approach my employer. If he is displeased, he can dismiss me."
"Of course I don't want to see you dismissed," he said raggedly. "But you allow Count Rostoy intimacies which – that is, he is not an acceptable person for you to know."
"And his sister?" she flashed.
The words were unladylike, but she could not help herself, and she had the satisfaction of knowing that they had gone home. His expression tightened, and his eyes flashed anger.
"We will leave her out of this discussion, if you please," he said coldly.
"Certainly. Let us leave them both out of this discussion. Kindly understand, once and for all, that my friendships do not concern you."
"The devil they – " he began angrily. Then he stopped and his face changed. Anger left from it, to be replaced by fear. "What is it? What's the matter?"
Her feeling of well-being had suddenly drained away, leaving her faint and exhausted from the very strength of her anger. The world swam about her. Through the mists she saw his face, pale and distraught, felt his hands seize her, heard his cry of "Rona! My God, Rona!"
Then she felt herself lifted in his arms. He was running to the house and up the stairs, crying, "Get the doctor!"
She was being carried upstairs, clasped in his arms, and it felt so different to being carried by the Count. It felt so safe, so wonderful.
He kicked open her bedroom door. Then he laid her on her bed and retreated, leaving her in the hands of the women who hurried in. Her last view was of his face, the mask stripped away, his eyes wild and horrified.
The doctor arrived again and reproved her for getting up too soon.
"But I was lying down," she protested. "Most of the time, anyway. It's just that I was outside instead of in bed."
"And how did you get so agitated that you collapsed?" he asked wryly. "Perhaps you were watching the thrilling antics of a bird?"
"No, of course not."
"Or maybe you had a quarrel with your lover?" he asked, his eyes twinkling.
"He is not my lover," she said, so emphatically that the well-meaning little man retired discomfited.
She had supper in bed. Alice brought it in and fussed over her like a mother hen.
"Have you got everything you need?" she asked for the hundredth time.
"Yes," Rona laughed. She was feeling well again. "You're going to kill me with kindness."
"Oh, I nearly forgot, Uncle Peter asked me to give you this."
She showed Rona a little box, wrapped in gold paper.
"Another present," she said. "Isn't that nice of him? Mind you," she added with an air of worldly wisdom, "I expect the Countess helped him choose it."
Rona was unwrapping the paper and opening the box inside. At last Peter's gift of a small china figurine lay in her hand.
"No," she said softly. "I don't think anyone else chose this."
It was a Harlequin.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next day Rona waited to see Peter, to ask him about the figurine. Surely, now he would admit to being Harlequin? And then there were so many questions she wanted to ask him.
But he did not come to see her.
At Madame Thierre's insistence she remained in bed another two days. During that time she was bombarded with red roses from Alexei.
"My own offering looks quite trivial beside them," Lord Lancing said, extending his hand, bearing a small bouquet of white roses, and smiling ruefully.
"I prefer these," Rona said, taking the roses. "Thank you. Perhaps somebody could take those ridiculous red ones away."
"Poor Count Rostoy. How his heart would grieve at your rejection of his offering!"
"Count Rostoy enjoys making theatrical gestures, but he has no more a heart for me than I have for him," Rona said firmly. "He makes me laugh, and that's the best I can say of him."
"Except that he saved your life," the Earl reminded her.
"I suppose so. But the water was only three feet deep, and if he hadn't waded in someone else would have done."
The Earl roared with laughter.
"How appallingly practical women are!"
"I just don't see Count Rostoy as a hero."
"I'm glad
"Of course I don't want to see you dismissed," he said raggedly. "But you allow Count Rostoy intimacies which – that is, he is not an acceptable person for you to know."
"And his sister?" she flashed.
The words were unladylike, but she could not help herself, and she had the satisfaction of knowing that they had gone home. His expression tightened, and his eyes flashed anger.
"We will leave her out of this discussion, if you please," he said coldly.
"Certainly. Let us leave them both out of this discussion. Kindly understand, once and for all, that my friendships do not concern you."
"The devil they – " he began angrily. Then he stopped and his face changed. Anger left from it, to be replaced by fear. "What is it? What's the matter?"
Her feeling of well-being had suddenly drained away, leaving her faint and exhausted from the very strength of her anger. The world swam about her. Through the mists she saw his face, pale and distraught, felt his hands seize her, heard his cry of "Rona! My God, Rona!"
Then she felt herself lifted in his arms. He was running to the house and up the stairs, crying, "Get the doctor!"
She was being carried upstairs, clasped in his arms, and it felt so different to being carried by the Count. It felt so safe, so wonderful.
He kicked open her bedroom door. Then he laid her on her bed and retreated, leaving her in the hands of the women who hurried in. Her last view was of his face, the mask stripped away, his eyes wild and horrified.
The doctor arrived again and reproved her for getting up too soon.
"But I was lying down," she protested. "Most of the time, anyway. It's just that I was outside instead of in bed."
"And how did you get so agitated that you collapsed?" he asked wryly. "Perhaps you were watching the thrilling antics of a bird?"
"No, of course not."
"Or maybe you had a quarrel with your lover?" he asked, his eyes twinkling.
"He is not my lover," she said, so emphatically that the well-meaning little man retired discomfited.
She had supper in bed. Alice brought it in and fussed over her like a mother hen.
"Have you got everything you need?" she asked for the hundredth time.
"Yes," Rona laughed. She was feeling well again. "You're going to kill me with kindness."
"Oh, I nearly forgot, Uncle Peter asked me to give you this."
She showed Rona a little box, wrapped in gold paper.
"Another present," she said. "Isn't that nice of him? Mind you," she added with an air of worldly wisdom, "I expect the Countess helped him choose it."
Rona was unwrapping the paper and opening the box inside. At last Peter's gift of a small china figurine lay in her hand.
"No," she said softly. "I don't think anyone else chose this."
It was a Harlequin.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next day Rona waited to see Peter, to ask him about the figurine. Surely, now he would admit to being Harlequin? And then there were so many questions she wanted to ask him.
But he did not come to see her.
At Madame Thierre's insistence she remained in bed another two days. During that time she was bombarded with red roses from Alexei.
"My own offering looks quite trivial beside them," Lord Lancing said, extending his hand, bearing a small bouquet of white roses, and smiling ruefully.
"I prefer these," Rona said, taking the roses. "Thank you. Perhaps somebody could take those ridiculous red ones away."
"Poor Count Rostoy. How his heart would grieve at your rejection of his offering!"
"Count Rostoy enjoys making theatrical gestures, but he has no more a heart for me than I have for him," Rona said firmly. "He makes me laugh, and that's the best I can say of him."
"Except that he saved your life," the Earl reminded her.
"I suppose so. But the water was only three feet deep, and if he hadn't waded in someone else would have done."
The Earl roared with laughter.
"How appallingly practical women are!"
"I just don't see Count Rostoy as a hero."
"I'm glad
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