Part 32 (2/2)
”Follow the porter,” she said, ”and tell me what brings you here, my gay young friend. You see I am wearing the orchids you sent me. Do you really mean to add yourself to this charming gift?”
He told her the story of Ruhannah Carew as briefly as he could; at her stateroom door they paused while he continued the story, the Princess Mistchenka looking at him very intently while she listened, and never uttering a word.
She was a pretty woman, not tall, rather below middle stature, perhaps, beautifully proportioned and perfectly gowned. Hair and eyes were dark as velvet; her skin was old ivory and rose; and always her lips seemed about to part a little in the faint and provocative smile which lay latent in the depths of her brown eyes.
”_Mon Dieu!_” she said, ”what a history of woe you are telling me, my friend James! What a tale of innocence and of deception and outraged trust is this that you relate to me! _Allons! Vite!_ Let us find this poor, abandoned infant--this unhappy victim of your s.e.x's well-known duplicity!”
”She isn't a victim, you know,” he explained.
”I see. Only almost--a--victim. Yes? Where is this child, then?”
”May I bring her to you, Princess?”
”But of course! Bring her. I am not afraid--so far--to look any woman in the face at five o'clock in the morning.” And the threatened smile flashed out in her fresh, pretty face.
When he came back with Rue Carew, the Princess Mistchenka was conferring with her maid and with her stewardess. She turned to look at Rue as Neeland came up--continued to scrutinise her intently while he was presenting her.
There ensued a brief silence; the Princess glanced at Neeland, then her dark eyes returned directly to the young girl before her, and she held out her hand, smilingly:
”Miss Carew--I believe I know exactly what your voice is going to be like. I think I have heard, in America, such a voice once or twice.
Speak to me and prove me right.”
Rue flushed:
”What am I to say?” she asked navely.
”I knew I was right,” exclaimed the Princess Mistchenka gaily. ”Come into my stateroom and let each one of us discover how agreeable is the other. Shall we--my dear child?”
When Neeland returned from a visit to the purser with a pocket full of British and French gold and silver for Ruhannah, he knocked at the stateroom door of the Princess Mistchenka.
That lively personage opened it, came out into the corridor holding the door partly closed behind her.
”She's almost dead with fatigue and grief. I undressed her myself.
She's in my bed. She has been crying.”
”Poor little thing,” said Neeland.
”Yes.”
”Here's her money,” he said, a little awkwardly.
The Princess opened her wrist bag and he dumped in the s.h.i.+ning torrent.
”Shall I--call good-bye to her?” he asked.
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