“It depends upon you,” he answered.
A defiant reply was at her lips, but she thought better and checked it. Boldness and obstinacy were here manifestly out of place; wit alone could avail. After all, since the Count clearly suspected the relationship between Ludovic and Ruperta, where was the point in keeping up a deception which was already hardly one? So long as the great secret of their real identities remained unguessed, the other did not seem to matter much. Since Minna had hoodwinked Rollmar she had acquired confidence in her native wit. What she wanted now was to get back to Ruperta; this solitary confinement and state of alarm were more than she felt she could bear.
“And if I tell you the truth of what you want to know?” she asked, with a fine show of reluctance.
“Then you will be free.”
She made a shrewd grimace. “A vast difference between one word and another.”
“A great difference to you,” he agreed.
“What can it matter to you?”
“I am a man who likes to have his own way at any cost.”
“Cost to your neighbour, your guest.” She could not forego the obvious retort.
“To my guest, even,” he returned, with a shrug, “when I suspect my hospitality has been abused.”