'Oimè! I am afraid that obleeterates me,' smiled Madame Carlotti, whose social charm was rising fast at the sight of a good-looking stranger.
'No, indeed, Lucia,' effused the hostess. 'To be the personification of Italy in dreary London is more than an accomplishment; it—it'——
'It is a boon,' said Dunckley, coming to the aid of his floundering loved one.
'Exactly,' said Lady Durwent with a sigh of relief. 'Madame Lucia
Carlotti—Mr. Selwyn of New York.'
'Buona sera, signora.'
'Buona sera, signore.'
He stooped low and pressed a light kiss on the Neapolitan's hand, thus taking the most direct route obtainable by an Anglo-Saxon to the good graces of a woman of Italy.
'How well you speak Italian!' cooed Madame Carlotti; 'so—like one of us.'
The American bowed. It was rarely he achieved a reputation with so little effort.
The remaining introductions were effected; the clock struck eight-thirty; and there followed an awkward silence, born of an absolute unanimity of thought.