"Caro! Did you imagine you had your fair Countess's confidence? I can assure you you are excessively mistaken."
Phaulcon shook in all his limbs with restrained passion. Well as he knew the art of word-torturing, he was scarce so perfect an adept in it as his friend.
"Do you mean" he began impetuously, and paused.
Vane laughed, rose» and sauntered a little way from the table.
"Have you breakfasted? Do I mean what? Just taste one of these citrons; they are the first ripe this season. Do I mean that your friend, the Border Chief, has lost his head after the Countess Vassalis? Yes, I do mean it. He is wildly in love with her, and he has eyes that say so remarkably well, considering that he had loved nothing but tiger-shooting and hard riding till that charming piece of romance in the Carpathians."
The words were easy, indifferent, a little flippant and contemptuous: they stung the Greek like so many scorpions. He flung himself out of his seat, and paced to and fro the apartment with fierce breathless oaths ground out on his lips. Vane looked at him with an admirable affectation of amused astonishment.
