'I think not,' Rallywood replied.
'I thought you would be sure to be in attendance'—she glanced carelessly towards the daïs where the Countess was at the moment laying her fan on Counsellor's knee—'as usual.'
'No, Unziar is the lucky man,' Rallywood answered without significance in his tone.
'Nonsense! Anthony is her cousin!' said the girl impatiently.
Rallywood's grey eyes were on her face.
'Whose cousin? What do you mean?' he asked innocently.
Valerie bit her lip. She hated this Englishman. Of all her acquaintances he alone, in his blundering way, was able to put her somehow at a disadvantage.
'When the Duke goes to Sagan,' she said, without noticing his question, 'the Count has the privilege as colonel-in-chief of the Guard, of inviting any two officers he pleases to act with the escort. So we shall see.'
'I wonder,' said Rallywood after a pause, 'where you get your impressions from, Mademoiselle?'
'I see—like other people. We all form our judgments on what we see and—know!'