“Oh, yes! And he has danced with me.”
“Ha! How often?”
“Once.”
“And how many times with the Princess Ziska?”
Helen’s fair head drooped, and she answered nothing. All at once the little Doctor’s hand closed on her arm with a soft yet firm grip.
“Look!” he whispered.
She raised her eyes and saw two figures step out on the terrace and stand in the full moonlight,—the white Bedouin dress of the one and the glittering golden robe of the other made them easily recognizable,—they were Gervase and the Princess Ziska. Helen gave a faint, quick sigh.
“Let us go in,” she said.
“Nonsense! Why should we go in? On the contrary, let us join them.”
“Oh, no!” and Helen shrank visibly at the very idea. “I cannot; do not ask me! I have tried—you know I have tried—to like the Princess; but something in her—I don’t know what it is—repels me. To speak truthfully, I think I am afraid of her.”