“Take your cousin, Count Beppo Polda,” went on M. Popeau meditatively. “I should think that ever since he reached man’s estate he has been—shall we say pursued?—by pretty ladies desiring his friendship. Any girl who marries Beppo Polda must make up her mind to endure the torments of jealousy. I suspect,” said M. Popeau, looking down into Lily’s open, flushed, ingenuous, and, yes, exceedingly pretty face, “that you, Mademoiselle, are among the few happy human beings in Monte Carlo who really do not know what jealousy is?”
Lily hesitated. “It’s quite true,” she said slowly; “I don’t remember ever feeling jealous—not really jealous!”
M. Popeau drew a long breath. “That shows you have never been in love,” he said quietly. “But to return to Count Beppo. I happen to know that he is acquainted with one lady who very often does him the honour of being jealous of him.”
“Poor Beppo!” said Lily. “How horrid for him!” Then—for this little bit of gossip interested her very much—“Is Beppo in love, M. Popeau?”
“He has been in love for a very long time,” answered her companion gravely.
Lily felt thrilled, and yes, just a trifle disappointed.
“Do you mean,” she said, “that Beppo is engaged? If so, I’m sure his parents don’t know it.”
“Engaged? Oh no”; the Frenchman looked curiously surprised. “When I said that Count Beppo Polda is in love, I mean the phrase in a general sense. He is in love with love——”
“Oh! Is that all?” Lily felt relieved.
M. Popeau went on: “The Count, for the moment, is what you call in England fancy free. Still, he is now absorbed in a very important quest—that of finding for himself a rich wife. Meanwhile he, of course, amuses himself——” he said the words in a very significant tone, and Lily blushed a deep, unbecoming blush. She felt a little indignant. She realised that M. Popeau thought that Beppo would flirt with her, and that she, Lily, would not be able to help falling in love with him!