He smiled. "If I answer at all, be sure it will be truthful."
"Tell me then, is Mr. Baggin your friend?"
"He is my dearest enemy," he returned promptly.
She drew a deep breath of relief. "And my father?" The question was a whisper. She appeared to hang upon his reply.
The count hesitated. "I do not know," he admitted finally. "If he were not influenced by Mr. Baggin, I believe he would be my friend."
For the first time that evening Doris looked at him with warmth in her manner. "By that," she said, smiling faintly, "I know you have told the truth. My father likes you, but Mr. Baggin sways him completely." The smile deepened in her eyes and she laughed a little unsteadily. "You—you will be kind, and forgive my rudeness and—and my anger?" The coldness had departed from her face completely and she was charming.
The count looked hard at her. Her glance wavered, fell, and met his again for a long moment. Her colour heightened, and her breath came more quickly. A cloud of passion was about them. It brushed them with invisible wings.
He broke the spell.
"I am happy to have convinced you of my—ah—sincerity," he murmured. "And you do, in truth, believe me?"
She laughed softly. "Yes."