“Princess,” he said at last, rising from his chair and flushing slightly, “the reason I have sought you to-day is not because of the past, but is on account of the present.”
“The present! why?”
“I—I hardly know what to say, Princess,” he said confusedly. “Two years ago I fled from you because you should not know the truth—because I was in fear. And now Fate brings me again in your path in a manner which condemns me.”
“Mr Bourne, why don’t you speak more plainly? These enigmas I really cannot understand. You saved my life, or at least saved me from a very serious accident, and yet you escaped before I could thank you personally. To-day you have met me, and you tell me that you escaped because you feared to meet me.”
“It is the truth, your Highness. I feared to meet you,” he said, “and, believe me, I should not have sought you to-day were it not of most urgent necessity.”
“But why did you fear to meet me?”
“I did not wish you to discover what I really am,” he said, his face flushing with shame.
“Are you so very timid?” she asked with a light laugh.
But in an instant she grew serious. She saw that she had approached some sore subject, and regretted. The Englishman was a strange person, to say the least, she thought.
“I have nothing to say in self-defence, Princess,” he said very simply. “The trammels of our narrow world are so hypocritical, our laws so farcical and full of incongruities, and our civilisation so fraught with the snortings of Mother Grundy, that I can only tell you the truth and offer no defence. I know from the newspapers of your present perilous position, and of what is said against you. If you will permit me to say so, you have all my sympathy.” And he paused and looked straight into her face, while little Ignatia gazed at him in wonder.