There were three languages in which they could understand each other
with equal ease.
"Where _is_ Maggie?" exclaimed Mrs. Bamborough. "She is always late."
"When I am here," reflected De Chauxville. But he did not say it.
Miss Delafield kept them waiting a few minutes, and during that time
Etta Sydney Bamborough gave a very fine display of prowess with the
double-stringed bow. When a man attempts to handle this delicate weapon,
he usually makes, if one may put it thus crudely, an ass of himself. He
generally succeeds in snapping one and probably both of the strings,
injuring himself most certainly in the process.
Not so, however, this clever lady. She had a smile and an epigram for
Claude de Chauxville, a grave air of sympathetic interest in more
serious affairs for Paul Alexis. She was bright and amusing, guileless
and very worldly wise in the same breath--simple for Paul and a match
for De Chauxville, within the space of three seconds. Withal she was a
beautiful woman beautifully dressed. A thousand times too wise to scorn
her womanhood, as learned fools are prone to do in print and on platform
in these wordy days, but wielding the strongest power on earth, to wit,
that same womanhood, with daring and with skill. A learned woman is not
of much account in the world. A clever woman moves as much of it as lies
in her neighborhood--that is to say, as much as she cares to rule.
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