“What does it matter to you?” she asked. “What do you care?”
“Come into the conservatory for a few minutes,” he begged. “You know that I take no wine and I prefer not to return into the dining room. I would like so much instead to talk to you before you see Sir Charles.”
She hesitated. He stood by her side patiently waiting.
“Remember,” he said, “that I am a somewhat privileged person just now. My days here are numbered, you see.”
She turned toward the conservatories.
“Very well,” she said, “I must be like every one else, I suppose, and spoil you. How dare you come and make us all so fond of you that we look upon your departure almost as a tragedy!”
He smiled.
“Indeed,” he declared, “there is a note of tragedy even in these simplest accidents of life. I have been very happy amongst you all, Miss Penelope. You have been so much kinder to me than I have deserved. You have thrown a bridge across the gulf which separates us people of alien tongues and alien manners. Life has been a pleasant thing for me here.”
“Why do you go so soon?” she whispered.
“Miss Penelope,” he answered, “to those others who ask me that question, I shall say that my mission is over, that my report has been sent to my Emperor, and that there is nothing left for me to do but to follow it home. I could add, and it would be true, that there is very much work for me still to accomplish in my own country. To you alone I am going to say something else.”