“I believe not, sir,” he answered, with that pleasant smile which had gone such a long way toward winning him the reputation of being “a good fellow” amongst a fairly large circle of friends. “I believe at any rate,” he added, glancing at his programme, “that this is my own. You mistake me, probably, for some one else.”
Peter Ruff, without saying a word, was actor enough to suggest that he was unconvinced. The Count good-humouredly held out his programme.
“You shall see for yourself,” he remarked. “That is not yours, is it? Besides, I have not been to the buffet at all this evening.”
Peter Ruff cast a swift glance down the programme which the Count had handed him. Then he apologised profusely.
“I was mistaken,” he admitted. “I am very sorry.”
The Count bowed.
“It is of no consequence, sir,” he said, and resumed his conversation.
Peter Ruff passed on with Lady Mary. At a safe distance, she glanced at him enquiringly.
“It was his programme I wanted to see,” Peter Ruff explained. “It is as I thought. He has had four dances with the Countess—”
“Who is she?” Lady Mary asked, quickly.