"Oh, we don't want any of that," put in Planefield. "You are good enough for us."
She turned her attention to him. Her eyes met his with the most ingenuous candor, and yet the little smile in them was too steady not to carry suggestion with it.
"Quite?" she said.
"Yes, quite," he answered, not so entirely at ease as before.
Her little smile did not waver in the least.
"Do you know," she said, "it seems almost incredible, but I will try to believe it. Now," she said to Tredennis, "if Senator Planefield will excuse me for a moment, I will take you into the other room. You shall speak to Mrs. Sylvestre. He has already seen her. Will you come?"
"I shall be very glad," he answered. He followed as she led him to the adjoining room. On its threshold she paused an instant.
"Exactly as I expected," she said. "She is listening to Mr. Arbuthnot."
Mr. Arbuthnot was standing at the end of the low mantel. He held a cup of coffee in his hand, but had apparently forgotten it in giving his attention to his very charming companion. This companion was, of course, Mrs. Sylvestre herself. Tredennis recognized her clear, faintly tinted face and light, willowy figure at once. She wore a dress of black lace, with purple passion-flowers, and she was looking at Arbuthnot with reflective eyes, almost the color of the flowers. She did not seem to be talking herself, but she was listening beautifully, with a graceful, receptive attention. Arbuthnot evidently felt it, and was improving his shining hour with a sense of enjoyment tempered by no lack of ability to avail himself of its fleeting pleasure.