Had he been attired in court costume, and swept the earth with a chapeau of ostrich plumes instead of a checkered golf cap, he would have eclipsed the Grand Monarque in his own field. It was, of course, the same old salutation that had startled Longfields years ago.
Then he advanced a step. "Do you happen to speak English, madam?"
The girl hesitated a moment, then nodded.
Cyrus, delighted at the unexpected answer, took another step nearer—perhaps two or three. Joy was written in his face. His manner became, unconsciously, almost familiar.
"How fortunate! I am a stranger here. Can you tell me what place this is?"
As he moved nearer the parapet the girl had turned toward him until her face was more in the sunlight. In his own face admiration was clearly written. The girl lowered her eyes. But she made no answer.
He spoke again. "This certainly is not a hospital, is it?"
She moved her head, gently, in the negative.
"Is it the palace, or villa, of some King, or Prince or Duke—or something?"
Again the silent answer in the negative.