But he wanted a quid pro quo, nevertheless. If he paid Miss Byrd $100 a month to manage his daughter’s social affairs, he wanted her to earn the money. And as neither his daughter nor his wife had any idea as to the social secretary’s real mission, she found her hands full.
A week passed without significant event—or at least without event that seemed significant to Miss Byrd. Twice a week the ladies served tea informally to all who liked to drop in, and on these occasions the members of the various legations and embassies were always present in good numbers. But they clustered around Miss Pratt—who was both pretty and interesting—almost as numerously as they did about the countess, although the latter had been the attraction that had drawn them to the house. The talk was necessarily polyglot, though mostly in either French or English, but so far as Miss Byrd could see, the countess indulged in no private conversations with any one. What she did when away from home Miss Byrd could not always tell, for of course she was not invited to many of the entertainments attended by the countess and Miss Pratt. However, she knew that McNew had other spies there.
As the days went by, the anxiety of those who were watching grew apace. The rebels in Brazil were steadily becoming more and more powerful, and the German newspapers were advocating their recognition as belligerents.
The Japanese were growing more insistent in their demands. Some of the papers were clamoring for war. If there was really anything in the supposed plot, the crisis must be drawing near.
Thinking over it all, Risdon made up his mind that the arrival of Ouro Preto, who was still speeding northward, would be followed by important events. And still no clue could be discovered.
At last, however, partial enlightenment came. The Pratt parlors had been crowded that afternoon, but the crowd had thinned out until only half a dozen callers remained. Three of these were grouped around Miss Pratt, and the other three around the countess. With a sudden shock Miss Byrd, sitting at the tea table noticed that these latter three were the German and Japanese ambassadors and the latter’s wife; suddenly she remembered that the last, though for forty years married to a Japanese, was German by birth.
As she bent her face over the teacups, to hide the flush that rose in her cheeks at the sudden realization of what this might mean, the countess leaned toward the Japanese ambassador. “Did you see Maude Adams last night, Baron?” she asked. “How do you like her?” Then without the slightest change in her sprightly tones she slipped into German; “and, Baron,” she questioned; “when do you present your demands to the President?”
In spite of herself, Miss Byrd started. Instantly she realized that here was the unsuspected channel of communication. Relying on the ignorance of the rest of the household of rapid vernacular German, the countess, with insolent daring, had done her plotting under the eyes of everybody.
But the Japanese ambassador was speaking, and there was no time for considering other things.
“Charming!” he said in English; but—he changed to German—“I shall never present them.”