“Good-evening, Miss Byrd,” he said, smilingly. With perfect self-possession, the girl stared at him; then she held out her hand with a glad smile.
“Lieutenant Topham!” she exclaimed, with sparkling eyes. “Oh! I am glad.” That was ever the way with Lillian Byrd; the little emphasis in her tones always singled out the one addressed and made him feel himself the most important person in her world.
“Let me present you to Lord Maxwell,” she went on, warmly. “This is Lieutenant Topham of the United States Navy, Lord Maxwell,” she finished, with a flash of her marvellous eyes.
Lord Maxwell rose and held out his hand. “I already have the pleasure of Mr. Topham’s acquaintance,” he declared. “My daughter, Ellen, Mr. Topham.”
Topham bowed, and his lordship went on. “We are about to sample an American drink, Mr. Topham,” he said, “One highly recommended by Miss Byrd. It is, I believe, known as ice cream soda. Of course, it is prepared here à la German, and I can not speak as to its merits. Will you sit down and tempt fate with us?”
Walter laughed. “I shall be delighted,” he said, “but I have a friend with me. If I might present him—”
Lord Maxwell glanced at the table, where Ouro Preto sat. “Ah! Yes! The Count of Ouro Preto. I have heard of him. Present him by all means.”
Topham beckoned, and the count came over. Introductions followed. Lord Maxwell offered Topham a seat beside his own, and the ladies made room for Ouro Preto between them.
Lady Ellen, an undeveloped English girl, paused for something to say, and Miss Byrd, true to American canons, rushed into the breach.
“Isn’t it lovely,” she gushed, addressing Ouro Preto. “We were just admiring it all!”