“Your uncle is here, Usk, and he and your father are having a little talk. Come in here. I—I want to speak to you.”
“Anything wrong?” he asked in surprise. “Why, you’ve been crying, mater! What is it?”
“No, dear, there is nothing wrong. It was foolish of me to cry. I ought to feel very glad and proud, after what I have just heard about you.”
“There’s little enough about me to make you either glad or proud, I’m afraid,” he said bitterly. “But I’m glad you’re pleased, mater, whatever it is.”
“But I am not pleased!” cried Lady Caerleon. “At least, as I say, I ought to be. But if it is to make you happy, I will be pleased.”
Usk changed colour. “Mother,” he said, almost breathlessly, “if it’s any message about—anything from Félicia, it’s no good. I don’t want to hear from her. I could never trust her again.”
“No, no! It’s about the Princess Helene of Schwarzwald-Molzau. Her engagement to the Scythian Prince is broken off.”
“Is that all?” cried Usk. “What a start you gave me! And what in the world has it to do with me?—though of course I’m glad for the poor little girl’s own sake.”
“Usk,” said his mother quickly, “had you any idea she cared for you?”
“For me? Princess Helene? What an idea! Of course not.”