"Awfully sorry," he replied, "but it's true. You have to jolly well mind what you say about people in this country."
"Good gracious! In what country?" cried the distressed damsel. "I thought we were—— Oh, where on earth are we, Emily?"
"Oh, I don't know, dear; let us go home. Never mind the review—never mind anything—only let us go home."
"You are practically, though not politically, in Italy, the land of hired avengers. But I will detain you no longer, ladies. I have sufficiently warned you of the peril in which slander places people," said the Pole, politely stepping aside with the ceremonious bow seldom seen this side the Channel. Then he resumed his seat on the rock, while Dorris and her friend, frightened out of their wits, fled without any ceremony at all at the top of their speed along the white road till a bend hid them from sight.
"I say, de Konski, you did give that girl beans. So you know Mrs. Allonby?" asked the young man when they were gone. "Then you must know the Johnnie they are making such a row about—the 'Storm and Stress' chap—eh?"
"Yes," the Pole replied absently, his fury not yet appeased. "I know them both—at least, I used to—especially him—rather well."
"Well! You did land that poor girl a nasty one. And, I say, you can speak English. You must have English blood in you somehow."
"Ah, yes! My—mother was English."
"Well, you never seemed like a foreigner to me. That's why I took to you. Why, you must have served under our colours!"
"Why not? But about this fix of yours?"