"But don't think of coming, Mr. Smart," she declared, "if you feel you cannot spare the time away from your work."
I began to feel heartily ashamed of my boorishness. After all, why should I expend my unpleasant humour on her?
"My dear Countess," I exclaimed, displaying a livelier interest than at any time before, "I shall be delighted to come. Permit me to add that my work may go hang."
Her face brightened. "But men must work," she objected.
"Not when women are willing to play," I said.
"Splendid!" she cried. "You are reviving. I feel better. If you are going to be nice, I'll let you stay."
"Thanks. I'll do my best."
She seemed to be weighing something in her mind. Her chin was in her hands, her elbows resting on the edge of the table. She was regarding me with speculative eyes.
"If you don't mind what the servants are saying about us, Mr. Smart, I am quite sure I do not."
I caught my breath.