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"Good-night," said Van Ingen shortly.

The count laid a persuasive hand upon the young man's arm.

"Not yet," he begged. "You will perhaps stroll with me for a little?"

Van Ingen hesitated, frowning.

"I must insist!" Count Poltavo linked an arm through his companion's, who perforce fell into step with him. "It is—how you say—a small matter of business!" He laughed softly.

Van Ingen stalked along in absolute silence. The man's marked, almost insolent preference of Doris, as well as his amazing power over her, filled him with speechless rage. Given a pinchbeck title, he reflected viciously, and a glib tongue, and a girl straightway loses her head. "What is your business?" he asked aloud.

Poltavo threw back his head and laughed musically. "Ah, you Americans!" he murmured. "You cut, like a sharp knife, straight to the heart of a matter. One stroke! 'What is your business?'" He mimicked the young man's curt speech with delicate precision.

"Your countrywoman, Miss Grayson, she also is direct—and adorable." He appeared to muse. "She is natural, with the naïveté of a child. She is beautiful. She has charm. The perfect trinity! Have you observe' her chin—so round, so firm—and her throat——"