The maid was not on familiar terms with the classics, but she
told the butler in the pantry that the smooth-faced one made a
charming Captain.
"Keep your eyes open," grumbled the butler; "he'll be kissing
you next."
"He might do worse," was the retort. Even maids have their
mirrors, and hers told a pretty story. When she returned with
the wine she asked: "And shall I pour it, Messieurs?"
"No one else shall," declared Maurice. "When is the duchess to
arrive?"
"I do not know, Monsieur," stepping in between the chairs and
filling the glasses with the ruby liquid.
"Who is Madame Sylvia Amerbach?"
"Madame Sylvia Amerbach," placing the bottle on the table and
going to the sideboard. She returned with a box of "Khedives."
Fitzgerald laughed at Maurice's disconcertion.
"Where has Madame gone?"
"To the summer home of Countess Herzberg, who is to return with
Madame."
"Oho!" cried Maurice, in English. "A countess! What do you say
to that, my Englishman?"
"She is probably old and plain. Madame desires a chaperon."
"You forget that Madame desires nothing but those certificates.
And the chaperon does not live who could keep an eye on Madame
Sylvia Amerbach.
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