Something you are, sir,' she added, surveying him.
Evan sucked the bitter and the sweet of her explanation.

His sister in her anxiety to put him on his guard, had not beguiled him to forget his real state.
His sister, the diplomatist and his lady, the refugee Count, with ladies' maids, servants, and luggage, were now on the main-deck, and Master Alec, who was as good as a newspaper correspondent for private conversations, put an end to the colloquy of the young people.

They were all assembled in a circle when the vessel came to her moorings.
The diplomatist glutted with news, and thirsting for confirmations; the Count dumb, courteous, and quick-eyed; the honourable lady complacent in the consciousness of boxes well packed; the Countess breathing mellifluous long-drawn adieux that should provoke invitations.

Evan and Rose regarded each other.
The boat to convey them on shore was being lowered, and they were preparing to move forward.

Just then the vessel was boarded by a stranger.
'Is that one of the creatures of your Customs?
I did imagine we were safe from them,' exclaimed the Countess.
The diplomatist laughingly requested her to save herself anxiety on that score, while under his wing.