There ensued a brief silence; the Princess glanced at Neeland, then her dark eyes returned directly to the young girl before her, and she held out her hand, smilingly:
“Miss Carew—I believe I know exactly what your voice is going to be like. I think I have heard, in America, such a voice once or twice. Speak to me and prove me right.”
Rue flushed:
“What am I to say?” she asked naïvely. 133
“I knew I was right,” exclaimed the Princess Mistchenka gaily. “Come into my stateroom and let each one of us discover how agreeable is the other. Shall we—my dear child?”
When Neeland returned from a visit to the purser with a pocket full of British and French gold and silver for Ruhannah, he knocked at the stateroom door of the Princess Mistchenka.
That lively personage opened it, came out into the corridor holding the door partly closed behind her.
“She’s almost dead with fatigue and grief. I undressed her myself. She’s in my bed. She has been crying.”
“Poor little thing,” said Neeland.