She collected herself with an effort. “I am Sofia,” she replied almost mechanically.
“And I, your father...”
Prince Victor lifted hands of singular delicacy, slender and tapering, whose long fingers were dressed with many curious rings.
A reluctance she could not understand hindered Sofia from going gladly into those arms. She had to make herself yield. They tightened hungrily about her. She closed her eyes and experienced a slight, invincible shudder.
“My child!”
The lips that touched her forehead astonished her with their warmth. Instinctively she had expected them to be cool, as frigid as the effect of that strange mask of which they formed a part.
Then, held at arm’s-length, she submitted to an inspection whose sum was enunciated with a strange smile of gratification:
“You are beautiful.”
In embarrassment she murmured: “I am glad you think so—father.”
“As beautiful as your mother—in her time the most beautiful creature in the world—her image, a flawless reproduction, even to her colouring, the shade of the hair, the eyes—so like the sea!”