“That would mean day after to-morrow, wouldn’t it?” mused the girl.
“If it means anything at all,” substituted her father testily.
“Meantime, how do you like the Gran Hotel Kast, Miss Brewster?” asked Sherwen.
“It’s awful beyond words! I’ve done nothing but wish for a brigade of Biddies, with good stout mops, and a government permit to clean up. I’d give it a bath!”
“Yes, it’s pretty bad. I’m glad you don’t like it.”
“Glad? Is every one ag’in’ poor me?”
“Because—well, the American Legation is a very lonely place. Now, the presence of an American lady—”
“Are you offering a proposal of marriage, Mr. Sherwen?” twinkled the girl. “If so—Dad, please leave the room.”
“Knock twenty years off my battle-scarred life and you wouldn’t be safe a minute,” he retorted. “But, no. This is a measure of safety. Sir Willet thinks that your party ought to be ready to move into the American Legation on instant notice, if you can’t get away to sea to-morrow.”
“What’s the use, if the legation has no official existence?” asked Mr. Brewster.