My eyes were almost popping from my head.
"Is—is he a count?" I cried, so loudly that they all said "sh!" and shot apprehensive glances toward the pseudo Mr. Pless.
"Goodness!" said Elsie in alarm. "Don't shout, John."
Billy Smith regarded me speculatively. "I dare say Mr. Smart has read all about the affair in the newspapers. They've had nothing else lately. I won't say he is a count, and I won't say he isn't. We're bound by a deep, dark, sinister oath, sealed with blood."
"I haven't seen anything about it in the papers," said I, trying to recover my self-possession which had sustained a most tremendous shock.
"Thank heaven!" cried Elsie devoutly.
"Do you mean to say you won't tell me his name?" I demanded.
Elsie eyed me suspiciously. "Why did you ask if he is a count?"
"I have a vague recollection of hearing some one speak of a count having trouble with his young American wife, divorce, or something of the sort. A very prominent New York girl, if I'm not mistaken. All very hazy, however. What is his name?"
"John," said Mrs. Hazzard firmly, "you must not ask us to tell you. Won't you please understand?"