"Ned," he said abruptly, "you must resign Miss Morgeson; I am here to see her."
"Of course," Ned answered; "I relinquish."
Before a word was spoken between us, Mrs. Munster touched Desmond on the shoulder, and told him that he must come with her, to be introduced to Count Montholon.
"Bring him here, please."
"Tyrant," she answered playfully, "the Count shall come."
He brought a chair. "Take this; you are pale. You have been ill." Bringing another, he seated himself before me and fanned himself with his hat.
Mrs. Munster came back with the Count, an elderly man, and Desmond rose to meet him, keeping his hand on the back of his chair. They spoke French. The freedom of their conversation precluded the idea of my understanding it. The Count made a remark about me. Desmond replied, glancing at me, and both pulled their mustaches. The Count was called away soon, and Desmond resumed his chair.
"I understood you," I said.
"The deuce you did."
He placed his hat over a vase of flowers, which tipping over, he leisurely righted, and bending toward me, said: