"Wasn't it because he was your friend?"
He shook his head.
"It is his affair, not mine," he said with a sigh. "Ask him some day."
"You won't tell me, Andrew?"
"No! I will go now! You know where to send for me if you should need
help. I can find my way down, thank you. I have a guide from the hotel
outside."
The Marquise swept into the room as he passed out, an impression of
ermine and laces and perfume.
"Another of your English lovers, _ma belle_?" she asked.
"Scarcely that," Phyllis answered. "He is a very old friend, and he was
rather hard to get rid of."
"I think," the Marquise said, "you would get rid of all very willingly
for the sake of one, eh?"
The Marquise stared insolently into the girl's face. Phyllis only
laughed.
"One is usually considered the ideal number--in our country," she
remarked demurely.
"But the one?" the Marquise continued. "He would not be one of these
cold, heavy countrymen of yours, no? You have learnt better perhaps over
here?"
It was a cross-examination, but Phyllis could not imagine its drift.
"I have not had very much opportunity over here, have I, to amend my
ideals?" she asked.
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