"A mere lad, and quite raw," he said; "he has only been with us two days."
"I knew his father," continued Sir Frederic; "one of the cleverest Secretaries who ever handled a Legation. He would have made his mark if he had not died too soon. This boy is exactly like him. I fancy he will do well."
Some guests were entering: a private discussion was no longer possible. The American Minister wandered away, still dissatisfied and irresolute.
Half an hour later he crossed the ballroom, with the young attaché at his heels, and made his way to a girl in white, who was the centre of attraction there.
"You are interested in diplomacy, Lady Anstiss," he said; "may I present to you our latest arrival, Mr. Julius Berend?—Lady Anstiss Carlyon."
The girl raised a pair of lovely, indifferent eyes, and bowed; the Minister moved away as though the introduction were a matter of casual insignificance.
A few steps further on he stopped and glanced back.
Mr. Berend, his face devoid of expression, though he had just been introduced to the most beautiful girl in Brussels, was looking down silently.
Lady Anstiss, her shoulder turned to him, was bestowing her slow, sweet smile, the smile that had already made her famous as a beauty, on someone in the distance.
"What stage of acquaintanceship must one reach," he said, gravely, "before being promoted to the honour of a smile from Lady Anstiss Carlyon?"