"You are disguised by the hair red-blonde, and the helmet covering. No one could tell! At a distance you are not Kaya, you are Brünnhilde. Brünnhilde is always the same. When your eyes are hidden, Kaya, and your curls—the House is large—no one could tell!" He was drawing her slowly toward the door.
"You did not," said Kaya, "but—if he were there he would know."
"Who?"
She looked at him mutely, and he took his hand from her shoulder.
"Whoever it is," exclaimed Ritter harshly, "from the House, I swear to you, your own mother would not know you, unless she had seen you before in the part. That is nonsense! From the orchestra perhaps, from the conductor's stand—but not from the House. Kaya, you hurt me, child; you hurt me sorely if you refuse!"
He stood before her with his arms folded. "My heart is set on your success," he said, "and if—"
Kaya, looking up suddenly, saw that there were tears in his eyes. "Master," she cried. And then her will broke suddenly like iron in a furnace, red-hot under the stroke of the hammer. "You are sure?" she cried, "From the House no one would know me? You are sure?"
"I am sure."
She hesitated, looking away from him.
"No one?" she repeated, "not even—"