“Two zings I haf not zere,” replied the Baron, waving his hand round towards the horizon. “Vun is ze vet sheet of flowing sea—says not your poet so? Ze ozzer” (laying his hand on his heart) “is ze Lady Alicia à Fyre.”
There are some people who catch sentiment whenever it happens to be in the air, just as others almost equally unfortunate regularly take hay-fever.
Lady Alicia’s reply was much softer than she intended, especially as she could have told anybody that the Baron’s compliment was the merest figure of speech.
“You needn’t have included me: I’m sure I’m not a great attraction.”
“Ze sea is less, so zat leaves none,” the Baron smiled.
“Didn’t you see anybody—I mean, anything in London that attracted you—that you liked?”
“Zat I liked, yes, zat pairhaps for the moment attracted me; but not zat shall still attract me ven I am gone avay.”
The Baron sighed this time, and she felt impelled to reply, with the most sisterly kindness, “I—we should, of course, like to think that you didn’t forget us altogether.”
“You need not fear.”
Then Lady Alicia began to realise that this was more like a second cousin than a brother, and with sudden sprightliness she cried, “I wonder where that steamer’s going!”