“Why, Maimie Logan, have you lost your mind?” cried Félicia, recovering herself. “You know we would never be let do it.”
“I know you just would, then. I could fix it.”
“Well, it’s too late now, and I don’t care, any way. Usk is a real good fellow, and his folks are just lovely. I’m on yet.”
“I do wonder how you’ll feel when you come to live way down in the country all of the year, and be out in the air mornings and afternoons and evenings. You’ll have a nice round contented face like the Jones girls by then, rosy-cheeked and blowsy and dairymaidish.”
“You needn’t be nasty.” Félicia went to the glass and examined her face with some anxiety, but the pure creamy pallor was not yet vulgarised by any touch of red. She laughed. “Not much harm done this far, Maimie. I’ll tell you when I’m tired of Usk, any way.”
“No, you won’t,” said Maimie calmly. “You’re tired of him already. It’s getting more and more of a trial to have him stick to you the way he does, but you let him do it just to make me mad. When you’re tired clear out, you can let me know.”
“And you can round up a few of the kings you keep on hand, and have me choose,” responded Félicia.
Now that her perplexity was at an end, Félicia was prepared to take full advantage of the situation. Queen Ernestine’s obvious difficulty in masquerading in the English household as a younger son’s wife afforded her a malicious amusement, and she could not pardon Usk for refusing to respond to the frequent glances she flashed at him. At the same time, she watched the royal lady narrowly, hoping to discover the source of the peculiarly dignified charm of manner which characterised her. Those who knew could have told Félicia that it was the outcome of a life of sadness and self-repression, crowned at last with a tardy happiness chastened by apprehension. Her own soul, however, was not sufficiently awake to note more than that the Queen seemed to do and say the right thing by instinct, and that the grace of her bearing was only equalled by her consideration for others. Knowing little of her story, Félicia was captivated by her personality—although the attraction was no bar to the entertainment she derived from seeing her in a false position—and she felt quite virtuously indignant when Maimie, by what seemed an unpardonable piece of gaucherie, brought a shadow into the beautiful changeful eyes.
It appeared as though a demon of mischief had taken possession of Maimie that evening. The secretary and Mlle. Mirkovics had discreetly excused themselves after dinner, leaving the family party alone, and the four elders were gathered by the fire, talking. Usk and Félicia occupied a three-cornered settee at a little distance—it was a piece of furniture Usk liked, because the form of the seat obliged him to turn round and rest his arm on the back, if he was to face Félicia in talking to her. Between the two groups, at a little table close to the standard lamp, sat Maimie, looking through the annual volume of an illustrated paper some twenty or thirty years old, which she had disinterred from the library for reasons best known to herself. Occasionally she interjected remarks into the conversation of the party by the fire, enjoying the delightful feeling that she was outraging all etiquette, and yet that no one could rebuke her. It happened that the talk turned upon the escapade of a young member of a German princely family, who had recently disappeared from his home, and was understood to have managed to join the forces opposed to Great Britain in a little war which was then raging.
“Well, now, that’s queer!” said Maimie. “Here in this old paper there’s a case of the same sort. Just listen: ‘In connection with the ill-fated Prince Joseph of Arragon, a view of whose yacht, the Claudine, we published a fortnight ago, a Vindobona correspondent sends us a romantic story. It is understood that the official accounts of the Prince’s voyage to the South Seas were merely a blind, and that his journey was in reality a flight, in which he was accompanied by a charming young lady of noble birth, whose musical performances have been the delight of Vindobona this winter. It is even rumoured that they were privately married. However this may be, it is certain that not only Fräulein von Lilienkranz, but her duenna, Frau Schlesinger, and the latter’s daughter Julie, who was her constant attendant, disappeared at the exact time that the Prince’s voyage was announced. The keenest interest was felt here as to the dénoûment of the romance which has been so tragically ended by the Australian billows——.’ Do tell, Fay!” Maimie broke off shrilly. “Julie Schlesinger! mightn’t that be my mother’s name? It caught my eye right away.”