Her voice and accent, like that of most Virginians, was low and cultured, but to Topham, there seemed something almost English in her locutions—something he had never noticed in the old days.
The count looked around as if he had never seen the place before.
“Heavens!” he exclaimed. “So it is!”
All laughed, Lillian most brightly of all. “One can tell that you are used to it,” she mocked. “It takes strangers to note beauties—”
“Not always, Miss Byrd.”
“Oh!” Lillian clapped her hands, gaily. “Good!” she nodded. “But I don’t mean beauties that you can see; I mean those you can hear. Stop! Look! Listen!”
The night was clear. A near-by fountain chuckled in the moonlight; the leaves overhead stirred, rustling in the wind that moved along the tree tops. Far away, the mellow notes of a bugle sounded softly above the tinkle of the glasses. Frogs croaked in basso from the ponds. A lion in a near-by house roared, and a chorus of lesser animals answered.
“I always see in terms of sound,” explained Miss Byrd.
The ice cream soda was brought. The English tasted it gingerly; the Americans hopefully. Ouro Preto gulped his and swore that it was delicious.
Lord Maxwell turned to Topham and plunged into a technical discussion of the future of the airship in war, leaving Ouro Preto to the girls—that is to say, to Lillian, for Lady Ellen, unable to keep up, contented herself with an occasional “Fancy!” coupled with glances full of admiration for the two handsome creatures by her side.