"
"Often?" I answered. "I am surprised at that."
"Why are you surprised? Were you not good friends?"
"Yes, for a certain time--very good friends. But I was sure she had
forgotten me."
"She never forgot," said the Countess, looking at me intently and
smiling. "She was not like that."
"She was not like most other women in any way," I declared.
"Ah, she was charming," cried the Countess, rattling open her fan. "I
have always been very curious to see you. I have received an impression
of you."
"A good one, I hope."
She looked at me, laughing, and not answering this: it was just her
mother's trick.
"'My Englishman,' she used to call you--'_il mio Inglese_.'"
"I hope she spoke of me kindly," I insisted.
The Countess, still laughing, gave a little shrug balancing her hand to
and fro. "So-so; I always supposed you had had a quarrel. You don't
mind my being frank like this--eh?"
"I delight in it; it reminds me of your mother."
"Every one tells me that. But I am not clever like her. You will see
for yourself."
"That speech," I said, "completes the resemblance. She was always
pretending she was not clever, and in reality--"
"In reality she was an angel, eh? To escape from dangerous comparisons I
will admit, then, that I am clever.
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