“He was in Rome this winter,” she answered. “He often came to my mother’s receptions.”
“He has a very wide circle of acquaintances, has he not?”
“Yes, mostly military men. He seems to know half of the officers in Rome. I thought I knew a good many, for crowds come to us every Thursday, but he knows far more.”
“And of course your father sends him cards for the official receptions at the Ministry of War?”
“Certainly—why?” she asked, glancing quickly at her companion with some surprise.
“Oh, nothing,” he laughed uneasily. “I was only reflecting that he must have a very pleasant time in Italy, that’s all.”
“I believe he enjoys himself,” she said. “But every foreigner who has money and is recognised by his Embassy can have a pleasant time in Rome if he likes.”
“But not every foreigner enjoys the friendship of the Minister of War,” he remarked—“nor of his daughter,” he added, with a smile.
Her cheeks flushed slightly.
“Ah!” she protested, with one of those quaint little foreign gestures. “There you are again, Mr Macbean! Teasing me because these ignorant people here say that I’m engaged to the count. It is really too bad of you! Did I not assure you the other day that it is quite untrue?”