“I fear I should regard it as inconceivably strange, Baroness.”
“Nevertheless, that is what I am here to do. Can you not imagine a reason?”
“Really, Baroness, I am unable to do so.”
“Think. Is there nothing, no possible complication, in your circumstances, or in those of the—Court, which might make it undesirable for you to remain?”
“I fear I am very dense, Baroness, but I do not see anything of the kind.”
“Then I must speak plainly. I know that you are a gentleman and a man of honour, Count, and therefore I need not entreat you to keep what I say a secret. I trust you as I would a son of my own.”
Cyril bowed, in much perplexity. “Is she going to tell me that her daughter has fallen in love with me?” he thought. “That would be a complication with a vengeance!”
“On the evening on which you left Tatarjé, Count,” the Baroness went on, “you may remember that in view of your plan of escorting her Majesty in disguise to a place of safety, I told you that I was afraid of circumstances. Now I have reason to believe that my fears were justified. Need I speak more plainly?”
“I begin to understand you, Baroness. You would imply that her Majesty does me the honour to regard me with more than friendly feelings?”
“You are right, Count. I have observed a change in her Majesty’s way of speaking of you since our return from Tatarjé, but that I ascribed simply to natural gratitude. Her anxiety when you were wounded, however, and the grief she displayed on learning of your serious condition, have made it evident to me that—that her feelings towards you have changed in the direction you indicate.”