"And I don't know of anybody I'd rather have say those nice things to me than you, Mr. Madison," Rodrigo replied. This was not quite true, for a few minutes previously he had been congratulated by Mary Drake.
The next afternoon he reluctantly left an accumulation of work to fly up to the apartment and supervise for the last few minutes the efforts of Mrs. Brink, the housekeeper who worked part-time for John and him, to prepare the place and the collation for the tea to Elise Van Zile and her aunt. John had promised to come up within the next half hour. Mrs. Brink, having arranged things to his satisfaction, left, and Rodrigo had just completed a change in attire when the telephone rang.
Mrs. Palmer's voice came over the wire. "Dear Count Torriani," she almost quavered, "I have never felt so mortified and so sorry. I should never have accepted your engagement for tea this afternoon. It completely slipped my mind at the time that it was the date of the Wounded Soldiers' Bridge and Bazaar at the Plaza. And—will you ever forgive me?—I quite lost track of my engagement at your apartment until just this minute. I am chairman of one of the Bazaar committees, you see. And here I am at the Plaza, and, really, it would be impossible to get away. Will you have mercy, dear Count Torriani, and forgive me and invite me some other time?" The poor old lady seemed on the verge of bursting into tears.
A great load was lifting from Rodrigo's mind, and he had difficulty in restraining the relief in his voice. "Certainly, Mrs. Palmer. Don't worry in the least. I shall miss the pleasure of your company, and that of your niece, but we can easily make it some other time. Don't put yourself to any inconvenience by leaving your friends. I am not annoyed in the slightest."
He hung up the receiver and smiled into the mirror above the telephone. The smile departed as the apartment bell rang. But then he thought it must be John, who had doubtless mislaid his key. Rodrigo walked over to the door and opened it.
"Am I late?" smiled Elise Van Zile, very beautiful and calm on the threshold. "Has my aunt arrived yet?"
Rodrigo, concealing his feelings, bowed her in politely. "Please come in. Mrs. Palmer hasn't come yet." He was puzzled, and both happy and annoyed to see her.
When he had closed the door, she turned her dark face to him and gave a short laugh of defiant geniality. "What is the use of pretending? I have just come from the Plaza. I left my aunt as she was going to telephone you that she wasn't coming. But the Bazaar is a frightful bore, and I wasn't to be cheated out of my engagement with—your art treasures. If you are displeased or shocked, please send me away at once. But you aren't, are you?"
"Of course not," he replied almost too promptly. "Won't you sit down?" She sank into John's favorite chair, and Rodrigo took a seat away from her. Her quick eyes understood the precaution, and a small, mocking glint beamed for a moment in their cool depths.
"Oh, please don't be so terribly polite with me," she chaffed. "It doesn't become a man like you, and I don't especially fancy it." She turned idly to a painting over the mantelpiece. "I see you have the sign of your avocation continually before you."