“Well, surely that was worth waiting for?”
“Oh, I suppose so, but I hate its having come about in this way! The massacres, you know—the Committees are really provoking them, so as to force the hand of Europe, and things may be much worse yet.”
“Probably; but I see their drift now—to get to work while Scythia and Pannonia are both too busy with their own internal concerns to interfere. But why are we starting from this side?”
“Oh, we have to settle the preliminaries first,—‘a conference of the powers,’ you know,—and it is to be done under cover of this great Pan-Balkanic Athletic Festival that the Prince of Dardania is holding.”
“Armitage representing the athletic capabilities of the party, I suppose?” said Wylie, with a humorous shrug. “I’m afraid you can’t depend on me much.”
“No, we go as spectators. The Princess of Dardania is a lady of literary tastes, and was kind enough to want to see me,” said Zoe, with a side glance at him as she rose. “It is getting a little cold here, I think. I will write one or two letters in the cabin.”
There was nothing to show whether Wylie had detected any special meaning in her tone as he escorted her across the deck, and when he returned to Armitage it was to smoke in silence, as if all his interest was concentrated on the rocky coast they were passing. The younger man lost patience.
“Well?” he said, with repressed excitement.
“Well?” returned Wylie.
“Do you find her altered, or not?”