“I think you will agree with me,” said the mother, “that last question was a little too much.”
“Certainly it would be if it were addressed to a stranger, but not to me who am his friend. You will notice that the reply he extracted from me did me honour. If I had not wished it to be known that I had been at Court, I should not have come here in this dress.”
“Very good; but as you like to be questioned, may I ask you why you were not presented by your own ambassador?”
“Because the Venetian ambassador would not present me, knowing that his Government have a bone to pick with me.”
By this time we had come to the dessert, and poor Sophie had not uttered a syllable.
“Say something to M. de Seingalt,” said her mother.
“I don’t know what to say,” she answered. “Tell M. de Seingalt to ask me some questions, and I will answer to the best of my ability.”
“Well, Sophie, tell me in what studies you are engaged at the present time.”
“I am learning drawing; if you like I will shew you some of my work.”
“I will look at it with pleasure; but tell me how you think you have offended me; you have a guilty air.”