“Because Inkling and I are old friends, who have a common language, while the Princess Mannernorff is a stranger and a foreigner.” “It seems very childish to keep up that farce.” “I thought it was your wish.” “And you despise me, probably, for the deception I have practised in passing myself off for the Princess Mannernorff! I did not do it deliberately,” she said, with an almost childlike air of contrition and confession. “It has hurt me all along to be deceiving Martha; but some one told her I was a Russian princess, and as my mother had been one before her marriage, and my aunt, with whom I live, is the Princess Mannernorff, I let the false impression remain, and even took advantage of it. It was wrong, I know; but I did want to hold on to Martha’s friendship a little longer. However,” she said, her face and voice hardening, “it is simply a question of time; and a few weeks sooner or later, what does it matter?” “Why is it a question of time?” said Harold. “Why should you not keep that friendship always, if you care for it? Martha shall know nothing from me.” There was a moment’s silence. Then Sonia said: “I thought it possible that you might disapprove of our friendship.” “Why should I? It is a thing absolutely between Martha and yourself.” “She would cast me off immediately if she knew the truth, and any moment an accident may reveal it to her.” “Such an accident is most unlikely. It could, as things are now, come about only through me, and I shall be on my guard.” How confident and strong he was! It roused all the pride in her. The sense of weakness which had overcome her at their last meeting, and which for a moment had threatened her in this one, was utterly gone. “Besides,” went on Harold, quickly, “I believe you are wholly wrong in thinking that she would give you up if, by chance, she should discover what you have so carefully guarded from her. I see no reason why she should.” He had spoken in English, since she had criticized his using French, and Inkling seemed at least partly satisfied, as he stood midway between the two, with his front legs wide apart, as if to keep his body firm, while his tail wriggled wildly, and his head turned from one to the other with a quickness which was enough to make him dizzy. He was alertly aware of them, but they had both forgotten him, in the keen absorption in each other which underlay their outward composure. “Have you, then, told her nothing?” said Sonia, in answer to his last words. “Only the simple fact.” “What fact?” she said, looking him in the face with a certain hardness and defiance. “That the woman whom I had loved no longer loved me; that she had repudiated my name and every connection with me, and had asked for a divorce, which I was taking all possible steps to give her as soon as it could be done.” “And do you think that Martha, feeling as she does, would continue the acquaintance of a woman who had cast off her brother with no stronger reason than that?”