The door was ajar; I motioned her in and closed it behind us. It shut with a snap, delivering us to complete privacy. Preceding her, I went through the little passage into the salle-à-manger, whence on one side opened the tiny kitchen, on the other my large sitting-room, leading into the single bed-chamber beyond, which together comprised my whole domain. She had followed me, and stopped, as I did, in the main apartment.
“So far so good,” I said. “And now, if you please, what next?”
Her eyes, I could see, were busy with her surroundings, and I took the word from them:—
“Yes, it is all very plain and ungarnished, the quarters of an unstable vagabond quite unused to entertaining countesses. But for what they are worth, they are entirely at your disposition.”
Her eyes came round to me, impassive but wondering.
“You are not to call me that,” she said.
“To call you what? O, yes! I understand. But there is still the question of the moral inference. Am I to defer to what I may not specify—your rank—or to disregard it altogether?”
The eyes seemed to expand momentarily.
“Would there not be danger in the first?” she asked.
“No,” I answered gravely; “I believe not, if we are careful.”