Polish Countess. Don’t you remember the Polish Countess? She crystal-gazed, and played accompaniments, and Mrs. Murrett chucked her because Mrs. Didymus accused her of hypnotizing the Professor. But of course you don’t remember. We were all invisible to you; but we could see. And we all used to wonder about you——”
Again Darrow felt a redness in the temples. “What about me?”
“Well—whether it was you or she who...”
He winced, but hid his disapproval. It made the time pass to listen to her.
“And what, if one may ask, was your conclusion?”
“Well, Mrs. Bolt and Mademoiselle and the Countess naturally thought it was she; but Professor Didymus and Jimmy Brance—especially Jimmy——”
“Just a moment: who on earth is Jimmy Brance?”
She exclaimed in wonder: “You were absorbed—not to remember Jimmy Brance! He must have been right about you, after all.” She let her amused scrutiny dwell on him. “But how could you? She was false from head to foot!”
“False——?” In spite of time and satiety, the male instinct of ownership rose up and repudiated the charge.
Miss Viner caught his look and laughed. “Oh, I only meant externally! You see, she often used to come to my room after tennis, or to touch up in the evenings, when they were going on; and I assure you she took apart like a puzzle. In fact I used to say to Jimmy—just to make him wild—: ‘I’ll bet you anything you like there’s nothing wrong, because I know she’d never dare un—‘” She broke the word in two, and her quick blush made her face like a shallow-petalled rose shading to the deeper pink of the centre.
The situation was saved, for Darrow, by an abrupt rush of memories, and he gave way to a mirth which she as frankly echoed. “Of course,” she gasped through her laughter, “I only said it to tease Jimmy——”
Her amusement obscurely annoyed him. “Oh, you’re all alike!” he exclaimed, moved by an unaccountable sense of disappointment.
She caught him up in a flash—she didn’t miss things! “You
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