She wilfully ignored the true meaning of his last words, as she went on:
“It is a mistake to think that my life has no compensations. My work, whether it ever amounts to anything or not, is a great compensation. The friendship of Martha is another. You are very good to wish not to take that from me; but the present sham conditions cannot be kept up after we separate. Fortune has favored us almost miraculously as it is. She heard that there was a Russian princess studying here, and some one mistakenly pointed me out for her. I had already seen her name on her canvases, and knowing that your mother and sisters were in Paris, of course I knew exactly who she was. Independent of this, her face and manner had strongly attracted me, so I saw no reason why we might not be friends, provided I could keep from her who I was. As soon as I saw that she believed me to be the princess, the fact that my aunt was a Russian and had Russian servants opened the way to my carrying on the idea; and so far there has been no trouble. My little Russian name for Sophia helped me, too. If she had known me as Sophia or Sophie, she would probably have recoiled from me, even if she had had no suspicion as to my identity.”
“I beg you not to have that thought,” said Harold. “If the time ever comes when the truth must be declared to Martha, let me be the one to tell her; and I promise you there shall be no recoil—no lessening of her friendship for you.”
“Thank you,” said Sonia, coldly. “You were always a generous man.”
Her tone smote discordantly upon Harold. It seemed a sort of compulsory tribute to him, which he had no fancy for from her.
“I am thinking of Martha, too,” he said. “She is very lonely in her life, and rarely goes out to any one, in spite of her ardent nature. This friendship with you is very valuable to her, and I am anxious that nothing shall disturb it.”
“Thank you for correcting me,” returned the other, quickly; “though I did not really suppose that it was for my sake that you were willing to take so much trouble.”
She knew that this speech was silly, petulant, and unworthy of her, but she wished him to understand that she asked and expected nothing of him. He could not be so cool and steady during this interview unless he had ceased to care for her. She quite realized that he had, and she wished him to know that she accepted it as a matter of course.
Inkling, meantime, had grown very uneasy. He felt that things were not going well, and he now began to show symptoms of distress, instead of the wild delight of the moment before. He ran whimpering from one to the other; and when they took no notice of him, he sprang upon the lap of his mistress, and, uttering the most expressive plaints and beseechings, tried to lick her face. Sonia, in a fit of irritation very characteristic of her, gave him a hard little slap, which sent him out of her lap, whining, and running to Harold for pity. He was not really hurt; and she felt cross with the clever little brute for posing as a victim so successfully.
“Don’t touch him!” she cried imperatively to Harold. “He’s only pretending to get your pity. You sha’n’t pat him or speak to him. If you do, I’ll be very angry.”