“Oh, I’d just as soon tell you,” she went on. “The fact is, I’m getting tired of my work. Not tired of the pleasure of society, nor tired of my particular friends, the young officers who come to St. Petersburg to spend their furloughs. But tired of having it whispered about secretly that I have liberal views, and thereby drawing to me the officers who hold revolutionary opinions. Tired of sympathetically leading them on, little by little, to confide in me. Tired of telling you, and having them disappear—poor fellows!”
“Um. What would have been the position of the widow of the bankrupt Count Baronoff but for this salary?”
“I have needed the money, yes. But now, I’m tired. Besides, if I’m found out, or if a few wrinkles come, my usefulness to you is over and the salary stops. I’ve been doing a little serious thinking, and here’s what I’ve decided. If I have so infatuated Mr. Drexel that I can lead him into a plot that will make him your victim, why should I not——”
She stopped, and her eyes gleamed tantalizingly at the prince.
“Well?”
“Well, instead of that, why should I not make myself your cousin?”
“You mean marry him?”
“He’s rich—has a big career before him—and I rather like him. Why not?”
“Why not?” cried the prince in a low, harsh voice, leaning towards her. “Because I will not have my plans interfered with! Because I will not have you for a relative!”
“Thanks for the compliment, prince,” she said dryly. “But how will you prevent it?”