“Sorry,” said Selden drily, “but I have an engagement.” He had no desire to discuss central Europe with immature Americans.
“But look here,” Davis protested; and then he sprang to his feet so violently that he nearly upset the table. “There you are at last!” he cried, his face beaming.
Selden turned to find that two women had approached and were standing just behind him—two most unusual women, both young; but one, the younger and prettier, evidently jeune fille; the other, the elder and more striking, just as evidently a poised and finished woman of the world.
“M. le Prince, ees ’e not ’ere?” inquired the latter in delightful English, and she permitted her eyes to rest calmly and inquiringly upon Selden, who had also risen, as though asking what right he had to be there and what manner of man he was.
“We are waiting for him,” Davis explained. “The baron took him away a minute ago.”
“Ah, le baron!” and she made a moue of distaste; “’im I ’ave no wish to see,” and she started to move away.
“But look here,” protested Davis, “the prince is expecting you—I want to see you.”
“Farceur, eet is Cicette you wish to see!” she laughed, and glanced at the pretty girl beside her. And indeed it was at Cicette that Davis had been gazing—insufferable young fool, Selden told himself, to look at Cicette, mere milk-and-water beside this other woman, so distinguished, so unusual, so surely poised—not beautiful exactly, but with such charm, such magnetism....
Again her eyes were resting upon his.
“Do you speak French, monsieur?” she inquired in that language.