'If I remember,' said Logotheti, 'I offered you the owner with the yacht. But I fancy you thought me too "exotic," as Countess Leven calls me.'
'Oh, much!' Margaret laughed again, and then lowered her voice, 'by the bye, who is she?'
'Lady Maud? Didn't you know her? She is Lord Creedmore's daughter, one of seven or eight, I believe. She married a Russian in the diplomatic service, four years ago—Count Leven—but everybody here calls her Lady Maud. She hadn't a penny, for the Creedmores are poor. Leven was supposed to be rich, but there are all sorts of stories about him, and he's often hard up. As for her, she always wears that black velvet gown, and I've been told that she has no other. I fancy she gets a new one every year. But people say—'
Logotheti broke off suddenly.
'What do they say?' Margaret was interested.
'No, I shall not tell you, because I don't believe it.'
'If you say you don't believe the story, what harm can there be in telling it?'
'No harm, perhaps. But what is the use of repeating a bit of wicked gossip?'
Margaret's curiosity was roused about the beautiful Englishwoman.
'If you won't tell me, I may think it is something far worse!'