He stepped forward and offered his arm, with all the suavity he knew so well.
“Never again after dinner, mademoiselle,” he said sadly; “meanwhile, the pleasure is mine.”
And to his surprise she took his arm; and when the others’ backs were turned, she looked up and smiled, the impudently provoking smile he had suffered under so long, and had at last punished.
“My compliments, Monsieur Ralph, on your adroit proficiency,”—and the tone and manner were as provoking as the smile—“it is quite unnecessary to refer to what it proves.”
“As much so, as to refer to what enables one to recognize proficiency,” he agreed.
“And if all the men I know are like you, sir—”
“Now that is an inference I’m curious to hear.”
“Do you want them to be like you?” she asked, eyes half closed and glances sidelong—“because, if you do, it would be rather easy to oblige you—and may be not unpleasant—and I can begin with His Highness of Lotzen—truly it’s a pity, now, I ruined my frock so needlessly this morning, in the japonica walk;” and giving him no time for reply, she dropped his arm and glided quickly into the chair the bewigged and powdered footman was holding for her.
No mention of the Twisted Pines was made until the coffee was being served; then the Princess motioned for the liqueur also to be put on the table, and dismissed the servants.
Drawing out her case, and lighting a Nestor, she smiled at the Archduke, and at his nod passed the cigarette across;—and when Colonel Moore looked inquiringly at Mlle. d’Essoldé, she shrugged her pretty shoulders and gave him hers.
“You know what it implies, Elise,” Dehra remarked.—“No?—then ask Colonel Moore to tell you sometime—now, we’re to hear the explanation that explains—the Tale of the Veiled Lady of the Inn,” and she looked at Armand....
When he had finished, the Princess offered no comment, but frowned and played with her cigarette; and the Archduke, ever glad for any excuse to look at her, and very ready to be silent the better to look, watched her in undisguised devotion.
“What’s the plot behind it?” she demanded, suddenly; “I can’t make it out—it’s absurd to fancy that woman honest, though I’m perfectly sure Lotzen has the Book. But why—why should he want to show it to us? Not out of love nor friendship, surely; nor bravado, either; our dear cousin isn’t given to any such weakness. So it must be simply a rather clumsy attempt to lure you to the Ferida for slaughter—and that, again, seems unlikely; for Ferdinand isn’t clumsy, nor would he want you murdered in his Palace; and as to the provision that you need not go—or that you may take a dozen with you if you wish—and if you don’t go, that she preferred Colonel Moore, or some one with brains and a sword—all that, I say, is too amazingly inconsistent with anything except entire honesty for my poor brain to solve.”