going to say ‘yes’ to anything I ask you?” she demanded.
“Ask me the thing I should like you to and I shall not hesitate.”
“You are too glib,” she laughed. “You are like all the others. I am tired of you.”
“Infidèle.” he murmured reproachfully.
“But what a man! He charges me with faithlessness!”
“Supposing I ask you a few questions.”
“I shall answer you—truthfully if it pleases me, untruthfully if it suits me better.”
“We make no progress,” he complained.
“Along which road do you desire to travel?” she asked.
“The nearest road which leads to your heart, Madame.”
“I shall begin to feel aggrieved,” she declared. “Your first glance at me was the sort of glance a woman loves to receive. There was a little admiration in those rather expressive eyes of yours, there was a little curiosity, there was a certain amount of—desire.”
“Then they appear to have told you everything,” he said, “which my lips are not yet brave enough to utter.”
She moved her head slightly and looked at him.
“Your mouth looks brave enough,” she meditated.
“A challenge?”
She shook her head.
“Not a challenge. An affair of lipstick.”
“You have none on your eyes,” he said, gazing at them intently.
“There is poison on my eyelashes,” she warned him.
He drew a little nearer.
“You are well protected,” he complained.
“Something must have told me,” she sighed, “that I was going to be driven home alone by a young man whose tongue, at any rate, was intrepid.”
“That certainly is a challenge,” he replied, and held her for a moment in his arms.
“Be sweet to me now,” she begged, as she delicately removed herself. “Tell me what is in that parcel.”
“I will tell you what is in my heart. Baroness,” he promised, “but I cannot reveal the contents of this parcel.”
“To think,” she murmured, “that your lips should dare to misbehave as they have done and then refuse my simple request! Besides, your offer means nothing. I know what is in your heart.”
“That should be of some assistance to me,” he declared hopefully.
“On the contrary, it is fast making of me an icicle. In your heart is the image of that little red-haired girl who called you away from me and who has given you a present.”
He glanced out of the window and sighed.
“I seem to make but little progress,” he grumbled. “Are you really not going to the Von Liebenstrahl ball?”
She shook her head.
“Alas,” she sighed, “I am not invited. It is well known that I adore Karl, and the Princess, like your Lady Tremearne at the Embassy, loves the Archduchess.”
He drew a deep sigh of content.
“I suspected it,” he said, “but I was not sure. I am feeling happy.”
“But why?”
“You adore Karl. My name is Charles.”
“You are quite and entirely incorrigible!” she exclaimed. “How could you possibly imagine that you could take any place in my affections?”
“I am an incurable optimist,” he told her. “I expect always to receive everything that I desire.”
“But what vast, what egregious conceit! After going off with that red-headed girl, too!”
They turned in underneath the broad porte-cochère of Sacher’s Hotel.
“But I told you that I must go to the Embassy first to change,” he reminded her.
“Did you? I forgot. You have talked so much nonsense. I remember now, though, that you said you must call here for your card.”
“Quite true,” he agreed. “But there is no reason why I should keep you waiting while I get that—or, if you like, I can take a taxi to the Embassy.”
“You might find it difficult to find one,” she replied. “You have an apartment here?”
“A small one.”
“I will come up and wait in your salon while you get the card,” she proposed. “Ten minutes, Friedrich,” she told the chauffeur, as the doorkeeper stood on one side and Charles handed her out of the limousine.
They found the lounge crowded with eager little groups of men and women. Everyone was talking excitedly and the air was full of rumours. They reached the lift with difficulty. Arrived on the fourth floor Charles Mildenhall led the way to his apartment. The Baroness took possession of an easy chair drawn up towards the balcony. At her request he opened the high windows.
“You can leave me your present to look at,” she proposed, stretching out her hand, “while you find your card.”
“Alas,” he told her, “it is impossible. My present is connected with a secret, and the secret is not mine.”
She rose to her feet, flung off her cloak and stood facing him, her hands resting upon his shoulders.
“My friend,” she began, and her eyes were liquid and very, very blue, “how are we to continue friends if you refuse everything I ask? Come, I will do away with all the secrecy of your present. I know what it is. That little red-haired minx with the serpent’s eyes has given you the last catalogue that exists of old Benjamin’s great collection. I want to see it. I prayed him for one months ago. He has never promised, but he very nearly promised. There is no harm in my looking one through. Remember, I am Beatrice whom for a few minutes you once admired. Beatrice will be kind to you if you do what she asks.”
The beautiful arms hung an inch or two farther over his shoulders. They were very nearly around his neck. His fingers caressed her hair for a moment. Then he held her wrists, raised her fingers to his lips and stepped back.
“Yes,” he said, “I know that my mysterious package contains only the catalogue of Mr. Benjamin’s pictures, but for some reason I know nothing of I was asked for a promise, and I gave it. You would not have me commence our friendship by breaking a promise, even if it were to another woman.”
There was a cloud over the Baroness’ face. One might imagine that she could be very angry.
“She
