"I protest!" cried that gentleman. "Don't you believe them, Madame Darcy. I'm entirely harmless."
"Yes?" she said. "I thought one must never believe a diplomat."
"Oh, at the present day, and in a country like England, our duties are very prosaic."
"Come now, confess," cried Miss Fitzgerald, laughing. "Haven't you some delightfully mysterious intrigue on hand, that you either spend your days in concealing from your brother diplomats, or are dying to find out, as the case may be?"
"I'm sorry to disappoint you," he replied gravely, "but my duties and tastes are not in the least romantic."
"At least, not in the direction of diplomacy," murmured the Lieutenant, giving the waiter a directive glance towards his empty champagne glass.
"You have a beautiful country, Miss Fitzgerald," came the soft voice of Madame Darcy, who had heard the aside, and was sorry for the young girl at whom it was directed.
"Oh, Ireland, you mean. Yes, I love it."
"We are mostly Irish here," laughed Lieutenant Kingsland. "One of my ancestors carried a blackthorn, and Miss Belle Fitzgerald."
"Belle Fitzgerald!" she said, starting and looking keenly at the Irish girl, who turned towards her as her name was mentioned, "are you the Belle Fitzgerald who knows my husband, Colonel Darcy—so—well——"