to himself, suggested the familiarity of custom, of intimacy; he looked like one in his own home—not less so from the way in which he advanced to Erceldoune with a cordial, pleasant smile of welcome. His smile was, indeed, always very sweet, and of a rarely winning promise.
"Ah, Sir Fulke!—charmed to renew our acquaintance. I was delighted to hear from the Countess that she expected the pleasure of seeing you this evening. I assure you I have never forgotten your most comforting hospitality on the moors; my only regret is that we have not come across each other before."
"You do me much honour, and have a long memory for a mere trifle."
Idalia had announced his acquaintance with her to Victor Vane: they had talked of him then! He could not—would not—have spoken her name to friend or stranger.
"The Countess tells me that you think you met about here one of your Moldavian assassins," pursued the other, not noticing, or not seeming to notice, the coldness with which his advances were met. "I am not surprised—so many rascals come eastwards. I hope you will be able to track the fellow?"
