" Her frank, dark eyes, alive with
a beautiful sincerity, met his honestly. "There was always
tradition--" she reminded.
Ronador's reply was sincere and gallant. Diane was lovelier than any
princess, he said, and in Houdania, tradition had been replaced years
back by a law which granted freedom.
"Though to be sure," he added bitterly, "each generation seeks to break
it. Tregar tried, urging me persistently for diplomatic reasons to
take a wife of his choosing. And when I--I fled to America to escape
his infernal scheming and spying--he followed. Even here in America I
have been haunted by spies--"
His glance wavered.
"And then," he went on earnestly, "I saw you and I knew that Princess
Phaedra was forever impossible. There was a night of terrible wind and
storm when I planned to beg shelter in your camp and make your
acquaintance. . . . You are annoyed?"
"No," said Diane honestly. "Why fuss now?"
"Tregar must have suspected. I met his--his spy in the forest and we
quarreled wildly. He tried to kill me but the bullet went wild."
Again his glance wavered but the lying words came smoothly. "My
servant, Themar, leaped and stabbed him in the shoulder--"
"No! No!" cried Diane. "Not that--not that!" Her eyes, dark with
horror in the colorless oval of her face, met Ronador's with mute
appeal.
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