“Oh yes. I was only going to wait for Princess Emilia. Is anything the matter?”
“Oh, nothing much. Only that I want to tell you something, and after that—well, I suppose I shan’t trouble you again.”
“You mustn’t be so doleful,” said Zoe, in her elder-sisterly way. “If there is anything wrong, you know that every one of us would do all we could to help you. It’s nothing about the yacht, is it? She hasn’t gone on shore?”
“No!” he burst out with great vehemence. “What do I care about the yacht, except to help your brother with? It’s you—and that Christodoridi chap.”
“Really,” said Zoe, half laughing, half angry, “I shall have to be rude to that young man in public, if he persists in worrying me as he does. Maurice thought fit to ask me this morning why I always had him hanging about, and now you! The general opinion of my taste must be painfully low.”
“No one imagines you could like a theatrical fool like that,” said Armitage, somewhat comforted; “but for political reasons, you know. The Professor—and your sister——”
“Neither the Professor nor Eirene will ever make me accept any one for political reasons, though they are quite likely to try. I should have thought you knew me better than to think so.” It did not occur to Zoe that the kindly reproach in her voice was dangerous, for Armitage had been a silent adorer for so long that she had learnt to regard him as that most pleasant and useful possession—a safe friend. But he interrupted her now, his eager, boyish voice full of feeling.
“You don’t see. It’s just because I know what you are—know how a good woman loves to sacrifice herself for other people. And that fellow could never make you happy.”
“No, he certainly could not. But don’t be afraid, he doesn’t want to try. As far as I can tell, he only haunts me because it makes him feel uncomfortable to find one woman who is proof against his fascinations.”
“The conceited brute!” cried Armitage explosively. “Let me deal with him, Princess. I promise you he won’t fancy himself so much when I’ve taken him in hand.”