She leaned forward and touched his coat sleeve.
“You had forgotten nothing,” she declared eagerly. “There is something in your mind of which you have not spoken.”
“No,” he replied, “I have spoken a great deal of my mind—too much, perhaps, considering that we are seated in this very fashionable lounge, with many people around us. We must talk of these serious matters on another occasion, Countess. I shall pay my respects to your aunt, if I may, within the next few days.”
“Why do you fence with me?” she persisted, drawing on her gloves. “You and I both know, so far as regards those peace terms, that—”
“If we both know,” he interrupted, “let us keep each our own knowledge. Words are sometimes very dangerous, and great events are looming. So, Countess! You have perhaps a car, or may I have the pleasure of escorting you to your destination?”
“I am going to Westminster,” she told him, rising to her feet.
“In that case,” he observed, as they made their way down the room, “perhaps I had better not offer my escort, although I should very much like to be there in person. You are amongst those to-day who will make history.”
“Come and see me soon,” she begged, dropping her voice a little, “and I will confide in you as much as I dare.”
“It is tempting,” he admitted, “I should like to know what passes at that meeting.”
“You can, if you will, dine with us to-morrow night,” she invited, “at half-past eight. My aunt will be delighted to see you. I forget whether we have people coming or not, but you will be very welcome.”