"Very well. Then it will be a castle in—in New York. That sounds tangible enough, surely. It is the first step that counts, and you have only to take your first step. It will certainly look much better to know some of your courtiers before you ascend your throne. And meanwhile it would be far more discreet to cultivate an acquaintance with your probable prime minister."
"All of which means—?" she said.
"That you had best let me accompany you to Mrs. Dares's house this evening."
"But I am not invited!" exclaimed Pauline.
"Oh yes, you are," said Kindelon, with easy security in the jocund contradiction. "Miss Cora, the youngest daughter of Mrs. Dares, told me last night that she and her mother would both be very glad to have you come."
There was a momentary intonation in Kindelon's voice that struck his listener as oddly unexpected. "So you have already spoken of me?" she said lingeringly, and looking at him with more intentness than she herself knew of.
"Yes," he replied, with a certain speed, and with tones that were not just set in an unembarrassed key. "I go there now and then."
"And you have mentioned me to Mrs. Dares?"
"Yes—more than once, I think. She knows that you may be induced to come this evening."
His glance, usually so direct, had managed to avoid Pauline's, which was then very direct indeed.