He takes one. Meanwhile, his glance encounters Harry's. Olga is entirely at her ease, while Lato--from what cause he could not possibly tell--is slightly embarrassed.
"I have no time now," he says, gently rejecting the hand that holds the leaf.
"Shall I keep them for your dessert?--you are coming back to dinner?" she asks.
"Certainly. I shall be back by six o'clock," he calls to her. "Adieu, my child."
As the two friends a few minutes later ride down the long poplar avenue, Harry asks,--
"Has this Olga always lived here?"
"No. She came home from the convent a year after my marriage. Selina befriends her because Paula cannot get along with her. She often travels with us."
"She seems pleasant and sympathetic," says Harry, adding, after a short pause, "I have seldom seen so perfect a beauty."
"She is as good as gold," Lato says, quickly, adding, in a rather lower tone, "and most forlorn, poor thing!"