"To me," she admitted, "he seemed like an exceedingly precocious spoilt child!"
"He is twenty-three," the Marquise declared.
Phyllis laughed softly.
"Well," she said, "I do not think that I shall amend my ideals for the sake of the Vicomte de Bergillac!"
The Marquise looked at her doubtfully.
"Tell me, child," she said, "you mean, then, that of the two—your English Sir George Duncombe and Henri—you would prefer Sir George?"
Phyllis looked at her with twinkling eyes.
"You would really like to know?" she asked.
"Yes!"
"Sir George Duncombe—infinitely!"