“I wish you to sit down in the place that is left for you, and to amuse the Princess Helene while her mother and I have a talk.”
“Ma’am, I obey,” and Usk took the seat pointed out to him. “How will your Grand-Ducal Highness please to be amused?” he asked of Helene.
“Why are you talking in this way? It is not at all like you,” she said wearily, and he noticed that the pale little face looked thinner, and that the eyes were heavy. “Why should you make this pretence?”
“Because the world is full of pretence, and we can’t get away from it,” he answered, bitterly enough. Her eyes sought his face in a moment.
“Oh, I am sorry,” she said quickly. “I ought to have known that there was something wrong. I see it in your eyes.”
“I had rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind. But I might say the same thing to you. Something has gone wrong, hasn’t it?”
“Ivan Petrovitch has found out that I call him the Tartar, and papa is so angry. He made me apologise to him.”
“And how did he take it?”
“Oh, as one would expect. He only said smoothly, ‘I hope the Princess Helene will think better of me when she has more opportunity of judging,’ but his voice made me shiver. What did he mean?”
“Well, you know,” said Usk, as her eyes met his again with that look of horror in them, “I told you——”