"Ah!" she cried impatiently. "You diplomats are always so full of
secrets. Really you must tell me. Uncle Colin."
"I can't," was my brief reply. "I only ask you to refute the untruth."
"I will--at once. Poor Geoffrey."
"Have you heard from him lately?" I asked.
"You're very inquisitive. I have not."
"I'm very glad of that," I answered her. "You know how greatly the
affair annoyed the Emperor. You were awfully injudicious. It's a good
job that I chanced to meet you both at the station in Moscow."
"Well," she laughed, "I was going to England with him, and we had
arranged to be married at a registrar's office in London. Only you
stopped us--you nasty old thing!"
"And you ought to be very glad that I recognised you just in the nick of
time. Ten minutes later and you would have left Moscow. Think of the
scandal--the elopement of a young Imperial Grand Duchess of Russia with
an English commoner."
"Well, and isn't an English commoner as good, and perhaps better, than
one of these uniformed and decorated Russian aristocrats? I am
Russian," she added frankly, "but I have no love for the Muscovite man."
"It was a foolish escapade," I declared; "but it's all over now. The
one consolation is that nobody knows the actual truth."
"Except His Majesty. I told him everything; how I had met Geoffrey in
Hampshire when I went to stay with Lady Hexworthy; how we used to meet
in secret, and all that," she said.
"Well now," I exclaimed, looking straight into her face, "I want to ask
you a plain open question. I have a motive in doing so--one which I
will explain to you after you have answered me honestly and truthfully.
I--"
"At it again!" cried the pretty madcap. "You're really not yourself
to-night, Uncle Colin. What is the matter with you?"
"Simply I want to know the truth--whether there is still any love
between Geoffrey and yourself?"
"Ah! no," she sighed, pulling a grimace. "It's all over between us. It
broke his heart, poor fellow, but some kind friend, at your Embassy, I
think, wrote and told him about Paul Urusoff and--well, he wrote me a
hasty letter. Then I replied, a couple of telegrams, and we agreed to
be strangers for ever. And so ends the story. Like a novel, isn't it?"
she laughed merrily.
My eyes were fixed upon her. I was wondering if she were really telling
me the truth. As the Emperor had most justly said, she was an artful
little minx where her love-affairs were concerned.
Colonel Polivanoff, the Grand Chamberlain of the Court, crossed the
great palm-garden at that moment, and bowed to my pretty companion.
"But," she added, turning back to me, "people ought not to say that he's
been foolish enough to do away with himself on my account. It only
shows that I must have made some enemies of whom I'm quite unaware."
"Everyone has enemies," I answered her. "You are no exception. But, is
it really true that Geoffrey is no longer in your thoughts?" I asked
her very seriously.
"Truth and honour," she declared, with equal gravity.
"Then who is the fortunate young man at present--eh?"
"That's my own secret. Uncle Colin," she declared, drawing herself up.
"I'll ask you the same question. Who is the lady you are in love with
at the present moment?"
"Shall I tell you?"
"Yes. It would be interesting."
"I'm in love with you."
"Ah?" she cried, nodding her head and laughing. "I thought as much.
You've brought me out here to flirt with me. I wonder if you'll kiss
me--eh?" she asked mischievously.
"I will, if you tempt me too much," I said threateningly. "And then the
report you've spread about will be the truth."
She laughed merrily and tapped my hand with her fan.
"I never can get the better of you, dear old uncle," she declared. "You
always have the last word, and you're such a delightfully old-fashioned
person. Now let's try and be serious." And she settled herself and,
turning to me, added: "Why do you wish to know about Geoffrey
Hamborough?"
"For several reasons," I said. "First, I think Your Highness knows me
quite well enough to be aware that I am your very sincere friend."
"My best friend," she declared quickly; her manner changed in an instant
from merry irresponsibility to deep earnestness. "That night on the
railway platform at Moscow you saved me making a silly fool of myself.
It was most generous of the Emperor to forgive me. I know how you
pleaded for me. He told me so."
"I am your friend," I replied. "Now, as to the future. You tell me
that you find all the Court etiquette irksome, and that you are
antagonistic to this host of young men about you. You are, in brief,
sorry that you are back in Russia. Is that so?"
"It is so exactly."
"And how about Prince Urusoff--eh?"
"I haven't seen him for fully three months, and I don't even know where
he is. I believe he's with his regiment, the 21st Dragoons of White
Russia, somewhere away in the Urals. I heard that the Emperor sent him
there. But he certainly need not have done so. I found him only a
foolish young boy."
Her Imperial Highness was a young lady of very keen intelligence. After
several governesses at home, she had been sent to Paris, and afterwards
to a college at Eastbourne--where she was known as Miss Natalia Gottorp,
the latter being one of the family names of the Imperial Romanoffs--and
there she had completed her education. From her childhood she had
always had an English governess, Miss West, consequently, with a
Russian's adaptability, she spoke English almost without a trace of
accent. Though so full of fun and frolic, and so ready to carry on a
violent flirtation, yet she was, on the other hand, very thoughtful and
level-headed, with a keen sense of humour, and a nature extremely
sympathetic with any person in distress, no matter whom they might be.
Hers was a bright, pleasant nature, a smiling face, and ever-twinkling
eye full of mischief and merriment.
"Well," I said, looking into her face, "I've been thinking about you a
good deal since you've been away--and wondering."
"Wondering what?"
"Whether, as you have no love for Russia, you might not like to go back
to England?" I said slowly.
"To England!" she cried in delight. "Ah! If I only could! I love
England, and especially Eastbourne, with the sea and the promenade, the
golf, and the concerts at the Devonshire Park, and all that. Ah! I
only wish I could go."
"But if you went you'd fall in love with some young fellow, and then we
should have another scandal at Court," I said.
"I wouldn't. Believe me, I wouldn't, really, Uncle Colin," she pleaded,
looking up into my face with almost childish simplicity.