“Perhaps you are not aware that there are some names you should not mention in the presence of a Hungarian woman.”

What was there in the tone of the voice that made him rapidly glance at her eyes, as she turned away, pretending to carry back the photographs?  He was not deceived.  Those large dark eyes were full of sudden, indignant tears; she had not turned quite quickly enough to conceal them.

Of course, he instantly and amply apologized for his ignorance and stupidity; but what he said to himself was, “That child is not acting.  She may be Lind’s daughter, after all.  Poor thing! she is too beautiful, and generous, and noble to be made the decoy of a revolutionary adventurer.”

At this moment Lord Evelyn arrived, throwing a quick glance of inquiry toward his friend, to see what impression, so far, had been produced.  But the tall, red-bearded Englishman maintained, as the diplomatists say, an attitude of the strictest reserve.  The keen gray eyes were respectful attentive, courteous—­especially when they were turned to Miss Lind; beyond that, nothing.

Now they had not been seated at the dinner-table more than a few minutes before George Brand began to ask himself whether it was really Curzon Street he was dining in.  The oddly furnished room was adorned with curiosities to which every capital in Europe would seem to have contributed.  The servants, exclusively women, were foreign; the table glass and decorations were all foreign; the unostentatious little banquet was distinctly foreign.  Why, the very bell that had summoned them down—­what was there in the soft sound of it that had reminded him of something far away?  It was a haunting sound, and he kept puzzling over the vague association it seemed to call up.  At last he frankly mentioned the matter to Miss Lind, who seemed greatly pleased.

“Ah, did you like the sound?” she said, in that low and harmonious voice of hers.  “The bell was an invention of my own; shall I show it to you?”

The Dresden shepherdess, by name Anneli, being despatched into the hall, presently returned with an object somewhat resembling in shape a Cheshire cheese, but round at the top, formed of roughly filed metal of a lustrous yellow-gray.  Round the rude square handle surmounting it was carelessly twisted a bit of old orange silk; other decoration there was none.

“Do you see what it is now?” she said.  “Only one of the great bells the people use for the cattle on the Campagna.  Where did I get it?  Oh, you know the Piazza Montenara, in Rome, of course?  There is a place there where they sell such things to the country people.  You could get one without difficulty, if you are not afraid of being laughed at as a mad Englishman.  That bit of embroidered ribbon, though, I got in an old shop in Florence.”