“Caliphronas! Who is he? what is it? man, woman, or child, or something to eat?”
“The first—a Greek. Count Constantine Caliphronas.”
“Phœbus! what a name!” ejaculated Crispin, lighting his cigarette. “Who is he?”
“A Greek nobleman.”
“Humph! I mistrust Greek noblemen.”
“Well, they have got a bad name,” said Maurice quite apologetically; “but I don’t think this one is a chevalier d’industrie.”
“The exception which proves the rule, perhaps,” replied Crispin idly; “but really I have no right to call the Greeks names, as on the whole they are not bad. I have a good many friends among the countrymen of Plato.”
“Do you know Caliphronas?”
“Ah, that I cannot tell until I see him.”
“Well, you will see him soon, as he is coming to stay here for a few days.”