"A natural fear—in Roumania; not, I think, in England. Will you let me ask how your marriage with the young Count would help your father in his difficulty?"
"I do not know, unless it is assumed that as Georges Odin's daughter-in-law, I should pay the debt my father owes."
"And save him from a purely imaginary danger?"
"Would you think it purely imaginary when you remember the guests we entertain in our Park?"
"The gypsies—could the police say nothing to them? Remember we are living in England, where all the fine sentiments preached in Southern Europe are so many heroics to be laughed at. If a Roumanian were to challenge me to avenge the honor of my ancestors by cutting his throat in the Carpathians, I should put his letter among my curiosities. Vendettas and secret societies and such absurdities have no place among us outside the theatre. That's why I say that this matter should be dealt with in an English way. If your father has done any man a wrong, he, as an English gentleman, will do his best to put it right. All the rest is merely tall talk. It should not even be taken into account, and would not be, I think, unless there are circumstances of which I know nothing. That is why I speak with reservation. I know so little of your father, and he is one of the most difficult men to know that I have met."
Evelyn shook her head.
"Every man is difficult to know and every woman," he said philosophically; "those who seem most superficial are often the people we understand least. Here am I talking to you as I have never talked to anyone in all my life, and yet you know nothing about me whatever."
"I differ from that entirely."
"Indeed, it is true. If it were not, you would not have asked me why I let them say that I am going to marry Count Odin."
"You let them say it because it is too foolish to contradict."