"The prince admires Louise, and has done so for many years," she answered. "No one knows anything else. Louise never speaks of him to me. I cannot tell you."
"But you must know," he persisted, with a little break in his voice. "Forgive me, Sophy, if I make an ass of myself. First Lady Hilda, and then Graillot, and then—well, I thought Louise might have rung up to see whether I was at home, if she came back sooner than she expected; and the prince took the table last night!"
She leaned over and patted him on the hand.
"Don't worry," she begged. "If Louise has to choose some day between him and you, I don't think she'll hesitate very long. And please remember that you were commencing to flirt with me. I insist upon it! I won't be put off. Don't look so stern, please. You look very statuesque and perfect, but I don't want to dine with a piece of sculpture. Remember that I am really looking very pretty, and that I am finding you too attractive for my peace of mind. There's your text!"
He poured a glass of wine and drank it off.
"I'll do my best," he agreed. "If it sounds like rubbish, you can still believe that I appreciate everything you've told me. You are pretty, and I am lucky to have you here. Now I'll try to make you believe that I think so."
She leaned over so that her head almost touched his.
"Go on, please!" she murmured. "Even if it hurts afterward, it will be heavenly to listen to!"