“Mr. Derby happens to be my oldest and my best friend!” Nina answered.  Then, realizing that she had made the statement sententiously, she smiled brightly.  “You Europeans so often say that American men are unattractive,” she said.  “Over there you may behold one of ‘our best!’”

Without rancor or jealousy, the young prince seemed entirely to agree with her opinion.  “Why is it we so seldom meet those Americans you call ’best’?” he asked, between spoonfuls of puree d’ecrevisse.

“Because they are those who have to stay at home and work.”  And then she added, “They are saints—­don’t you think?”

“They are very stupid, I should say.”

Nina let her spoon rest on the rim of her plate.  “That’s not polite of you.”

“Why?  Since it is true.  Of course they are stupid!  They let their women, who are adorable, come over to us.  Would I, do you think, if you were my wife, allow you so much as to go out for an afternoon’s drive without me?  Never!  To prove further that your men are stupid—­in no country are there so many divorces as in America!”

“It is not because our men are stupid, at all events!”

“Then why is it?”

“Chiefly because our men have too little time to give us.”  And then she spoke under sudden stress of feeling, without perhaps knowing the full wisdom of what she said:  “Do you suppose that if our men at home had time for us, we would come over here, to you?”

“Then all the more are the Americans fools!” He raised his champagne glass.  “Signorina,” he said, “may you find the American who has the time.”

Involuntarily her glance went toward John.  Allegro saw it and laughed.  “Ah, ha!  So that is why we have no chance?  Still,” he added on second thought, “your choice does you credit.”

“He is not my choice, he is my friend.  You don’t understand!  At home a girl has men friends exactly as she has girl friends.  I wonder how I can make it clear to you—­we are all like a big family.  They might as well be my brothers, many of the men I know; there is not a bit of sentiment in our liking for each other.”

“There is no sentiment between you and the man over there?” Allegro twisted the blond down on his upper lip, laughing at her out of the corners of his eyes.  “I may be little more than a boy, signorina, but there is one thing that I know quite well when I see it, and that is a person who is in love.  Human nature is the same all over the world.  Your American men can, after all, have only the same emotions that we have over here.  It is as plain as the dome on St. Peter’s—­you may see it from every direction.  That man over there is in love with you! Ecco!”

“He is nothing of the sort!  You Italians are mad on the subject.  I told you you could not understand.  You are different, that is all.”

Allegro shrugged his shoulders.  “As you please!  I tell you he is!  And what is more, you are in love with him.  After all”—­he put up his hand to ward off interruption—­“I had much rather think you declined my own suit because your affections were already given before I was so unhappy as to see you, than that, while your heart was still free, you would not consider me.”