When she came down into the drawing-room, an hour later, she found awaiting her there the two men about whom she thought most. Cipriani de Lloseta and Fitz were standing on the hearthrug together. Mrs. Harrington had not yet come down. They came forward together, the Count taking her hand first, with his courteous bow. Fitz followed, shaking hands in silence, with that simplicity which she had learned to look for and to like in him. "I wonder," said Eve, "why Mrs. Harrington did not tell me that you were the two friends she expected to dinner?" The Count smiled darkly. "Perhaps our hostess does not know that we have met before--" he began; and stopped suddenly when the door opened, and the rustle of Mrs. Harrington's silk dress heralded her coming. Her quick eyes flashed over them with a comprehensive appreciation of the situation. "You all seem to know each other," she said sharply. "I knew that Fitz had been of some service to you at D'Erraha; but I was not aware that you knew the Count de Lloseta." "The Count de Lloseta was very kind to me at Barcelona--on a matter of business," explained Eve innocently. Mrs. Harrington turned upon the Spaniard quickly, but nevertheless too late to catch the warning frown which he had directed towards Eve. Mrs. Harrington looked keenly into his face, which was blandly imperturbable. "Then you are the owner of D'Erraha?" "I am." Mrs. Harrington gave a strange little laugh. "What a rich man you are!" she said. "Come! Let us go to dinner." She took the Count's arm, and led the way to the dining-room. She was visibly absent-minded at first, as if pondering over something which had come as a surprise to her. Then she woke from her reverie, and, turning to Fitz, said-- "And what do you think of the Baleares?" "I like them," returned Fitz curtly. He thought it was bad taste thus to turn the conversation upon a subject which could only be painful to Eve. He only thought of Eve, and therefore did not notice the patient endurance of the Count's face. De Lloseta was taking his soup with a slow concentration of his attention upon its flavour, as if trying not to hear the conversation. Mrs. Harrington looked sharply at him, and in doing so failed to intercept a glance, exchanged by Fitz and Eve across the table. "Why are you here?" Fitz seemed to be asking. And Eve reassured him by a little smile. "There is one advantage in your long exile at Mahon," pursued the hostess inexorably. "It must have been economical. You could not have wanted money there." Fitz laughed. "Hardly so Arcadian as that," he said. The Count looked up. "I suppose," he said, "that the port where one does not want money is yet to be discovered?" Mrs. Harrington, sipping her sherry, glanced at the speaker. "Surely," she said lightly, "you are talking of what you know absolutely nothing." "Pardon me"--without looking up. Mrs. Harrington laughed.