“It is perhaps an unusual thing,” she returned with a touch of bitterness, “to find a person in my position cultivating an art. I do not know whether it is one of the things we are bidden to leave to the less exalted, and not meddle with. Your ignorance can scarcely be blamed, sir.”
“I cannot blame it, Princess, unless my presence has given you offence.”
“That ought never to be,” she returned quickly, “seeing how welcome it once has been.”
“I could never presume on that chance service,” he said simply.
“No.” She spoke abstractedly, mechanically. Minna had fidgetted away behind the screen to the door, perhaps on the watch. “That makes it all the more acceptable,” the Princess added in the same distant tone, a tone which impelled him to reply.
“I take the hint, Highness.”
He half turned away, when the murmur of her voice recalled him.
“You need not take more than is meant to be given,” she said, and there was a sweetness in her tone he had never heard before. She gave a quick glance to where Minna stood, and then added, “If I seem far less grateful than an”—she gave a little shrug—“an ordinary woman would be you must not impute the churlishness to me but to my position. It is one of the attributes of royalty to be above the common feelings of the outside world.” The words seemed forced from her, the vent of a grievance, long resented, ever dwelt on. The situation was but an opportunity not the cause of its expression.
“I never could dream of imputing anything but graciousness to your Highness,” Ludovic protested eagerly. “I have no right here, I know: but being free of the Court I ventured to cross the park on my way home. Then the music caught my ear and I came in, thinking to listen without being seen.”
She was looking away, now her glance fell on him. “You come to Court?” she asked in a tone that was scarcely indifferent and yet tantalisingly vague.