my little Russian name—Sonia?”
It was evident that the girl’s silence did not offend her. She must have understood its basis, for she said, with an encouraging smile:
“Say it. Say ‘Sonia.’”
“Oh, you are too good to me!” exclaimed Martha. “You spoke of knowing that I liked you. I don’t like you—I love you! I don’t love you—I adore you! O Sonia!” and the girl actually slipped from the low chair to her knees beside the lounge.
The princess jumped to her feet, and with strong hands lifted Martha to hers; then holding both the girl’s hands, and stretching her arms apart to their full length, as their two faces were drawn together thus, she kissed Martha with affectionate warmth.