Meanwhile, Countess Brock was defending herself with much ill humour and many grimaces from the exaggerated amiability of the 'Archduchess,' which found vent especially in the offer of a specific for the cure of neuralgia, from which the 'wicked fairy' suffered constantly, and which partly explained the peculiar twitching of her features. Extricating herself at last with much bluntness from the snare thus spread to entrap her favour, Countess Brock turned to the young officer, who, strange to relate, was her nephew. Strange to relate; for there certainly could be no greater contrast than that of his characteristic grave simplicity with her restless affectation.
"My dear Goswyn!" she said, in a honeyed tone, taking a chair beside him.
"Well, aunt?"
"You scarcely spoke to me when you came in," she continued, reproachfully, in the same sweet tone.
"You seemed very much occupied."
"Occupied? yes, occupied indeed. For the last quarter of an hour I have been struggling like a fly in a trap. You come just at the right moment, dear boy." And she tapped his epaulette with a caressing forefinger.
"Ah? Do you wish me to audit your accounts?" he asked, dryly: he had but slight sympathy with her.
"God forbid!" exclaimed the 'wicked fairy,' raising her black-gloved hands with her characteristic gesture. "Nothing so prosaic as that this time. It was about----"
"About your Thursdays," her nephew interrupted her.
"Rightly guessed, dear boy. I want a new star; and you can help me a little. Do you know G----?"