"If I smile it is not at the waste of your life and its opportunities, Count Karl," I ventured.
"Opportunities!" he repeated with a laugh. "I have seized this one at any rate. I have been thinking about you ever since I saw you two days ago at Madame d'Artelle's."
"Why?" I asked pointedly.
"That is a challenge. I'll take it up. Because your name is Christabel. Is it really Christabel?"
"My name seems to cause considerable umbrage," I said, with a touch of offence. "Two days ago your brother not only doubted the Christabel, but wished to give me a fresh surname as well, von Decker or Discher, or Dreschler, or something."
He frowned again. "Gustav is a good fellow, but he should hold his tongue. You're so like her, you see, and yet so unlike, that——" he finished the sentence with a cut of his riding whip on his gaiters.
"I am quite content to be myself, thank you," I declared with a touch of coldness.
"Your voice, too. It's perfectly marvellous."
"May I ask what all this means?" I put the question very stiffly.
"Chiefly that I'm an idiot, I think. But I don't care. I'm long past caring. Life's only rot, is it?"