“What is the latest from the Near East?” Wachtmann asked, with the air of a man expecting to hear what he could have told you yesterday if he had chosen.
There was a movement of the portieres, and a woman entered. She stopped a moment. I knew it was Miss Brixton. She had recognised Kennedy, but her part was evidently to treat him as a total stranger.
“Who are these men, Conrad?” she asked, turning to Wachtmann.
“Gentlemen of the press, I believe, to see your father, Yvonne,” replied the count.
It was evident that it had not been mere newspaper talk about this latest rumored international engagement.
“How did you enjoy it?” he asked, noticing the title of a history which she had come to replace in the library.
“Very well—all but the assassinations and the intrigues,” she replied with a little shudder.
He shot a quick, searching look at her face. “They are a violent people—some of them,” he commented quickly.
“You are going into town to-morrow?” I heard him ask Miss Brixton, as they walked slowly down the wide hall to the conservatory a few moments later.
“What do you think of him?” I whispered to Kennedy.