"I do not anticipate any such call upon your valuable time," she said coolly.
"Ah, one never knows. You, dear lady, are going amongst a strange people," he added with a sigh. "People whose supposed grievances have made bitter."
"I have old friends in Transylvania, and will feel as safe with them as I should in my flat in London."
"You will stay the whole time with the Imreys?" the general asked.
"Who told you I was going to stay with them?" she retorted quickly.
"You yourself, dear lady," he replied, unperturbed, "or did I merely make a shrewd guess? Anyway, on that unforgettable evening at the Albert Hall, when first I had the honour of an introduction to you, I saw you dancing with Mr. Blakeney. The Countess Imrey is his mother's sister—you told me that you had friends in Transylvania—the inference surely was obvious. I trust I have not offended you," Naniescu went on in his most mellifluous tone, "by the suggestion."
"No, no," Rosemary replied, already vexed with herself for having unwittingly provoked the Roumanian into one of those elaborate speeches which irritated her and gave her a vague feeling that malicious irony lurked behind so much blandness. "Mrs. Blakeney was a dear friend of mine; she and I travelled a great deal together, and I stayed more than once with the Imreys, not only at Kis-Imre, but in their beautiful house at Kolozsvár."
"Ah, then," the general rejoined, "if you know the house at Cluj, you would—in the scarce probable likelihood of your wishing to command my services—know where to find me?"
"What do you mean?"
"I am living in the Imreys' house now."