“It is Marcos. But pretend you don’t know him. He is supposed to be a Mr. Marsh.”
“I understand.”
The Princess Marcos, mother of the ruler of Joyalita, did understand. She was an able, quick-thinking woman of the world, and she had seen enough of diplomacy and statesmanship to make her much more sophisticated than the average woman of mere society.
Claudia led the way up the broad, old-fashioned staircase, followed by Miguel and the princess.
Claudia softly opened the door of the bedchamber, and stood aside to let her Aunt Laura enter.
Miguel followed the princess, and Claudia went in last, closing the door after her.
The only occupants of the room were the three persons who had just entered and the quiet figure in the bed. He held a hand over his face, as if he could not bear even the dim light of the chamber. A white bandage was around his forehead.
“Remember, aunt!” whispered Claudia, in her ear. “Mr. Marsh! You do not know him. Miguel would not believe me, so I have not told him.”
The princess walked over to the bed, saying “Marcos! My boy!” As she reached the bedside, she stopped in well-simulated astonishment, and, looking around, asked: “Why, Claudia, who is this gentleman?”
“It is Mr. Marsh. He is a friend of Marcos’. Who did you expect to see?”