A footman entered and handed the Duke a visiting card, with something penciled on it....
“It’s Bigler,” he said, “and he asks to be admitted immediately—he’s always in a rush. Tell Count Bigler I’ll see him presently.”
She stayed the servant with a motion; she did not intend to lose Lotzen until he had told her the whole plot.
“Why not have him here?” she asked; “and then let him go.”
“By all means, if you will permit,” and he nodded to the footman.
Most women would have called Count Bigler handsome; and not a few men, as well. He was red-headed and ruddy, with clean-cut features, square chin, and a laughing mouth, that contrary to Valerian fashion was not topped by a moustache. Since boyhood, he had been Lotzen’s particular companion and intimate; and, as is usual in such instances, he was almost his antipode in temperament and manner.
He saluted the Duke with easy off-handedness, and bent with deferential courtesy over Mrs. Spencer’s hand; but pressing it altogether more tightly than the attitude justified.
She answered with the faintest finger tap and a quick smile, and waved him to a chair.
“If I’m de trop,” she said, “I’ll vacate.”
“Madame is never de trop, to me,” he answered, taking the cigarette she offered and smiling down at her, through the smoke, as he lit it.