“I shall be asking my friend, Mr. Vissering, to supper to-night,” he said suddenly. “I shall be obliged, Lily, if you would refrain from mentioning the fact that you will be out this evening. He is very fond of English people, and I do not know that he would come if he thought that he was only to be alone with your Aunt Cosy and myself.”
Lily felt just a little uncomfortable. Not for the first time she told herself that foreigners seem to have a curious dislike to telling the truth.
But the girl had many things to fill her mind just now. In a sense she was sorry that Beppo Polda was going back to Rome in two days, for she had enjoyed seeing even a little glimpse of the brilliant, amusing world of Monte Carlo in his company. Also she felt flattered at his obvious admiration and liking for herself. Nothing could be nicer than the way Beppo had behaved to her yesterday, and she resented M. Popeau’s hints and insinuations very much indeed.
These desultory thoughts passed to and fro through Lily Fairfield’s mind during the longish walk, and she was suddenly surprised to find herself and the Count in a part of the Condamine where she had never been before.
Was it here that Uncle Angelo’s business friend lived? Yes, for at last they stopped in front of a large, old-fashioned house, across which was written in large, black letters, “Utrecht Hotel.”
Walking through the open door into a small hall lit by a skylight, Count Polda shook hands in a friendly way with a respectable-looking woman who sat at a desk making out an account.
“Is Mr. Vissering in, Madame Sansot?” he asked. And the woman said, “Yes, I believe so, Monsieur le Comte. But I will go and see.”
The woman came back after a few moments. “Mr. Vissering is very busy writing in his room,” she said. “He begs Monsieur le Comte to call another time.”
“Will you please take him up this card?” said Count Polda.
He went up to the desk where the woman had been sitting and dipped a pen in the ink. Lily could not help seeing that on the card, on which was engraved, above “Count Polda,” an elegant little coronet, he wrote the words: “I have brought with me Miss Lily Fairfield, my young English niece, whom you will perhaps be pleased to meet.”