"Has anyone told you how wonderful you're looking, John?" she asked. "Your trip has done you good."
"Do you really think so, Mary?" he replied. "I suppose you've got work a mile high piled upon my desk." This last was to tease her, for he knew she would have his desk as clear as the glass in the show-window outside. Then he remembered Rodrigo and said, "This is my very efficient secretary and assistant, Miss Mary Drake."
She was so thoroughly a creature of business that, in a spirit of mischief, Rodrigo took her hand and kissed it in the continental fashion. She gave him such a searching look for his pains as he straightened up that he actually flushed a little. The blue eyes had gone cold for an instant. They resumed their warmth as she seemed to have satisfied herself that his action had been simply his natural mannerism. John, whom the by-play had secretly amused, continued, "Count Torriani is an expert on Italian art, ancient and modern. He is also a very good friend of mine. He is to join us here and help us out." John was anxious that his two friends should get along well together. Knowing Mary, he had no fears that Rodrigo's good looks would impair her efficiency in the slightest. Indeed it would be better for Mary, John had sometimes thought, if something did come into her life to divert her mind a bit from the hard, monotonous business pace she set herself. Dorning added, "If you'll show Count Torriani into my office, Mary, and answer questions for him, I'll talk with Mr. Madison."
On the way to the polished mahogany door under the balcony, Rodrigo ventured a perfunctory remark to her about the attractiveness of the establishment. Intent upon rearranging the papers in her hand, Mary gave no indications of hearing him. The Italian shrugged his shoulders, a trifle annoyed. He took advantage of her preoccupation to examine the soft profile of her neck as it disappeared under her fluffy light brown tresses. It was perfect, he decided. What was this America anyway, where girls as potentially beautiful as this were allowed to bury themselves in offices and cultivate a brisk twang in their speech and suspicion of every man who looked at them as if they were human? He gravely held the door open for her. She sat down in the big arm-chair in front of the massive glass-topped desk. He took the visitor's chair beside the desk, crossing his carefully creased trouser-legs and foraging in his silver case for a cigarette.
"Pardon," he said, "may I smoke?"
She looked up from the papers to ask colorlessly, "Why not?"
He inhaled deeply, blew the smoke toward the ceiling, and, leaning slightly toward her, offered, "You know, I was rather afraid I was going to be lonely in America. I had no idea I was to meet a girl like you so quickly."
She colored a little and said, with affected innocence, "I don't understand. Mr. Dorning said he was your friend. You will not be lonesome. He will introduce you to many nice people, I'm sure. Besides, you have been in America before, haven't you? You must know people here."
"What makes you think so?"
"You are an Italian and you speak English without the trace of an accent."