“Now,” she said to him, “we are as isolated here as if we were behind closed doors with a substantial guard at every outlet. No one approaches me when I am here, unless I request it, so we can converse for a time undisturbed.”
“Isn’t it an unusual honor that you do me, countess?” the detective asked, replying to her.
“No; not particularly. I always bring a companion here with me, after the fatigue of receiving for two hours on that raised dais. Now—why are you here?”
“Can you ask that, countess?”
“I do ask it,” she smiled back at him.
“I am here because I had the impulse to come. I have not forgotten our last interview.”
“No? I had hoped that you might forget it—at least, a part of it.”
“Perhaps it is the part you would have me forget that I best remember,” he replied softly.
“I beg, Mr. Carter, that you will not be like all the others, and begin by making love to me offhand, as if I expected it as my due. Be original at least, for I know that you are not in the least in that condition.”