“Yes,” she repeated, “we have always the Count. Father,” she added suddenly with a change of tone, “I do not care for Count Zarka’s attentions.”
His look of surprise was rather obviously unreal. “Have they been very marked?” he asked.
“No,” she answered drily, “because I have not given him the chance. Only I think it well you should know I do not care to see very much of Count Zarka.”
He threw out his hands deprecatingly. “Of course you know best, my dear. Only,” he added, changing from a resigned to a persuasive tone, “I should have imagined you would not have slighted the chance of an alliance with a man of the Count’s wealth and position.”
“And character?” The sharp question made him feel uncomfortable.
“Do you know anything against his character?” he inquired blandly.
“Nothing definite,” she answered quietly. “But I am not a fool, and Count Zarka’s personality does not seem to me to belie a certain evil reputation which I believe he enjoys.”
“Philippa——” he began, but she cut him short.
“Apart from this, father, I do not like Count Zarka, and I think he knows it. Anyhow, I have told you now so that there may be no misunderstanding or cross purposes between us on the subject.”
Philippa spoke quietly, but with a slight tremor in her voice which betrayed the feelings she repressed. She knew well how little affection her step-father really had for her. A handsome, vivacious girl, much admired wherever she appeared, her companionship was far less irksome to her sole guardian than might have been the case had she been plain and uninteresting. She knew all this, and although she accepted it as the inevitable logic of her step-father’s character, which was to have a real affection for no one outside his own skin, yet she rebelled at the idea of being disposed of to suit his convenience.