"Of course you know you are talking in riddles," Christina answered gravely, her brows drawn together in a frown; "you don't want to let me understand what you really mean, and that is very natural," she added with a practical common sense that sat quaintly upon her; "but I should have liked to help you."
"You do help me," he said quickly; "it sounds absurd to say so, even to myself it seems absurd, because it is not my way to take anybody into my confidence. But—I can trust you."
The simply spoken words set Christina's heart beating with innocent pride; her eyes looked at him gratefully.
"Thank you for saying that," she answered. "I think it is true. You can trust me, and I am glad, so very glad, if there is anything I can do to help you. If—if I might understand a little better?" she added falteringly.
"The story I told Baba just now was a true one," he answered abruptly; "the beautiful lady really walked under the palm-trees, and I—well—these stories all have the same plot. I wanted her for my princess. But she—had a prince of her own already." The half-bitter, half-jesting way in which he spoke, sent all the child in the girl into the background, brought all the woman in her into prominence; she put out her hand with a little pitiful gesture.
"Oh!" she whispered softly; "oh! but that was hard."
"It seemed hard to me," his tone was grim; "it seemed an irony of fate beyond my poor powers of comprehension, more especially when I found—no, not found—I don't know for certain even now. I know nothing, less than nothing"—again came that bitterness that hurt his listener—"but when I guessed that the prince was not worthy of her, that it was my lot to stand aside and be a friend only, whilst someone not worthy to touch the hem of her gown, had the place of honour, then I knew what sorry tricks Fate can play!"
"And the poor princess?" Christina asked gently. A light flashed over Rupert's face.
"There is the wonder of it all, the wonder of womanhood," he exclaimed; "mind, I don't know any facts for certain. I only guess that the—rightful prince is not worthy to tie the strings of her shoes, and yet—he is all the world to her. The rest of us are nothing. No, that isn't true either," he corrected himself hurriedly. "I have her friendship. I have the unspeakable honour of being her friend, but the best of her is given to someone who is not worthy. Not that the best man among us is worthy to touch her hand," he added, with an impetuosity that made him seem all at once oddly young and boyish.
"And she—your friend—is it she you have lost now?" Christina questioned softly, when he paused. He nodded.