Selden was distinctly conscious that he had no ardour for a tête-à-tête with the Countess Rémond, and, though he did his best to keep it out of his face, she instantly perceived it.
“How American you are!” she said, looking at him with laughing eyes. “No; I am not offended. But do not be afraid. She will come.”
“But if she resents my presence....”
“She will not. If she does, you can leave before the real discussion begins.”
“All right,” said Selden, “I’ll come. But I don’t promise to give you any moral support. You may find me fighting on the other side.”
“Then I shall be sure to win!” said the countess, and looked at him with a strange smile. “Now I must be going. The luncheon is at one, in my apartment.” She glanced at her watch and sprang to her feet in a sudden panic. “Juste ciel! I must fly! No, you are not to come with me. I am in earnest. Please do not!”
He watched her as she hurried away through the crowd and up the steps toward the casino.
At the top of the steps a burly man was standing, as though keeping an appointment, his eyes on the entrance to the hotel just across the street. The countess approached him swiftly and touched his arm.
As he started round upon her, Selden caught a glimpse of his face. It was Halsey, of the Journal.