“What is your real name, Princess Sylvia?” she asked.
“Sylvia Deane,” replied the girl. “Only the princess part is made up. My name is S-s-ylvia-a.”
Her teeth began to chatter on the last words and she drew the quilt up around her tightly. Katherine suddenly felt cold, too. Then she became conscious for the first time that there was no heat in the room. In the first contrast to the biting wind outside the place had seemed warm, and with her heavy fur-collared winter coat she had not felt chilly. She glanced at the stove. It was black and lifeless.
“The f-f-fire’s g-g-gone o-u-t,” chattered Sylvia, huddling under the quilt as a fierce blast rattled the panes in the bay windows. Katherine felt hot with indignation at the thought of the invalid left all alone in the cold room.
“Where is your—lady-in-waiting?” she asked, a trifle sharply.
“Aunt Aggie’s gone to the city,” replied Sylvia. “She went at six o’clock this morning and she was going to back at noon. She hasn’t come yet, and I’m so cold and——”
She checked herself suddenly and held her head up very stiffly.
Katherine turned abruptly and made for the stove. It was a small old-fashioned cook stove, the kind that Katherine had been familiar with in her childhood on the farm. Beside it in a box were several lumps of coal and some kindling. She stripped off her gloves and set to work building a fire. When the stove had begun to radiate heat she lifted Sylvia, quilt and all, into the rocking chair and drew it up in front of the fire.
“And now, if you’ll tell me where things are I’ll prepare your Majesty’s supper,” she said playfully.
“Thank you, but I’m not hungry,” replied Sylvia.
“I don’t see how you can help being,” said Katherine wonderingly. “Or have you had something to eat since your aunt went away?” she added.
“Then you must be famished,” said Katherine decidedly, “and I’m going to get you something.”
She moved toward a cupboard on the wall over in a corner of the room where she conjectured the supplies must be kept. The cupboard had leaded glass doors, she noticed, and the framework was of mahogany to match the woodwork of the room. It had probably been designed as a curio cabinet by the builder of the house.
“Never mind, I don’t want anything to eat,” said Sylvia again, in a tone which was both commanding and pleading.