Peter smiled gravely and sympathetically.
“And your brother? Does he, too, share your gregarious instincts?”
Korust paused for a moment before replying. His eyes were quite wide open now. If one could judge from his expression, one would certainly have said that the Baron de Grost’s attempts to ingratiate himself with his host were distinctly unsuccessful.
“My brother has exactly opposite instincts,” he said slowly. “He finds no pleasure in society. At the sound of a woman’s voice, he hides.”
“He is not here, then?” Peter asked, glancing around.
Andrea Korust shook his head.
“It is doubtful whether he joins us this evening at all,” he declared. “My sister, however, is wholly of my disposition. Monsieur le Baron will permit that I present him.”
Peter bowed low before a very handsome young woman with flashing black eyes, and a type of features undoubtedly belonging to one of the countries of eastern Europe. She was picturesquely dressed in a gown of flaming red silk, made as though in one piece, without trimming or flounces, and she seemed inclined to bestow upon her new acquaintance all the attention that he might desire. She took him at once into a corner and seated herself by his side. It was impossible for Peter not to associate the empressement of her manner with the few words which Andrea Korust had whispered into her ear at the moment of their introduction.
“So you,” she murmured, “are the wonderful Baron de Grost. I have heard of you so often.”
“Wonderful!” Peter repeated, with twinkling eyes. “I have never been called that before. I feel that I have no claims whatever to distinction, especially in a gathering like this.”