“Oh!” with breathless interest; “was it to behold Danaë’s, lord?”
“Nonsense! The thoughts of you girls run on nothing but bridegrooms. Milordo was passing by, and came like a well-mannered man to salute me on his way.”
“Oh!” this time the tone breathed intense disappointment. “I did hope it might be on account of Danaë.”
“What do you mean by that?” Prince Christodoridi gripped her shoulder as she made a movement to rise. “What should he know about Danaë?”
“I don’t know, lord,” gazing at him with wide eyes of terror. “I have never spoken to him, nor seen him.”
“Of course not,” impatiently. “Do you mean that your sister has?”
“I—I don’t know. Perhaps—I don’t think so. It may not have been the same man. Don’t ask me, lord; ask Petros. I know no more than you do; how should I?”
“What has Petros been saying to you? What is this about your sister? Can this be the man——? Tell me at once, girl.”
“Petros said—” whimpered Angeliké—“at least, I mean he told Aristomaché, and she told me (but he said you knew),—that all the talk at Klaustra was that Milordo would marry Danaë. And one night she was dressed up in Frank clothes—all in cloth of gold like an empress—and they made a great feast, and Milordo and she sat side by side. She—she even put her arm in his, lord,” breathed modest Angeliké in horror, turning away her eyes. But Prince Christodoridi had been a scandalized participant in European dinner-parties, and had even, under pressure from his son, consented to offer his arm to a lady, so that he bore up under the shock better than she had hoped.
“But this cannot be the same man. How could he have the effrontery—? And yet he said—— Well, what of all this?”