“Ah!” she cried, fanning herself more quickly. “Now there spoke not Mr. Audley, the attaché—he had not been so imprudent! But—how do you call yourself now?”
“On days of ceremony,” he replied, “Lord Audley of Beaudelays.”
“There spoke my lord, unattached! Oh, you English, you have no enthusiasm. You have only traditions. Poor were Poland if her fate hung on you!”
“There are still bright spots,” he said slyly. And his glance returned to the little statesman in spectacles on whom the Princess rested the hopes of Poland.
“No!” she cried vividly. “Don’t say it again or I shall be displeased. Turn your eyes elsewhere. There is one here about whom I wish to consult you. Do you see the tall girl in black who is engaged with the miniatures?”
“I saw her some time ago.”
“I suppose so. You are a man. I dare say you would call her handsome?”
“I think it possible, were she not in this company. What of her, Princess?”
“Do you notice anything beyond her looks?”
“The picture is plain—for the frame in which I see her. Is she one of the staff of your school?”