"Scarcely that," Phyllis answered. "He is a very old friend, and he was rather hard to get rid of."
"I think," the Marquise said, "you would get rid of all very willingly for the sake of one, eh?"
The Marquise stared insolently into the girl's face. Phyllis only laughed.
"One is usually considered the ideal number—in our country," she remarked demurely.
"But the one?" the Marquise continued. "He would not be one of these cold, heavy countrymen of yours, no? You have learnt better perhaps over here?"
It was a cross-examination, but Phyllis could not imagine its drift.
"I have not had very much opportunity over here, have I, to amend my ideals?" she asked. "I think the only two Frenchmen I have met are the Marquis and that languid young man with the green tie, the Vicomte de Bergillac, wasn't it?"
The Marquise watched her charge closely.
"Well," she said, "he is comme il faut, is he not? You find him more elegant, more chic than your Englishmen, eh?"
Phyllis shook her head regretfully.