"Of course, I don't mind, Countess," I hastened to say. "Only I thought it would be cosier up there with Rosemary and the two maids for company."
She leaned a little closer to me. "We all sleep down here," she said confidentially. "We bring Rosemary's little mattress down every night and put it in the bathtub. It is a very good fit and makes quite a nice cradle for her. Helene and Blake sleep just across the hall and we leave the doors wide open. So, you see, we're not one bit afraid."
I sat down on the edge of the bed and laughed.
"This is delicious," I cried, not without compunction for I was looking directly into her eager, wistful eyes. A shadow crossed them. "I beg your pardon. I—I can't help laughing."
"Pray do not stop laughing on my account," she said icily. "I am used to being laughed at since I left America. They laugh at all of us over here."
"I dare say they laugh at me, confound them," said I, lugubriously.
"They do," said she flatly. Before I could quite recover from this sentient dig, she was ordering me to put the bathtub where it belonged. This task completed, I looked up. She was standing near the head of the bed, with a revolver in her hand. I stared. "I keep it under my pillow, Mr. Smart," she said nervously. I said nothing, and she replaced it under the pillow, handling the deadly weapon as gingerly as if it were the frailest glass. "Of course I couldn't hit anything with it, and I know I should scream when it went off, but still—accidents will happen, you know."
"Urn!" said I, judicially. "And so my study is just beyond this mirror, eh? May I enquire how you happen to know that I have my study there?"
"Oh, I peeked in the other day," she said, serene once more.
"The deuce you did!"