‘No; I have been sitting here by the river instead. I hope you are well?’
‘Quite well, I thank you. And your——’
The countess had seen and accosted him, and he turned towards her.
‘You stay late to-night, gnädige Frau,’ said he, kissing her hand with sedate gravity.
‘Mr. Wellfield! ah, that reminds me—your Herr Vater, how is he—any better? I sent one of my men to inquire while we were in the concert, but have not seen him yet.’
She was a very pretty woman of eight or nine and twenty—a small, brilliant brunette; and Jerome Wellfield was dark too, yet the contrast between them was a startling one.
‘I thank you,’ he answered; ‘my father is somewhat stronger to-night. I trust he will soon be quite well again.’
‘I hope so; and your sister, she is not with you to-night?’
‘Avice—she did not wish to leave my father; and then, she is a child as yet.’
‘Is she? I should have said—What is it?’