“Yes.”
“And he did not reply?”
She nodded.
He laughed, as at something whimsical. It was not a kindly laugh, it jarred a little on his listener. But the next moment his face softened, he smiled at her, and the smile of such a man had its importance, for in repose his eyes were hard. It was clear to her that he was a man of position, that he belonged of right to this keen polished world at which she was stealing a glance. His air was distinguished, and his dress, though quiet, struck the last note of fashion.
“But I am keeping you in suspense,” he said. “I must tell you, Miss Audley, why it surprised me to learn your name. Because I, too, am an Audley.”
“You!” she cried.
“Yes, I,” he replied. “What is more, I am akin to you. The kinship is remote, but it happens that your father’s name, in its place in a pedigree, has been familiar to me of late, and I could set down the precise degree of cousinship in which you stand to me. I think your father was my fourth cousin.”
She colored charmingly. “Is it possible?” she exclaimed.
“It is a fact, proved indeed, recently, in a court of law,” he answered lightly. “Perhaps it is as well that we have that warrant for a conversation which I can see that the Princess thinks long. After this she will expect to hear the whole of your history.”
“I fear that she may be displeased,” the girl said, wincing a little. “You have been very kind——”