“And what did you think of him? Now, Sonia, don’t tease me! You know how important it is to me—what you think of Harold. Do tell me, dear, and don’t laugh.”
In response to this earnest appeal the princess’s face grew grave. She did not look at Martha, however, but occupied herself with twisting up her loosened hair as she answered:
“I thought him handsome, dear. I thought his face both strong and clever. I could understand you loving him so much. I could see nothing in his face, or figure, or expression, that looked in the least degree unworthy of the great ideal that you have of him. There! Does that satisfy you?”
She caught Martha’s chin between her thumb and forefinger, and for a second she met her gaze full. Then she got up hastily, and walked across the room.
When she presently came back, she had the air of a person thoroughly on guard, and conscious of her ability to cope with circumstances. She did not return to the lounge, but sat upright on a stiff sofa which admitted of no lounging. Martha, glowing with pleasure at her heroine’s praise of her hero, was determined to follow up her advantage.
“Oh, you will take back what you said, and let me bring him to see you—won’t you, Sonia?” she said ardently. “We are going to have the apartment to ourselves for weeks, Harold and I; and we three could have such ideal times—such little dinners and jaunts to the play! As things are with you both, I think there is all the more reason for you to know each other. You could be such friends! I should think a real man friend would be such a comfort to you. You seem made for that sort of camaraderie, as well as for love. And what a comfort the friendship of such a woman as you would be to Harold! I feel myself at times so inadequate to him, and I have the very same feeling, sometimes, with you. I will confess to you, Sonia, that I did have a hope once, even though you are a princess and he just a simple American gentleman, that you and Harold might some time, after years, come to be something to each other; but I have given that up. I see that it is impossible to either of you. I had a talk with Harold yesterday, and he is as much protected by his past as you are by yours. So there could be no danger to either in such an intercourse. Oh, Sonia, won’t you consent to it?”
There was great gravity and deliberation in the tones of the princess as she answered impressively:
“Now, Martha, listen to me. I want you to put that idea out of your head at once and forever. You will do this, I am sure, when I tell you how it distresses me and embarrasses our whole intercourse. You are quite mistaken in supposing that I have either a need or a desire for the friendship of any man alive. You really must believe me when I tell you that I am sick of men. One reason that I have so entirely given up society is that they fret me so with their offers of what you and they call friendship. I did have men friends once, and I know what they amount to. While I was married, my—I mean the man I married—was my friend. Since I lost him I have never had another.”
As she ended, she rose and walked across the room. Her tone was so decided that Martha felt that she could say nothing more, and so, with a sigh, she gave up this dream too.
In a moment the princess returned, bringing two photographs, which she had taken from a drawer.