"When I glanced across the table at her again she had unpinned her hat.
I waited; but she tossed it from her onto my bed.
"Why do you do that?" I asked.
"I shall not leave unless you do," she said serenely.
"That's nonsense! I am in no danger!"
"I should be, if I left you alone here."
"In what danger?"
"In danger--of falling a prey to--grief--Michael."
My heart almost stopped: she was looking down at the gloves which she
was slowly stripping from her wrists:
"Danger of grief," she repeated, "of lifelong sorrow--for leaving
you--here--alone.... Because, once, I gave my heart to you...."
"You were only Thusis, then," I said, steadying my voice and senses with
an effort.
"Am I less, now, in your eyes?" She lifted her head and looked at me.
"You are the Duchess of Naxos."
She smiled faintly: "What was it you once said to me about
revolutions?--about the necessity for purity of motive and absolute
unselfishness for those who revolted against tyranny?"