"Remember, dear lady," General Naniescu put in, wholly unperturbed by the sensation which his innocent query had provoked, "that M. de Kervoisin and I are but strangers in your wonderful country, and that no doubt it is our want of knowledge of your language that causes us to seem ignorant of some of your greatest names in literature or the Arts."
"It is not a case of literature or the Arts, mon cher général," Lady Orange condescended to explain. "Peter Blakeney is the finest cover-point England ever had."
"Ah! political sociology?" M. de Kervoisin queried blandly.
"Political what?"
"The Secret Points, no doubt you mean, dear lady?" the general went on, politely puzzled. "Advanced Communism, what? M. Blakeney is then a disciple of Lenin?"
"I don't know what you are talking about," Lady Orange sighed. "Peter Blakeney is the finest cricketer Eton and Oxford have ever produced."
"Cricket!" exclaimed the general, while M. de Kervoisin uttered a significant "Ah!"
There was a moment of quite uncomfortable silence. Naniescu was thoughtfully stroking his luxurious moustache, and a gentle, indulgent smile hovered round the thin lips of M. de Kervoisin.
"It is interesting," Naniescu said suavely after a moment or two, "to see two such world-famous people given over to the pleasure of the dance."
"They are excellent dancers, both of them," Lady Orange assented placidly, even though she had a vague sense of uneasiness that the two foreigners were laughing surreptitiously at something or at her.