“La!  Mrs. Dodd, you make me blush,” giggled Miss Springle.

I wondered what Antony thought of it all, and whether he had ever been among such people before.  His face betrayed nothing after he laughed with me, and he seemed to be quietly enjoying his dinner, which, fortunately, was good.

It was only for a few minutes before we all said good-night that we spoke together alone.

“Shall you be down to breakfast, Comtesse?” he asked me.

“Oh yes,” I said, “These people would never understand.  They would think I was being deliberately rude if I breakfasted in my room.”

“At nine o’clock, then?”

“Yes.”

“Lend me your La Rochefoucauld to read to-night?” he asked.

“With pleasure.  I will have it sent to your room.”

“No, let me get it from your mustard boudoir myself.  I shall be coming up, probably, to change into a smoking-coat, and my room is down that way, you know.”

“Very well.”

So we said good-night.

Half an hour afterwards, I was standing by my sitting-room fire when Antony came into the room.  He leaned on the mantel-piece beside me and looked down into my face.

“When will you come over to Dane Mount, Comtesse?  I want to show you my great-great-grandmother.  She was yours, too, by-the-way,” he said.

“When will you ask us?”

“In about a fortnight.  I have to run about Norfolk until then.  Will you come some time near the 4th of November?”

“I shall have to ask Augustus, but I dare say we can.”

He frowned slightly at the mention of Augustus.

“Of course.  Well, I will not have a party, only some one to talk to—­your husband.  The ancestors won’t interest him, probably.”

“Oh!  Do ask Lady Tilchester,” I said.  “I love her.”

He bent down suddenly to look at the Dresden clock.

“No, I don’t think so.  She will be entertaining herself just then,” he said, “and probably could not get away.  But leave it to me, I promise to arrange that Augustus shall not be bored.”

He picked up La Rochefoucauld and opened it.

“I see you have marked some of the maximes.”

“No.  Grandmamma and the Marquis must have done that.  Look, they are all of the most witty and cynical that are pencilled.  I can hear them talking when I read them.  That is just how they spoke to one another.”

He read aloud: 

“‘C’est une grande folie de vouloir etre sage tout seul!’ Don’t be ‘sage tout seul,’ Comtesse.  Let me keep you company in your sagesse,” he said.

I looked up at him.  His eyes were full of a quizzical smile.  There is something in the way his head is set, a distinction, an air of command.  It infinitely pleases me.  I felt—­I know not what!

“Now I will say good-night.  I am tired, and it is getting late,” I said.