"Who is it?" she asked.
"A chap worth knowing; a reporter just a little out of the ordinary. I'm going to introduce him. You never can tell. We might need him some day. Ah, Norton, how are you?"
"Good evening, Mr. Braine." The reporter, catching sight of a pair of dazzling eyes, hesitated.
"The Countess Perigoff, Norton. You're in no hurry, are you?"
THE PRINCESS PERIGOFF
"Not now," smiled the reporter.
"Ah!" said the countess, interested. It was the old compliment, said in an unusual way. It pleased her.
The reporter sank into a chair. When inactive he was rather a dreamy-eyed sort of chap. He possessed that rare accomplishment of talking upon one subject and thinking upon another at the same time. So while he talked gaily with the young woman on varied themes, his thoughts were busy speculating upon her companion. He was quite certain that the name Braine was assumed, but he was also equally certain that the man carried an extraordinary brain under his thatch of salt and pepper hair. The man had written three or four brilliant monographs on poisons and the uses of radium, and it was through and by these that the reporter had managed to pick up his acquaintance. He lived well, but inconspicuously.