He hesitated.
“Oh, very well; I thought you trusted me.”
He struck the bell. “Show Count Bigler here,” he ordered. Then when the maid had gone: “There, Madeline, that should satisfy you, for I have no idea what brings him.”
She went quickly to him, and leaning over his shoulder lightly kissed his cheek.
“I knew you trusted me, dear,” she said, “but a woman likes to have it demonstrated, now and then.”
He turned to catch her; but she sprang away.
“No, Ferdinand, no,” as he pursued her; “the Count is coming—go and sit down.”—She tried to reach her boudoir, but with a laugh he headed her off, and slowly drove her into a corner.
“Surrender,” he said; “I’ll be merciful.”
For answer there came the swish of high-held skirts, a vision of black silk stockings and white lace, and she was across a huge sofa, and, with flushed face and merry eyes, had turned and faced him.
And as they stood so, Count Bigler was announced.