'Yes indeed—and I must catch it!' cried the man of letters. He started to his feet, and bending over Mrs. Burgoyne, he said in an aside perfectly audible to all the world—'I read my new play to-night—just finished—at Madame Salvi's!'
Eleanor smiled and congratulated him. He took his leave, and Manisty in an embarrassed silence accompanied him half way down the avenue.
Then returning, he threw himself into a chair near Lucy Foster and young
Brooklyn, with a sigh of relief.
'Intolerable ass!'—he said under his breath, as though quite unconscious of any bystander.
The young man looked at Lucy with eyes that danced.
* * * * *
'Who is your young lady?' said the ambassador.
Miss Manisty explained.
'An American? Really? I was quite off the scent. But now—I see—I see! Let me guess. She is a New Englander—not from Boston, but from the country. I remember the type exactly. The year I was at Washington I spent some weeks in the summer convalescing at a village up in the hills of Maine.—The women there seemed to me the salt of the earth. May I go and talk to her?'
Miss Manisty led him across the circle to Lucy, and introduced him.