Rulers of kings: A novelAtherton, Gertrude Franklin Horn
General
Rulers of kings: A novel
Atherton, Gertrude Franklin Horn
Statesmen -- Fiction
“One would think you were a Hungarian!” she said scornfully, oblivious
of the significance of her failure to comment upon the ancient ocean
that rolled between them. “They need only a spark, and are accustomed
to women who are always expectant of the language of love. From
Alexandra I have gathered that the American man has been too well
educated by his women to let himself go until he is sure he will not be
laughed at, and that he is greatly assisted by the national frigidity
of temperament.”
“What you learn of the national temperament will be from me, not from
my sister.”
Ranata was now fully alive to her rôle. That her being was still in
tumult, her brain alert with womanly curiosity, mattered nothing; she
would follow her programme to the end. If that end were unimaginable
for the woman, it was defined enough for the princess.
“I should like to know one man in my life,” she murmured. “And you are
an American--the only one I ever could know, I suppose. I find the
prospect rather delightful. But you must not insist upon flirting with
me. It would be an unfair advantage--I am terribly unskilled.”
“I have not the slightest intention of flirting with you. I have had no
time to learn the _a b c_ of flirtation. Nor do I waste my time.”
“How long shall you stay in Hungary?”
“I know less about that than you do.”
“But you do not take long vacations. Surely, your enormous interests in
America--they must demand your attention before long.”
“My enormous interests can--take care of themselves.”
The blood ran up to Ranata’s hair. For a second she forgot her rôle.
She tasted the sweets of woman’s power for the first time, and wondered
at the barrenness of the regal. “Would you stay here if your great
fortune were in danger--if--”
“I should stay here if the world went to smash.”
Ranata became aware that Alexandra’s lips were at her other ear.
“Sarolta is going to sleep,” whispered the warning voice. “She will be
horribly cross. Hadn’t we better go?”
The Archduchess rose. “Yes,” she said indifferently. “It is quite time.
And we have promised to go on the floor for a moment. The President has
left his seat. Doubtless he is coming to meet us.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account