"I wonder that man is not ashamed to be seen in a respectable place," she snapped, "with his long hair and his bracelet—such effeminacy is perfectly disgusting, Erasmus."
"I really cannot help it, my dear," Canon Ebley replied, irritably, "and I rather like his face."
"Erasmus!" was all Mrs. Ebley could say, and prepared to return to her room. Dinner would be at a quarter to eight, she told Stella at her door, and recommended an hour's quiet reading up of the guide-book while resting to her niece.
It was quarter after six before Miss Rawson descended the stairs to the hall again. She had deliberately made up her mind—she would go and drive with the count. She would live and amuse herself, if it was only for this once in her life, come what might of it! And since he would be presented with all respectable ceremony at the English Embassy the following night, it could not matter a bit—and if it did—! Well, she did not care!
He was sitting there as immovable as before, and she thrilled as she crossed the hall. She was so excited and frightened that she could almost have turned back when she reached the street, but there, standing by the trees, was a large blue motor car, and as she advanced the chauffeur stepped forward and opened the door, and she got in—and before she had time to realize what she had done, Count Roumovski had joined her and sat down by her side.
"You have no wrap," he said. "I thought you would not have, so I had prepared this," and he indicated a man's gray Russian, unremarkable-looking cloak, which, however, proved to be lined with fine sable, "and here, also, is a veil. If you will please me by putting them on, we can then have the auto open and no one will recognize you—even should we meet your uncle and aunt; that is fun, is it not?"
Stella had thrown every consideration to the winds, except the determination to enjoy herself. Years of rebellion at the boredom of her existence seemed to be urging her on. So she meekly slipped into the cloak, and wrapped the veil right over her hat, and they started. Her heart was thumping so with excitement she could not have spoken for a moment.
But as they went rapidly on through the crowded streets, her companion's respectful silence reassured her. There seemed to be some rapport between them, she was conscious of a feeling that he understood her thoughts, and was not misjudging her.
"You are like a little frightened bird," he said presently. "And there is nothing to cause you the least fear. We shall soon come to the lovely gardens, and watch the lowering sun make its beautiful effects in the trees, and we shall hear the nightingales throbbing out love songs—the world is full of rest and peace—when we have had enough passion and strife and want its change—but you do not know anything of it, and this simple drive is causing you tumults and emotions—is it not so?"
"Yes," said Stella, with a feeling that she had burnt all her ships.