“No, no! It’s about the Princess Helene of Schwarzwald-Molzau. Her engagement to the Scythian Prince is broken off.” “Is that all?” cried Usk. “What a start you gave me! And what in the world has it to do with me?--though of course I’m glad for the poor little girl’s own sake.” “Usk,” said his mother quickly, “had you any idea she cared for you?” “For me? Princess Helene? What an idea! Of course not.” “She has been very ill, and when she thought she was dying, she begged that the ring she always wore might be given to you. And now--they hope she will not die.” “I--I don’t think you ought to have told me this,” said Usk awkwardly. He looked with a kind of reproach at his mother, who could not meet his eyes. “You see,” he went on more firmly, “she’s such a nice little girl that it’s a shame to say that sort of thing about her. She’s as innocent as a baby, and it would get her into dreadful trouble with her people if they thought it was true.” “It is true,” said Lady Caerleon desperately, “and your uncle would like you to marry her. Could you care for her at all, Usk?” “No one could help caring for her, she’s such a gentle, friendly little thing. But not in that way! Mater, say you’re joking.” “I wish I could, but everything is arranged in a way. They think she is pining after you--no, I know it doesn’t sound kind to say it, Usk, but what am I to say? You were kind to her, weren’t you? and she misses you, and they say it would cheer her if you went and stayed with your aunt near her, and saw her every day. It doesn’t sound much to ask, but then it involves a good deal more.” “But why?” asked Usk quickly. “I shouldn’t a bit mind seeing her as much as she liked, and--anything of that sort. Why shouldn’t it stop there?” “I suppose people would talk--I don’t know. Besides, if she really----” Usk stopped her. “Please don’t. It would make her so awfully miserable if she knew things of that kind were being said about her. Feeling as I do, I have no business to listen to it. If I cared for her, it might be different.” “But couldn’t you? Do you never mean----” “To marry? I don’t know. Perhaps some day it will seem more possible than it does now. Mother, think! If you knew how I loved and trusted Félicia, you would know that I could never feel the same to any woman again, never! If she had even broken it off at one wrench, it would not be so bad; but she played me like a salmon, pretending to let me go, and then drawing me back again, until every feeling of that sort seems quite dried up.” “But you are young, Usk. You will get over it some day.” “Possibly. I don’t feel like it just yet.” “And a good girl--not one like Félicia----”