“M. Selden is a democrat the most pronounced,” went on the baron, no whit discouraged; “but we are trying to convince him that a monarchy also may have its virtues.”
“I am sure there is little to be said for democracies,” said Mrs. Davis severely, as one lecturing a small child, “when one sees their horrible blunders. And such men!”
“They do blunder,” Selden agreed; “but at least it is their own blunders they suffer from, so there is a sort of poetic justice in it.”
“No, it is other people who suffer,” said Mrs. Davis. “They rob every one. When I think that my income tax this year....”
She was interrupted by the announcement of the Countess Rémond, and was instantly so absorbed in contemplation of that unusual woman that she quite forgot to go on.
The Countess Rémond had said that she was going to dress with care, but Selden had foreseen no such finished perfection, and moreover it was at once apparent that she was as much at home in a king’s drawing-room as in any other. Nothing could have been more correct, more perfect, than the way she acknowledged the introduction to the king which the baron made. The king himself regarded her with an appreciative eye, for he had always been a connoisseur of women, holding her hand the tiniest fraction of a second longer than was necessary, and took advantage of the moment when the baron was continuing the introductions to motion the major-domo to him and give him some brief instructions in an undertone. As that solemn functionary bowed and hastened away, Selden guessed that the king had suddenly decided upon a rearrangement of the places at table.
The way in which the countess greeted the ladies was also a work of art, it was so charming, so cordial, so gracious, without a trace of that arrogance which alas! too often marks the bearing of ladies of the old world toward ladies of the new, and which indeed one might well expect of a countess. Her indifference to the men was almost as marked; she acknowledged their presence with the coolest of nods, and turned back at once to the women as far more interesting. The elder, flattered, almost inarticulate, was already at her feet, and the younger was visibly impressed. The countess was confiding to them something about her gown—the clumsiness of maids....
Selden noted the satisfied smile which the baron could not wholly repress, the energetic way in which he polished his glass. Evidently the countess was playing the game—whatever the game might be—very much to his liking.
“I have heard so much of you and of your daughter from my old friend, Baron Lappo,” the countess continued to the enraptured Mrs. Davis, speaking with a pronounced and very taking accent which Selden had not heretofore noted in her speech. “Permit me to say that your daughter is lovely—the true queenly type!”
Mrs. Davis sputtered her delight. Her daughter blushed crimson. Selden gaped a little at the adjective. Queenly—now what did she mean by that? And looking at the countess more closely, he saw that in some way she had subtly altered her appearance; her face seemed longer, her eyes had a little slant, her lips were not so full....