“The new guide-book has come. Wouldn’t you like to look at it?” she asked, beckoning him into the library. No sooner were they out of earshot of Prince Franz than she turned to him with tears in her eyes.
“I am so sorry,” she said. “I only wished to save you pain.”
“You are very good,” said Usk, “but I don’t quite understand——”
“Oh, it was a portrait of the Princess Félicia, and an interview with her, in an American paper, and I knew it would bring it all back to you—all the pain. If——if——” she hesitated—“if it would comfort you at all to talk to me about her, please do. I am so very sorry for you.”
“I’m afraid it wouldn’t,” said Usk, feeling rather guilty.
“I thought if you felt that it wasn’t her fault—that she was coerced by her family—it might comfort you to say so.”
“It was something much more vulgar than that—simply the desire for a crown.” Usk spoke with momentary fierceness, born of recollection.
“Ah, you are bitter. I do not wonder. You have borne it all in such silence. I have felt for you, but I did not like to say anything, lest you might be beginning to forget. I hoped you might still be able to believe the best of her, for that is always a comfort, isn’t it?”
“But you don’t,” objected Usk.
“How could I, when she has made my friend suffer?” demanded Helene passionately. “But I would if it would comfort you,” she added.