He hesitated. His companion laughed softly at his embarrassment.
"Do not forget," she interrupted, "that I am Austrian—Austrian, that is to say, with much English in my blood. What you say about Germans does not greatly concern me."
"Of course," Norgate resumed, as he watched the champagne poured into his glass, "one is too much inclined to form one's conclusions about a nation from the types one meets travelling, and you know what the Germans have done for Monte Carlo and the Riviera—even, to a lesser extent, for Paris and Rome. Wherever they have been, for the last few years, they seem to have left the trail of the nouveaux riches. It is not only their clothes but their manners and bearing which affront."
The woman leaned her head for a moment against the tips of her slim and beautifully cared for fingers. She looked steadfastly across the table at her vis-à-vis.
"Now that you are here," she said softly, "you must forget those things. You are a diplomatist, and it is for you, is it not, outwardly, at any rate, to see only the good of the country in which your work lies."
Norgate flushed very slightly. His companion's words had savoured almost of a reproof.
"You are quite right," he admitted. "I have been here for a month, though, and you are the first person to whom I have spoken like this. And you yourself," he pointed out, "encouraged me, did you not, when you insisted upon your Austro-English nationality?"
"You must not take me too seriously," she begged, smiling. "I spoke foolishly, perhaps, but only for your good. You see, Mr. Francis Norgate, I am just a little interested in you and your career."
"And I, dear Baroness," he replied, smiling across at her, "am more than a little interested in—you."
She unfurled her fan.