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Page 7
And she went on to her room with exhilarating sense of adventure
coursing through her veins.
"I have found out the name of the peculiar-looking foreigner who
sat near us last night," Canon Ebley said, as they drove to the
Lateran in a little Roman Victoria, "it is Count Roumovski; I
asked the hall porter--reprehensible curiosity I fear you will
think, my dear Caroline, but there is something unaccountably
interesting about him, as you must admit, although you disapprove
of his appearance."
"I think it is quite dreadful," Mrs. Ebley sniffed, "and I hear
from Martha that he has no less than two valets, and a suite of
princely rooms and motor cars, and the whole passage on the second
floor is filled with his trunks."
Martha had been Mrs. Ebley's maid for twenty-five years, and as
Stella well knew was fairly accurate in her recounting of the
information she picked up. This luridly extravagant picture,
however, did not appal her. And she found herself constantly
dwelling upon it and the stranger all the time she followed her
relations about in the gorgeous church.
Fate did not seem to be going to smile upon the drive project,
however--for Mrs. Ebley, far from appearing tired, actually
proposed tea in the hall when they got in--and there sat for at
least half an hour, while Stella saw Count Roumovski come in and
sit down and leisurely begin a cigarette, as he glanced at an
Italian paper. He was so intensely still, always peace seemed to
breathe from his atmosphere, but the very sight of him appeared to
exasperate the Aunt Caroline more and more.
"I wonder that man is not ashamed to be seen in a respectable
place," she snapped, "with his long hair and his bracelet--such
effeminacy is perfectly disgusting, Erasmus."
"I really cannot help it, my dear," Canon Ebley replied,
irritably, "and I rather like his face."
"Erasmus!" was all Mrs. Ebley could say, and prepared to return to
her room. Dinner would be at a quarter to eight, she told Stella
at her door, and recommended an hour's quiet reading up of the
guide-book while resting to her niece.
It was quarter after six before Miss Rawson descended the stairs
to the hall again. She had deliberately made up her mind--she
would go and drive with the count. She would live and amuse
herself, if it was only for this once in her life, come what might
of it! And since he would be presented with all respectable
ceremony at the English Embassy the following night, it could not
matter a bit--and if it did--! Well, she did not care!
He was sitting there as immovable as before, and she thrilled as
she crossed the hall. She was so excited and frightened that she
could almost have turned back when she reached the street, but
there, standing by the trees, was a large blue motor car, and as
she advanced the chauffeur stepped forward and opened the door,
and she got in--and before she had time to realize what she had
done, Count Roumovski had joined her and sat down by her side.
"You have no wrap," he said. "I thought you would not have, so I
had prepared this," and he indicated a man's gray Russian,
unremarkable-looking cloak, which, however, proved to be lined
with fine sable, "and here, also, is a veil. If you will please me
by putting them on, we can then have the auto open and no one will
recognize you--even should we meet your uncle and aunt; that is
fun, is it not?"
Stella had thrown every consideration to the winds, except the
determination to enjoy herself. Years of rebellion at the boredom
of her existence seemed to be urging her on. So she meekly slipped
into the cloak, and wrapped the veil right over her hat, and they
started. Her heart was thumping so with excitement she could not
have spoken for a moment.
But as they went rapidly on through the crowded streets, her
companion's respectful silence reassured her. There seemed to be
some rapport between them, she was conscious of a feeling that he
understood her thoughts, and was not misjudging her.
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