“But by Latin rites—and you are a Roman Catholic, too? But the Greeks would never forgive him! It is impossible for him to be Prince.”
“He is Prince, and you will not betray him, because you have promised; nor shall I, because I am his wife—his most unhappy wife. But I could not let you continue to think you had refused him, when he was mine already.”
The curious perverted pride in Donna Olimpia’s voice as she drew up her head haughtily made Zoe wonder, and she felt half repelled, half pitiful. “I don’t understand,” she said. “You are married to him; you have got what you wanted, then, I suppose? Then why are you not happy?”
“How can I be happy?” the girl’s voice was choked. “He cannot acknowledge me, or the Greeks would howl him out of Emathia. The Princess promised me—the Princess Dowager, I mean—that he should not be elected. Then I was to meet him in Paris, where his father would not trouble him, and we should be left in peace. She brought me away from Bashi Konak because she said the secret could never be kept if we were seen together, and it must not come out until we were both safely away from Emathia. Then he came here, and she has hardly let me see him—even in her presence. And now he is Prince, and he can’t claim me after all.” The tears flowed fast.
“Then claim him,” said Zoe, rather unsympathetically.
“And destroy his position? Never! I did not want him to be Prince, but he wishes it, and I dare not cross his will. If he had been defeated in the election, it would not have been my fault, and I could have comforted him. But now he would never forgive me if I betrayed him.”
“Well, really,” said Zoe with some impatience, “so far as I can see, there are only two things that you might do. You can make the marriage public and claim him, or you can go back to Bashi Konak and keep out of his way.”
“You say that, knowing what he is?” cried Donna Olimpia.
“But, speaking as one woman to another, there is one thing you can’t do,” said Zoe earnestly. “You can’t stay on here unless the marriage is recognised. I say that, knowing what he is, as you say. Go back to Magnagrecia if you like—to Bashi Konak at any rate—but don’t stay here.”
“You think he will find himself compelled to follow me, and so ruin his own cause,” was the suspicious reply.