"I'm really well born. You might be pardoned for not thinking so——"
"Your father is of that caste."
"General von Reiter is not my father."
"What!" he exclaimed, astounded.
She turned her face from his shoulder and looked up at him.
"He spoke to you of me as his daughter. You spoke to me of him in that relation, too. I did not enlighten you because it did not seem to matter. But it is not true."
"Is he—your guardian?"
"No; I need none. My father was a German officer—of that caste. My mother was Danish.... Something happened—I do not know what. I was very little. And my mother would never speak of it. She was very beautiful. I remember her quite well. We lived in Copenhagen.
"Whatever happened occurred before I was born. I know that. Mother told me. My father dropped both title and name and left the army and went with my mother to Copenhagen. He took the name of his mother who was English—Girard. I never was even told what our name had been. Neither father nor mother would ever speak of it."
She rested there silent, absent-eyed, gazing into space as though recalling years that had not been unpleasant. Then, serenely meeting his gaze, she smiled up at him.