Part 10 (1/2)
Raife rose from his chair as the doctor approached the table, and, gracefully, Gilda introduced: ”My uncle, Doctor Malsano--Sir Raife Remington.”
With Saxon rigidity Raife bowed, but the older man with a warmth and graciousness extended his hand, compelling acceptance. Raife took the old man's hand, and the contact caused him to shudder.
They took their seats at the table and the incongruous trio indulged in the vague generalities that are frequently a.s.sociated with a breakfast-table. This was not a _dejeuner a la fourchette_. By common consent, coffee and dainty Vienna bread, with perfect b.u.t.ter, const.i.tuted the meal.
Raife could not fail to notice that Gilda's radiance had subsided, and, in the presence of her uncle, a subdued conventionalism had superseded.
Once more, in spite of his brief sense of complete trust in this girl, who had not only entered but monopolised the moments of his life, whether awake or asleep--once more the fateful words of his dying father rang in his ears.
”Beware of the trap--she--that woman.”
He was roused from this reverie by the doctor's words, uttered with a cordiality and accompanied by a smile that ill accorded with the sinister chuckles of the previous night.
Doctor Malsano, taking wax impressions in the dead of the night of the keys of his niece's wooer, was a different person from the cheery old gentleman who said: ”You are staying with your mother, who is a widow, I understand, Sir Raife?”
”Yes,” responded Raife. ”My mother is with me here. She takes breakfast in her room. Since my father's death she is fragile and delicate.”
”Ah, yes! I heard of your father's death. Let me see. He was murdered, wasn't he? Murdered by some blackguard of a burglar?”
Gilda winced. The doctor's face was earnestly sympathetic.
Raife replied: ”Yes, he was murdered by some blackguard of a burglar.
Thank G.o.d, the burglar died too.”
The doctor crooned rather than spoke. ”We won't talk of sad things on this bright, sunny morning. Nice is charming, isn't it, and so full of smart people? The Baroness von Sa.s.sniltz is staying here--in this hotel, I'm told.”
”Yes,” responded Raife, ”she is a friend of my mother's, and sometimes stays with us at Aldborough Park.”
”Aldborough Park! Dear me, I've heard of that some time. It's a fine old Tudor place near Tunbridge Wells, isn't it?”
Raife said: ”Yes. It's a fine old place. It belongs to me. There have been happy days at Aldborough, but yet I cannot help thinking that some people seem to thrive on the misery of others.”
”That's true,” the doctor crooned again, ”It's sad, but it's true.”
Then, cheerfully, Raife said; ”I hope, doctor, that you and Miss Tempest will honour me with a visit there some day soon, and we'll try and make merry again. If we can, we'll forget that villainous a.s.sa.s.sin.”
Again Gilda winced, and, dropping her serviette, stooped to pick it up, thus hiding a scarlet flush that suffused her cheeks.
Without replying to the invitation and, with a suddenness that appeared to be anent nothing, Doctor Malsano said:
”Oh, Sir Raife, I've forgotten to express my thanks to you for the charming talisman you have presented to my niece, which I see she is wearing around her neck!”
Raife and Gilda both started at this extraordinary sally. Neither knew that the doctor was aware of the gift. The slight gold chain to which the talisman was attached was barely visible, whilst the figure of Isis was entirely screened from view. It heaved on Gilda's palpitating breast, behind the bodice of her charming and dainty morning gown.
Without apparently heeding the embarra.s.sment of the young couple, he proceeded:
”There is a delightful mysticism about Egyptian mythology that charms me. Let me see, Isis was a G.o.ddess, wasn't she? To be sure she was a G.o.ddess, and the record of her does not always make pleasant reading.”
Raife gazed steadfastly at this mysterious man, and marvelled at the meaning of his cryptic utterances, which came from him graciously, and with a smile that was bland, until the swivel eye destroyed the illusion.
Gilda was trained to the startling nature of her uncle's methods, and collected her senses rapidly, remarking: ”Yes, wasn't it kind of Raife-- Sir Raife I mean, to give it to me. I told him you would be pleased.”
Raife was more mystified than ever. She had not said anything of the kind to him. And what was the meaning of that lapse--the omission of the t.i.tle in speaking before her uncle? Truly, the depths of these personalities were unfathomable. In spite of it all he had sworn to trust Gilda and remain her friend. He was a Reymingtoune and he would keep his word. Apart from that, he loved her, and love remains as blind to-day as when Cupid became fully fledged and wore wings.