“What hotel in Constance do you stop at?” he asked presently.
He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a note-book.
“Perhaps I will want to remember,” he said, as he wrote. Then he put up the book and smiled into her eyes; he had a beautiful smile, warm and winning. “I find that we are very sympathique,” he went on, “that is why I may perhaps come to see you again. People who can enjoy together are not many.”
“Have you enjoyed this morning? I thought you had not at all.”
“But, yes,” he protested gravely, “I enjoy it very much. How could you think otherwise?”
She felt silence to be safest, and made no reply. He too was silent for a little, and then spoke suddenly.
“Oh, because of that Englishman! But that is all over now. We will never speak of him again. Only it is most fortunate that I am not of a jealous temperament, or I might very well have really offended me that you talk so much about him.”
“It is fortunate,” she agreed.
“Yes,” he answered, “for me it was very good.”