She motioned Lily out in front of her rather mysteriously, and then she shut the door.
“Foolish fellow!” she exclaimed, and there was a touch of harsh contempt in her voice. “But still he is amiable, and the Count, who is a student of human nature, is amused by such a man as Mr. Ponting.”
Lily said nothing, but she felt annoyed. It was horrid of Aunt Cosy to speak like that of kindly, grateful Mr. Ponting.
The Countess went on: “It is sad to see such a fine young man drink too much!”
Lily felt depressed, almost miserable. No man when in her company had ever become even slightly the worse for drink. A touch of resentment with the Count came over her; why had he gone on filling up Mr. Ponting’s glass?
Almost as if Aunt Cosy could see into the girl’s mind, she exclaimed: “The second time our friend dined here I said to Angelo, ‘We will not let him have so much to drink.’ But he actually got up, again and again, and went to the sideboard and helped himself. So Angelo, who is nervous about his beautiful decanters—they are very rare and could not be replaced under hundreds of francs each—Angelo made up his mind that he himself would pour out what our guest insisted on having!”
“It is indeed a pity,” said Lily in a low voice.
She hated this talk about their guest, and she dreaded the thought of his reappearance in the drawing-room. It was therefore with relief that she heard the Countess suddenly exclaim: “And now you had better go upstairs and get a good long night’s rest, dear child. Are you not sleepy?”
“Yes,” said Lily. “I do feel sleepy. That’s why I didn’t take any coffee.”
The Countess opened the dressing-room door. “Cristina?” She spoke for once in quite a low voice.