"And I'm at my wits' end, Andor," she moaned appealingly. "I don't know what to do."
"Hadn't you better tell me, then?"
She threw back her head and looked him squarely in the face with a sudden determination to end the present agonizing suspense at all costs.
"It is about young Count Feri."
"My lord?" he exclaimed—for, indeed, up to this last moment he had been quite sure in his mind that her trouble had to do with Erös Béla and with her impudent flirtation of this afternoon.
"Yes," she said sullenly, "he's a little sweet on me, you know—he admires me and thinks me amusing—he likes to come here sometimes, when he gets tired of starchy Countesses and Baronesses over at his castle. He means no harm," she added fiercely, "and if Leo wasn't such a beast . . ."
"He has found you out, has he?" commented Andor dryly.
"Not exactly. There was nothing to find out. But Count Feri wanted to come and see me this evening to say 'good-bye,' as he is off to-morrow for some weeks to shoot bears. He couldn't come till about ten o'clock, and didn't want to be seen walking into the tap-room at that hour of the night. There is the back door, you know," she continued, talking a little excitedly and volubly, "which my father always keeps locked and the key in his pocket, and Count Feri wanted me to give him the duplicate key, so that he could slip in that way unobserved."
"Hm!" mused Andor. "What would your father have said to that?"
"Father is going to Kecskemét presently by the nine o'clock train."