“I am.”
Mrs. Harrington gave a strange little laugh.
“What a rich man you are!” she said. “Come! Let us go to dinner.”
She took the Count’s arm, and led the way to the dining-room. She was visibly absent-minded at first, as if pondering over something which had come as a surprise to her. Then she woke from her reverie, and, turning to Fitz, said--
“And what do you think of the Baleares?”
“I like them,” returned Fitz curtly.
He thought it was bad taste thus to turn the conversation upon a subject which could only be painful to Eve. He only thought of Eve, and therefore did not notice the patient endurance of the Count’s face.
De Lloseta was taking his soup with a slow concentration of his attention upon its flavour, as if trying not to hear the conversation. Mrs. Harrington looked sharply at him, and in doing so failed to intercept a glance, exchanged by Fitz and Eve across the table.
“Why are you here?” Fitz seemed to be asking.
And Eve reassured him by a little smile.