"You might have told me he was coming," replied Christobel, turning pale.
"But I never knew, indeed." Her sister had turned away, and Little Love was leading Veronica towards the antechamber.
It seemed to Princess Christobel as though every face in the ball-room was a mask, and behind that mask were eyes that gleamed with mockery—that she had only to turn her back, and fingers of scorn and derision would mark her passage—and she turned and fled, never pausing in her course through the long passages and up the marble stairway until she was back in her room, where she flung the poor Shah and herself on the bed and burst into a torrent of tears and lamentations in her loneliness, disappointment, and jealousy. The kitten, too, looked unusually blue, and mewed disconsolately—felt bored, then purred, stretched its little self on the coverlet, and fell asleep again. Before long the sound of the heralds' silver trumpets pierced right up into Christobel's ears—
Par—parraparpar—pip—ha!
Par—parraparpar—paar—r!
And she knew that the engagement was then being announced of Princess Veronica to Prince Olivin; and the strains of the Waltz of the Affianced which followed, played by the Court musicians, confirmed the fact.
How long she remained thus in the dark she did not know. Sounds of an angry voice roused her from her stupor, and she went out into the brilliantly lighted corridor, shading her eyes from the glare, the scent of flowers and the soft strains of music becoming more noticeable as she approached the stairway whence the voices proceeded—one of which she could now distinguish as being that of her sister. She peeped over the banisters, and saw, standing close beside Veronica, Countess Spinx, white with suppressed passion.
"You knew," hissed the Countess, "that there was to be no Queen."
"I and my sister knew. Yes. Let me pass; I don't know what's become of her. I want to fetch her."
"You might have told it to your old friend. You are looking radiantly beautiful to-night."
"I am very happy."