“You must follow your own bent in that particular, countess, and permit me to follow mine.”
She arose from the seat she had been occupying, and he rose also and stood near her.
“I will return frankness with frankness—for this once,” she said, with one of her inscrutable smiles. “I know why you are here. I will tell you enough to assure you that I do know it; enough to assure you that I am aware of your own shrewdness, and therefore am perfectly assured of what you suspect me.”
“Well?”
“You came to Washington at the invitation of the ambassador for Russia. That invitation was taken to you in person by colonel, the Prince Alexis Turnieff—who believes that I murdered his father, or at least was the cause of his death. You have become convinced that I am in the service of a country which, at this time, believes it has reason to keep a sharp watch upon the things that Russia is doing, or is attempting to do, and you have taken it upon yourself to watch me. Isn’t that true?”
“Since you believe it, countess, it seems a waste of words to say that it is, or that it is not true. Have it so, if you wish.”
“Ah; you will not be quite frank with me.”
“Perhaps it is best, countess, that we meet on the common ground of distrust.”
She started away from him. The remark stung her, and he could see that it had done so, although he had not intended to hurt her by what he said.
For a moment she stared at him, hard-eyed, suddenly cold, and he caught a glimpse of the other side of this woman’s character.