She frowned a little uneasily.

“Do not take too much for granted, Oscar,” she enjoined.  “Remember that I am here to watch and to report.  It is not for me to make decisions.”

“Then for whom else?” he demanded.  “Paul Matinsky himself wrote me that you had his entire confidence—­that you possessed full powers for action.  You will not be faint-hearted, Naida?”

“I shall never be false to my convictions,” she replied.

There was a brief silence.  He was not altogether satisfied, but he judged the moment unpropitious for any further reference to the coming of Prince Shan.

“My plans, as you see, are changed,” he said at last, “and for that reason a promise which I made to myself will not now be kept.”

She rose to her feet a little uneasily, shook out her fluffy morning gown, and retreated towards the door leading to the apartments beyond.  He watched her without movement.  She picked up a pile of letters from a table in the middle of the room, glanced at them, and threw them down.

“It is as well,” she warned him, “to keep all promises.”

“As for this one,” he replied, “I have no responsibility save to myself.  I absolve myself.  I give myself permission to speak.  Your father is even wishful that I should do so.  I crave from you, Naida, the happiness which only you can bring into my life.  I ask you to become my wife.”

She looked at him without visible change of expression.  Her lips, however, were a little parted.  The air of aloofness with which she moved through the world seemed suddenly more marked.  He would have been a brave man, or one entirely without perceptions, who would have advanced towards her at that moment.

“That is quite impossible,” she pronounced.

“I do not admit it,” he contended.  “No, I will never admit that.  The fates brought us together.  It will take something stronger than fate to drive us apart.  I had not meant to speak yet.  I had meant to wait until the great pact was sealed and the glory to come assured, but during these last few days I have suffered.  A strange fancy has come to me.  I seem to feel something between us, so I speak before it can grow.  I speak because without you life for me would be a thing not worth having.  You are my life and my soul.  You will not send me away?”

Naida was troubled but unhesitating.  It was perhaps at that moment that a hidden characteristic of her features showed itself.  Her mouth, sometimes almost too voluptuous in its softness, had straightened into a firm line of scarlet.  The deeper violet of her eyes had gone.  So a woman might have looked who watched suffering unmoved, the woman of the bull or prize fight.

“I am glad that you have spoken, Oscar,” she said.  “I know a thing now which has been a source of doubt and anxiety to me.  What you ask is impossible.  I do not love you.  I shall never love you.  A few days ago, I asked myself the very question you have just asked me, and I could not answer it.  Now I know.”