"Oh, I used to see him abroad years ago," was her answer. "Very likely he will have forgotten me."
"That," Bradish declared, with a profound bow, "is impossible."
The Count made his way across the drawing-room with a jaunty air not entirely in keeping with the crow's-feet at the corners of his eyes. He was tall and wiry, with sandy hair and big mustaches. He showed no consciousness that he was being stared at, but with admirable self-possession saluted his hostess.
"How do you do, Count?" Mrs. Harbinger greeted him. "We began to think you were not coming."
"Ah, how do, Mees Harbeenger. Not to come eet would be to me too desolate. Bon jour, my deear Mees Wentsteele. I am so above-joyed to encountair you'self here. My deear Mees Endeecott, I kees your feengair."
"Beast!" muttered Jack Neligage to Fairfield. "I should like to cram a fistful of his twisted-up sentences down his snaky throat!"
"He must open his throat with a corkscrew in the morning," was the reply.
Miss Wentstile was smiling her most gracious.
"How do you feel to-day, Count?" she asked. "Does our spring weather affect you unpleasantly?"
The Count made a splendid gesture with both his hands, waving in the right the monocle which he more often carried than wore.