Lord Maxwell, seeing them engrossed, dropped his voice. “I’m surprised to see the count here,” he observed. “He and his sister are to see the Emperor at eleven o’clock, aren’t they? That’s only two hours from now.”
Topham started. He had been listening to his lordship, but he had been watching Lillian, wondering how he could have thought her so beautiful. The regular features, the peachy complexion, the melting blue eyes were all there, but something had gone out of them, leaving them insipid. Almost without thinking, he was comparing them with the rich coloring of the Countess Elsa.
Lord Maxwell’s words startled him. He had distinctly understood Ouro Preto to say that his approaching audience was set for the next day; and he had certainly said nothing about his sister.
“Not tonight! Tomorrow,” he answered. “I’m surprised that you have heard of it. I did not know the fact was generally known.”
“It isn’t,” rejoined his lordship, drily; “and it’s not for tomorrow; it’s for eleven o’clock tonight. I suppose your government does not object?”
Topham stared. He remembered that Ouro Preto had also inquired as to possible objections. “Why should it,” he questioned, in some bewilderment. “What has the United States to do with the creation or re-creation of a German duchy?”
Lord Maxwell glanced sharply at the American, as if wondering whether his words were as ingenuous as his tones. For a moment he hesitated; then went on.
“One never can tell,” he remarked, lightly. “He is an old friend of yours, I believe?”
Topham shook his head. “Not an old friend,” he corrected. “I only met him today. He seems a very pleasant fellow.”
Lord Maxwell choked over the last of his soda. “I—ah—believe he is noted for his—er—affectionate nature,” he murmured, when he recovered his voice. “I should like to know whether the count’s friendship for you survives his meeting with the Emperor. Come and see me in a few days, won’t you, Mr. Topham?”