CHAPTER VIII.
ROOTED IN DISHONOUR.
Yes, Petros knew where she and Janni were, and the recollection caused grievous anxiety to Danaë. She could not believe that he would sit down meekly under the defeat she had inflicted on him, and his continued silence, as time went on, became ominous. How he could have accounted to Prince Romanos for the complete disappearance of his son and the nurse-girl was a mystery, and so was the Prince’s acquiescence in it. Even if Janni was not to be acknowledged as heir, his father would surely wish to have him brought up under his own eye, and in this case Petros would presumably be sent to fetch him away without unnecessary publicity.
“Lady”—desperation drove Danaë at last to appeal to her mistress—“if the thrice accursed Petros came hither and demanded my little lord and me, would you give us up to him?”
Zoe looked at her searchingly. “Why should he, Kalliopé? What right has he over you?”
“None, my lady; none whatever. His fathers were the dirt beneath the feet of ours.”
Zoe frowned, but the fear of embarking the girl upon a fresh venture of falsehood kept her from asking further questions. “If he has no authority over you, Kalliopé, and is not sent by anyone who has, the Prince would certainly not give you up to him.”
For the present Danaë’s anxiety was relieved. Her brother’s interest in Janni could not be admitted unless he had decided to acknowledge him publicly, and her own father was the only other person whose authority she owned. But Prince Christodoridi was not in the least likely to leave his island fastnesses for the sake of anything so unimportant as a daughter, and if Petros should have the hardihood to produce a letter from him—well, Danaë would deny its authenticity and everything he alleged, let him assert it as much as he liked. From which it is evident that her views of truth had not yet reached a very high standard.
Confiding in the moral support of her hosts, and in the material protection of the guards who, under Wylie’s orders, patrolled the approaches to the Konak night and day, Danaë permitted herself to regard her position as practically a permanency, and to plan how she might best take advantage of it. She looked back with something like contempt on the little savage who had left Strio on a barbaric mission of vengeance, and was inclined to plume herself on having deliberately made use of her father’s plottings to overthrow his own schemes with regard to her. How keen had been her insight into human nature when she sought help from Prince Theophanis and Glafko, how shrewd her cunning in hiding her identity and taking a humble place on the outskirts of their circle! For already she was in a fair way to realise the ambitions which her father had crushed down with such a heavy hand, and Strio had no place—or at best a very minor one, in her dreams for the future. She was almost inclined to regret the promise, in strict accordance with local etiquette, which she had obtained from Prince Christodoridi, that in no case should Angeliké be married before her. The regret was not due to any pity for poor Angeliké, who had none of the consolations of change of scene she herself was enjoying, but to the conviction that if Angeliké was permanently sundered, not only from Narkissos Smaragdopoulos but from all possible suitors, she would make things so unpleasant at home that her father would be driven in self-defence to recall his elder daughter and provide both with husbands forthwith. But there would be considerable difficulty in the way of his finding her, and in the meantime things might happen that would prevent her returning to Strio at all—save as a “European” lady with no intention of remaining there.
In Danaë’s own opinion, she was now well on the way to becoming “European.” Was she not learning to read, and making valiant efforts at reproducing deltas and epsilons whenever she could find a blank wall and a piece of blackened stick? Then in manners she was conscientiously modelling herself upon Zoe, much assisted by Linton, who had formed the habit, after hearing of her connection with the islands, of alluding to her as a “fisher-girl,” and excusing her lapses from strict propriety for that reason. In Danaë’s former world, great ladies as well as fisher-girls had stormed when they were angry, over-eaten themselves on feast-days, and spent long hours of leisure in gossiping and eating sweets, but things were different here. Some effort towards self-restraint began to show itself, and was warmly encouraged by Zoe, without any idea of the motives which were actuating the girl, and with a disconcerting blindness towards her “European” aspirations. When Danaë received her first month’s wages, and her mistress suggested that a little attention to her wardrobe was advisable, two whole days of sulks followed the prompt thwarting of her desire to buy European clothes. Zoe’s horror at the suggestion she could not understand, not realising in the least what a picture she made in her Greek dress, with her splendid hair hanging down almost to her knees in the two thick plaits which now replaced the multitude of tiny braids which had taken hours to do. But Linton, who was a Philistine of the Philistines, and disapproved of national costumes as theatrical, used to allow her to put on one of her gowns when her mistress was out, and Danaë would sweep about in it, admiring the trailing folds over her shoulder, and bitterly resentful of her own short skirts. Otherwise she was submissive enough, embroidering herself an apron in the characteristic Strio pattern, and adding what coins remained over to the store that decorated her cap.
It was not often that the girl’s self-complacency over the improvement in herself was disturbed, but however resolutely she might put it behind her, it was not possible entirely to forget the tragedy in which she had borne a part. Assure herself as she might that Janni was perfectly happy, and far healthier than he had been at Therma, she could not escape occasional rude reminders that his present position of dependence on his father’s enemies was due to her. On Sunday afternoons it was Zoe’s habit to come into the nursery and read aloud to Linton, whose eyes were not as good as they had been, but who did not like to be reminded of the fact. True to her desire for Danaë’s moral advancement, the good woman herself suggested that the reading should be in Greek, and Danaë listened with more or less edification. One day, however, she rose suddenly from fanning the children as they slept on the divan, and knelt down beside Zoe.