“I beg that you will do nothing of the sort,” Mr. Sabin protested. “I am, as a matter of fact, most deeply interested.”
“You encourage me,” Mr. Brott declared, “to ask you a question—to me a very important question.”
“It will give me great pleasure,” Mr. Sabin assured him, “if I am able to answer it.”
“You know,” Mr. Brott said, “of that portion of her life concerning which I have asked no questions, but which somehow, whenever I think of it, fills me with a certain amount of uneasiness. I refer to the last three years which the Countess has spent in America.”
Mr. Sabin looked up, and his lips seemed to move, but he said nothing. Mr. Brott felt perhaps that he was on difficult ground.
“I recognise the fact,” he continued slowly, “that you are the friend of the Countess, and that you and I are nothing more than the merest acquaintances. I ask my question therefore with some diffidence. Can you tell me from your recent, more intimate knowledge of the Countess and her affairs, whether there exists any reason outside her own inclinations why she should not accept my proposals of marriage?”
Mr. Sabin had the air of a man gravely surprised. He shook his head very slightly.
“You must not ask me such a question as that, Mr. Brott,” he said. “It is not a subject which I could possibly discuss with you. But I have no objection to going so far as this. My experience of the Countess is that she is a woman of magnificent and effective will power. I think if she has any desire to marry you there are or could be no obstacles existing which she would not easily dispose of.”
“There are obstacles, then?”
“You must not ask me that,” Mr. Sabin said, with a certain amount of stiffness. “The Countess is a very dear friend of mine, and you must forgive me now if I say that I prefer not to discuss her any longer.”