"Look at her!" Julian said, on a note so new in Napier's experience of him that he stood silent a moment, looking, not at the girl, but at his friend.
Napier was still in the phase of being immensely diverted at the spiffing progress of old Julian's flirtation—so much better for him than addling his brains over that scheme of internationalism that was going to save the world.
"Look at her," Julian repeated, "did you ever see anybody so, so ... God's-in-His-Heaven,-all's-well-with-the-world!"
"Look here, Julian, I hope you're not...."
"Well, do you know, I'm afraid I am," said his friend. "I don't really quite understand what it is that's happened. But something has."
With that childlike directness that was part of Julian's charm for the more complex mind, he turned to Napier just before the von Schwarzenberg came within earshot. "There's a fly in the precious ointment," he said. "This rot about her going to London. Look here, Napier, the von Schwarzenberg woman would do anything for you. Make her leave the girl in peace here."
"Impossible!" Napier said with decision. "How could I ask such a thing, you unpractical being!"
"That woman" was too near now for more, and Julian sheered off toward the figure on the sky-line.
On the way back to the hall, Miss von Schwarzenberg talked more intimately than ever she had to Napier. She told him about her home in Hanover. About her childhood. Her "years of exile." So she spoke of America. She had a story of how an odious Chicago millionaire had wanted to marry her.
"But why do I tell you all this?"