Don't ask me more.
So long as Olga is with her I hope that all will be well.
Otherwise——" She made a quick gesture to silence him, for the servant entered to receive orders.
So Giles was provided with some whiskey and water, which the Princess made him drink at once. She had thrown off her languor, and was as quick in her movements as he usually was himself.
The discovery of Denham's masquerade, the doubts about Anne's safety had roused her from her indolence, and she had braced herself to act.
A more wonderful transformation Giles could scarcely have imagined.
Shortly he was ordered to smoke.
The Princess lighted a cigarette herself, and began abruptly to tell her tale.
It was quite worthy of a melodramatic novelist.
"I was born in Jamaica," she said, speaking slowly and distinctly, so that Giles should fully understand. "My father, Colonel Shaw, had retired from the army.
Having been stationed at Kingstown, he had contracted a love for the island, and so stopped there.
He went into the interior and bought an estate. Shortly afterwards he married my mother.
She was a quadroon."
Giles uttered an ejaculation. He remembered that Anne had stated she had negro blood in her veins, and now saw why Princess Karacsay and her daughter had such a love for barbaric coloring.
Also he guessed that Olga's fierce temperament was the outcome of her African blood.
The Princess nodded. She quite understood his interruption.
"You can see the negro in me," she said quietly. "In Jamaica that was considered disgraceful, but in Vienna no one knows about the taint."
"It is not a taint in England, Princess—or in the Old World."
"No! Perhaps not.
But then"—she waved her delicate hand impatiently—"there is no need to discuss that, Mr. Ware.
Let me proceed with what I have to tell you.
When I was eighteen I married George Franklin.
He was a young planter of good birth, and very handsome in looks."
"Anything like Denham?" asked Ware quickly.
The Princess blew a contemptuous cloud of smoke.
"Not in the least, Mr. Ware.
George was good-looking.
What Denham is, you can see for yourself.
Denham was George's foster-brother," she explained.
"And his evil genius," added Giles. "I am beginning to understand."
The Princess flushed crimson, and her whole body trembled with passion.
"He ruined my life," she cried, trying to restrain her emotion. "If I could see him hanged, I should be pleased.
But such a death would fall far short of the punishment he deserves."
"Has Denham negro blood in him?"
"Yes.
He is a degree nearer the negro than I am.
George was a native of Jamaica, and very rich.
When his mother died he was quite a baby, and Denham's mother nursed him.
Thus he became Denham's foster-brother, and the two boys grew up together.
Powell tried all he could to neutralize the bad influence of Denham, but it was useless.
George was quite under Denham's thumb."
"Powell!
The man who left the money to Daisy?
Was he in Jamaica?"
The Princess nodded.
"For a time," she said, "George was at an English public school—Rugby, I fancy.
He met Powell there, and the two became much attached.
There was also another boy called Kent."
"Daisy's father?"
"Yes.