“Dear ladies!” interposed the Count with his ready tact, “remember his excuse.”
“His excuse?”
“The beauty, the charm, the wit of the lady who took by storm a heart not easily captured! He himself, poor fellow, thought it love-proof; but he had not then met HER. Think mercifully of him!”
He was so careful to give no indication which of the rival belles was “her,” that each was able to take to herself a certain mournful consolation.
“That wasn't MUCH excuse,” said Eleanor, yet with a less vindictive air.
“Certainly not VERY much,” murmured Eva.
“He ought to have thought of the pain he was giving HER,” added Eleanor.
“Yes,” said Eva. “Indeed he ought!”
“Yes, that is true,” allowed the Count; “but remember his punishment! To be married already now proves to be less his fault than his misfortune.”
By this time he had insidiously led them back to their car.