“True. Yet in a few months the money we have will become exhausted, and whence we shall obtain more I know not,” he said with a look of despair. “You have a chance to become a princess—the wife of a man even wealthier than his sovereign—therefore you should seriously reflect, Liane, ere you refuse.”
“How did you know that Zertho loves me?” she suddenly inquired, turning her frank face upward to his.
“Because he has told me,” he answered, in a voice low almost as a whisper. “He asked my permission to speak to you and offer you marriage.”
As he looked at her the thought flashed across his mind that he, her father, who loved her so dearly, was deceiving her. What would she say if she knew the truth?
“Yes,” she exclaimed with a sigh, “he says that he loves me, and has asked me to become his wife. But I have refused.”
“Why?”
“Because I do not, I cannot love him, dad. Surely you would never wish me to marry a man for whom I have no affection, and in whom I have no trust.” Her father held his breath and evaded her gaze. Her argument was unassailable. The words stabbed his tortured conscience.
“But would not the fact of your becoming Princess d’Auzac place you in a position of independence such as thousands of women would envy?” he hazarded, again stroking her silky hair with tenderness. “You know Zertho well. He’s a good fellow and would make you an excellent husband, no doubt.”
“I can never marry him,” she answered, decisively.
“You will refuse his offer?” he observed, hoarsely. Her firmness was causing him some anxiety.