"
"Ah, don't mention them! They hurt none the less because we cover them
with a smile, eh? I dare say you know. You have been in the thick of the
fight yourself. But you did not come here to chat with me, though your
manner might lead one to think so. I will not keep you."
"I came to see Prince Pavlo," answered Steinmetz. "I must thank you for
enabling me to do so. I may not see you again this evening. My best
thanks, my very dear lady."
He bowed, and with his half-humorous, half-melancholy smile, left her.
The first face he recognized was a pretty one. Miss Maggie Delafield was
just turning away from a partner who was taking his conge, when she
looked across the room and saw Steinmetz. He had only met her once,
barely exchanging six words with her, and her frank, friendly bow was
rather a surprise to him. She came toward him, holding out her hand with
an open friendliness which this young lady was in the habit of bestowing
upon men and women impartially--upon persons of either sex who happened
to meet with her approval. She did not know what made her incline to
like this man, neither did she seek to know. In a quiet, British way
Miss Delafield was a creature of impulse. Her likes and dislikes were a
matter of instinct, and, much as one respects the doctrine of charity,
it is a question whether an instinctive dislike should be quashed by an
exaggerated sense of neighborly duty.
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