Part 3 (2/2)
”But how do you come to be intimate with German professors, Mr. Barker?
Are you learned, and that sort of thing?”
”He was a German professor once. He is now an eccentricity without a purpose. Worth millions, and living in a Heidelberg garret, wis.h.i.+ng he were poor again.”
”What an interesting creature! Tell me more, please.”
Barker told as much of Claudius's history as he knew.
”Too delightful!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the Countess Margaret, looking out of the window rather pensively.
”Countess,” said the American, ”if I had enjoyed the advantage of your acquaintance even twenty-four hours I would venture to ask leave to present my friend to you. As it is--” Mr. Barker paused.
”As it is I will grant you the permission unasked,” said the Countess quietly, still looking out of the window. ”I am enough of an American still to know that your name is a guarantee for any one you introduce.”
”You are very kind,” said Mr. Barker modestly. Indeed the name of Barker had long been honourably known in connection with New York enterprise.
The Barkers were not Dutch, it is true, but they had the next highest t.i.tle to consideration in that their progenitor had dwelt in Salem, Ma.s.sachusetts.
”Bring him in the morning,” said the Countess, after a moment's thought.
”About two?”
”Oh no! At eleven or so. I am a very early person. I get up at the screech of dawn.”
”Permit me to thank you on behalf of my friend as well as for myself,”
said Mr. Barker, bending low over the dark lady's hand as he took his departure.
”So glad to have seen you. It is pleasant to meet a civilised countryman in these days.”
”It can be nothing to the pleasure of meeting a charming countrywoman,”
replied Mr. Barker, and he glided from the room.
The dark lady stood for a moment looking at the door through which her visitor had departed. It was almost nine o'clock by this time, and she rang for lights, subsiding into a low chair while the servant brought them. The candles flickered in the light breeze that fanned fitfully through the room, and, finding it difficult to read, the Countess sent for Miss Skeat.
”What a tiny little world it is!” said Margaret, by way of opening the conversation.
Miss Skeat sat down by the table. She was thin and yellow, and her bones were on the outside. She wore gold-rimmed eyegla.s.ses, and was well dressed, in plain black, with a single white ruffle about her long and sinewy neck. She was hideous, but she had a certain touch of dignified elegance, and her face looked trustworthy and not unkind.
”Apropos of anything especial?” asked she, seeing that the Countess expected her to say something.
”Do you remember when I dropped my parasol at Heidelberg?”
”Perfectly,” replied Miss Skeat.
”And the man who picked it up, and who looked like Niemann in _Lohengrin_?”
”Yes, and who must have been a professor. I remember very well.”
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