She bit her lip, her wide-open eyes fixed upon his. He saw that her breath came and went in short quick gasps and that in her strained eyes was the light of unshed tears.
“Yes,” she managed to respond.
There was silence for a few moments. She looked a sweet, pathetic little figure, for her countenance was very pale and apprehensive.
Then he bent across the table where she sat with her elbows upon it, her chin resting upon her hands, her plate untouched.
“And will you not confide in me? You know my secret and gave me certain advice which I heeded,” he said.
“Ah! Then you have broken with your Spanish dancer—eh?” she asked quickly in a voice which surprised him. She laid a bitter accent upon the word “dancer.”
“I have.”
“Because she has, of course proved false to you—as I knew she would,” declared Her Highness. “Yes, Mr Waldron, you have acted wisely, as one day you will most certainly be convinced. I heard all about it when I was visiting the Queen of Spain. The woman would have led you to ruin, as so many women have led the men who are the most honest and best in the world. It seems by the contrariness of Fate that the life of a good man should so often be linked with that of a bad woman—and vice versa?”
He nodded in acquiescence.
“Will you tell me nothing concerning yourself—your own difficulties and sorrows?” he asked, earnestly looking into her face. “I have been perfectly frank with you, and surely you know how proud I am to believe myself your friend.”