She dried her tears as she spoke, standing up very straight and proud, and hiding nothing. I felt a pang as I looked at her. I had neglected her of late. I had been thinking more of others.
'It is nothing, Martin,' she said after a pause, and when she had quite composed her face. 'You need not be frightened. All women cry a little sometimes, as men swear,' she added, smiling.
'You have been looking at that thing outside,' I said, grumbling.
'Perhaps it did upset me,' she replied. 'But I think it was that I felt--a little lonely.'
That sounded so strange a complaint on her lips, seeing that the echo of the young sparks' laughter was barely dead in the room, that I stared. But I took it, on second thoughts, to refer to Fraulein Max, whom she had kept at a distance since our escape, never sitting down with her, or speaking to her except on formal occasions; and I said bluntly--
'You need a woman friend, my lady.'
She looked at me keenly, and I fancied her colour rose. But she only answered, 'Yes, Martin. But you see I have not one. I am alone.'
'And lonely, my lady?'
'Sometimes,' she answered, smiling sadly.
'But this evening?' I replied, feeling that there was still something I did not understand. 'I should not have thought you would be feeling that way. I have not been here, but when I came in, my lady----'