Orczy, Emmasku Orczy / 2008-07-27 00:00:00
"Pardi, if zis is England," he said as he continued to ogle
Sally with marked satisfaction, "I am of it satisfied."
It would be impossible at this point to record the exact
exclamation which escaped through Mr. Harry Waite's clenched teeth.
Only respect for "the quality," and notably for my Lord Antony, kept
his marked disapproval of the young foreigner in check.
"Nay, but this IS England, you abandoned young reprobate,"
interposed Lord Antony with a laugh, "and do not, I pray, bring your
loose foreign ways into this most moral country."
Lord Antony had already sat down at the head of the table with
the Comtesse on his right. Jellyband was bustling round, filling
glasses and putting chairs straight. Sally waited, ready to hand
round the soup. Mr. Harry Waite's friends had at last succeeded in
taking him out of the room, for his temper was growing more and more
violent under the Vicomte's obvious admiration for Sally.
"Suzanne," came in stern, commanding accents from the rigid
Comtesse.
Suzanne blushed again; she had lost count of time and of place
whilst she had stood beside the fire, allowing the handsome young
Englishman's eyes to dwell upon her sweet face, and his hand, as if
unconsciously, to rest upon hers.
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