“And Usk you did trust,” cried Maimie, much alarmed by the turn the conversation was taking, “and he marries another girl right away, before you’re married yourself, even. Don’t you see the way it is, Fay? It’s just that he won’t look as if he had been jilted—just pride, and not anything more. He don’t care a red cent for this other girl, but he’s set on making you mad. I wouldn’t have him do it.”
“No, I don’t feel mad, only a little sorry. And not real sorry, either, for I wouldn’t go way back now. It’s just that it’s the end, Maimie.”
“That’s so, and I’m real glad of it, for you won’t ever be able to reproach yourself about Usk again. And as to Michael, don’t be afraid. We’ll fix him up some way. You and I will have some place just all to ourselves, so’s we can forget all of the stuff the Baroness has been teaching us, and have a good time together, chewing gum and talking the way we choose, and no other person shall come in there.”
“And you don’t hate turning into a hired girl?” asked Félicia, rather doubtfully.
“Not a cent, so long as you are queen. I’d as lief be hired girl as not, so’s I can fix it that I wait on you. They won’t turn you into a statue while I’m around.”
It was only when she was alone with Félicia that Maimie ventured to speak thus freely nowadays. She had fallen quite naturally into the position of her friend’s confidential lady-in-waiting, and had profited by the teachings of Baroness Radnika a good deal more readily than Félicia herself. Her influence was invaluable, said the Baroness, and no one dreamed of the absolute equality to which the two girls returned when they were unobserved. When Princess Amalie arrived, she took a great fancy to Maimie. Félicia was just a little difficult to manage sometimes, she admitted, “but that good creature Logan” could nearly always persuade her to see reason. Princess Amalie was a cheerful old lady, whose temper did not seem to have been soured by the fact that her lack of beauty had driven her family to provide for her by making her a canoness. The semi-conventual title ensured her a position of independence, a sufficient income, and a home at the Stift, or Institution, whenever she was not visiting her relations, which was very seldom, for she made up for not possessing a family of her own by taking the keenest interest in the affairs of her large circle of nephews and nieces. In nearly all the Courts of Europe she was “everybody’s aunt,” and every one confided in her, although she had a perfect genius for betraying secrets to the very people to whom they ought not to be told. Very soon after her arrival at Nice Félicia knew of all the discourteous and uncomplimentary remarks her uncle Don Ramon had made when he found himself forced to acknowledge an American niece, and Maimie had heard a second time that Cyril had advised King Michael to get rid of her before he married Félicia. Both of them had drunk in with keen delight Princess Amalie’s account of the disgust felt by all the younger branches of the Schwarzwald-Molzau family and their relations over Helene’s marriage, and the almost total lack of wedding-presents and royal guests. It was this which pleased Félicia most, but Maimie took an even greater pleasure in the further resolution which seemed to have been generally formed by King Michael’s family, that they would not attend his wedding if Count Mortimer was to be present. Any slight inflicted upon the man who had tried to separate her from Félicia she accepted as a boon to herself, and it happened that there was another person who felt with her.
About three days after Princess Amalie’s arrival, it struck her suddenly that she ought to call upon the Princess of Dardania, who was also her niece, but whom she had not seen for some time, owing to the unfortunate series of events which had long ago alienated the Princess from her relations. Félicia was driving with Queen Ernestine, with whom she agreed as well as could be expected when they had not a single taste or thought in common, and as Princess Amalie’s own dame d’honneur was ill, she borrowed Maimie for the afternoon. Maimie had by this time become accustomed to being regarded as a mere chattel, an appendage to Félicia, and was by no means loath to accompany the old lady, from whose chatter she expected to pick up a good deal of useful information. She knew that the Princess of Dardania had an old grudge against Count Mortimer, and as she sat silent and apart during the visit, holding Princess Amalie’s lap-dog, she heard, as she had anticipated, the canoness beginning her tale afresh. Every disparaging remark, every calculated rebuff, was detailed over again, the Princess of Dardania listening with lazy satisfaction, commenting on what she heard rather with her great black eyes and arched eyebrows than by word of mouth.
“Then what is the poor Count to do, while Ernestine queens it at Molzau, and he is shut out?” she asked at last. “Will he go to England, to his brother?”
“I don’t quite know,” said Princess Amalie, unwilling to confess herself at a loss. “Ah, but Miss Logan will know. They were explaining their plans to Félicia last night, and she was there.”
“And did Miss Logan happen to hear how Count Mortimer proposed to enjoy his week of liberty?” asked the Princess.