Bailey a riding habit, and to arrange that
one of the Duc's horses should come over every morning in order that he
and Mrs. Bailey might ride together--the kind Duchesse had at once
assented, almost too eagerly, to his requests. And she had asked her
brother no tiresome, indiscreet questions as to his relations with the
young Englishwoman,--whether, for instance, he was really fond of Sylvia,
whether it was conceivably possible that he was thinking of marrying her?
And, truth to tell, Paul de Virieu would have found it very difficult to
give an honest answer to the question. He was in a strange, debatable
state of mind about Sylvia--beautiful, simple, unsophisticated Sylvia
Bailey.
He told himself, and that very often, that the young Englishwoman, with
her absurd, touching lack of worldly knowledge, had no business to be
living in such a place as Lacville, wasting her money at the Baccarat
tables, and knowing such queer people as were--well, yes, even Anna
Wolsky was queer--Madame Wolsky and the Wachners!
But if Sylvia Bailey had no business to be at Lacville, he, Paul de
Virieu, had no business to be flirting with her as he was doing--for
though Sylvia was honestly unaware of the fact, the Count was carrying
on what he well knew to be a very agreeable flirtation with the lady he
called in his own mind his "_petite amie Anglaise_," and very much he
was enjoying the experience--when his conscience allowed him to enjoy it.
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