“Please don’t bother,” cried Anne.
With a smiling shake of the head, he struck an iridescent little gong on the table beside him. Very correct in semitropical livery, an English servant appeared in the doorway.
“What would you like?” said Alexis, turning to his guests. “Some whisky and soda, Marchese? Or would you prefer iced sherbet? Hopkins keeps some on hand for me all the time, as I find it very soothing. Then there is always Turkish coffee, for which we are famous, aren’t we, Hopkins?”
“Yes, sir.” The man bowed with the flicker of a pleased smile.
They chose the sherbet. Little spiced cakes from the bazaar were passed with it. The conversation became light and unstrained. Since the old days, Alexis had mixed much with the world. Had been a big figure and had progressed beyond ill-ease. After they finished the sherbet, he looked longingly at Anne, and asked if she would not like to try some Slovakian dances with him.
She looked doubtful. “Do you think you ought to to-day, Alexis? Haven’t we tired you sufficiently?”
He shook his head gayly. “Oh, no, I haven’t felt so fit for ages. Have I, Hopkins?”
“No, sir.”
Sherbet cups in his hands, Hopkins coughed discreetly. His mild eyes met Anne’s full of respectful warning. She nodded at him behind Alexis’ shoulder.
“I think you’ve had enough excitement for this afternoon,” she said firmly. “Suppose I come to-morrow for a little while?”