"I was quite sure that you were out," she explained. "I opened Ludwig the Red an inch or two, that's all. You are quite cosy in there, aren't you? I envy you the grand old chaise longe."
I wavered, but succeeded in subduing the impulse. "It is the only comfortable piece of furniture I have left in my apartments," said I, with convincing candour.
"You poor man," she said, with her rarest smile. "How fortunate you are that I did not remember the chaise longe. You would have been deprived of it, I am quite sure. Of course I couldn't think of robbing you of it now."
"As a matter of fact, I never lie in it," I said, submitting to a once conquered impulse. "If you'd really like to have it, I'll see that it is taken up to your rooms at once."
"Thank you," she said, shaking her head. "It's kind of you, but I am not so selfish as all that, believe me."
"It is—quite in the way, Countess."
"Some one would be sure to miss it if you sent it up now," she said reflectively.
"We'll wait till they're all gone," said I.
She smiled and the bargain was settled without a word from her. You've heard of men being wrapped about little fingers, haven't you? Well, there you are. We returned to the corridor. She closed the door softly, a mockery in view of the clatter I had made in shifting the bed and its impediments.
"We can't be too careful," she said in a whisper. She might have spoken through a megaphone and still been quite safe. We were tramping up the stairs. "Don't you think your guests will consider you rather inhospitable if you stay away from them all morning?"