Lily looked out of the window, near which she was still standing, and in the now growing darkness she saw a tall figure come striding across the lawn.
The Countess opened the long French window, and Lily stepped back, instinctively, to allow her to greet her visitor.
He was a big, fair, loose-limbed man, and over his dress-clothes he wore a big, sporting-looking coat.
There was a quick interchange of words. She heard the stranger say, speaking with what seemed to her an American accent, “You’ll have to be angry with me, Countess, for I’ve come to say that I can’t stay to dinner.”
And an exclamation of something like sharp displeasure did come from the Countess’s lips.
“I know I’ve behaved badly—but there it is! Some fellows have persuaded me to spend my last evening with them. You’ve been so kind to me I felt as if I must come up and tell you myself. I’ve got a carriage waiting for me down there.”
Both the Count and Countess expostulated more angrily than seemed quite civil. And then the Countess called out rather imperiously: “Lily, come and be introduced to our friend, Mr. George Ponting.”
The girl came forward, smiling a little, as the visitor stepped over the threshold of the window.
He held out his hand, and Lily noticed that he was wearing a gold bangle. “Why, who are you?” he asked abruptly. “And where did you come from?”
Lily was amused. “My name is Lily Fairfield,” she said. “I come from England. I arrived to-day. I’m going to stay at La Solitude for some time.”