While I was thus talking I heard, through my own speech, that Isabella invited the stranger to dine on the following Thursday.
"I have another engagement," he answered, consulting a small note-book. "But that can be conveniently forgotten."
Isabella seemed to like such exceedingly small social change, for she smiled brightly as he rose to take his leave.
To the Vicomtesse he paid a pretty little compliment in French, anticipating much enjoyment on the following Thursday in improving upon his slight acquaintance. He shook hands with me, his gaze fixed on my necktie. He then bowed to Lucille and Alphonse, who were talking together at the end of the room, and made a self-possessed exit.
"Who is your friend?" I asked Isabella bluntly, when the door was closed.
"A Mr. Devar. Does he interest you?"
There was something in Isabella's tone that betokened a readiness, or perhaps a desire, to fight Mr. Devar's battles. Had I been a woman, or wiser than I have ever proved myself, I should, no doubt, have ignored this challenge instead of promptly meeting it by my answer:
"I cannot say he does."
"You seem to object to him," she said sharply. "Please remember that he is a friend of mine."
"He cannot be one of long standing," I was foolish enough to answer. "For he is not an East Country man, and I never heard of him before."