Part 57 (1/2)

'Was that Argentiferous Copper Company in sixty-four yours or his?'

'There were a good many people concerned in it.'

'No doubt; it takes a good many people to work that kind of thing, but I fancy you and Montesma were about the only two who came out of it pleasantly. And he and you did a little in the s.h.i.+pping line, didn't you--African produce? However, that's an old song. You have had so many good things since then.'

'Did Montesma talk of coming to London?'

'He did not talk about it; but he would hardly go back to the tropics without having a look round on both sides of the Channel. He was always fond of society, pretty women, dancing, and amus.e.m.e.nts of all kinds. I have no doubt we shall see him here before the end of the season.'

Mr. Smithson pursued the subject no further He turned to Lesbia, who had been curiously interested in this little bit of conversation--interested first because Smithson had seemed agitated by the mention of the Spaniard's name; secondly, because of the description of the man, which had a romantic sound. The very word tropic suggested a romance. And Lesbia, whose mind was jaded by the monotony of a London season, the threadbare fabric of society conversation, kindled at any image which appealed to her fancy.

Clever as Satan, handsome as Apollo, scion of an old Castilian family, fresh from the tropics. Her imagination dwelt upon the ideas which these words had conjured up.

Three days after this she was at the opera with her chaperon, her lover in attendance as usual. The opera was ”Faust,” with Nillson as Marguerite. After the performance they were to drive down to Twickenham on Mr. Smithson's drag, and to dance and sup at the Orleans. The last ball of the season was on this evening; and Lesbia had been persuaded that it was to be a particular _recherche_ ball, and that only the very nicest people were to be present. At any rate, the drive under the light of a July moon would be delicious; and if they did not like the people they found there they could eat their supper and come away immediately after, as Lady Kirkbank remarked philosophically.

The opera was nearly over--that grand scene of Valentine's death was on--and Lesbia was listening breathlessly to every note, watching every look of the actors, when there came a modest little knock at the door of her box. She darted an angry glance round, and shrugged her shoulders vexatiously. What Goth had dared to knock during that thrilling scene?

Mr. Smithson rose and crept to the door and quietly opened it.

A dark, handsome man, who was a total stranger to Lesbia, glided in, shaking hands with Smithson as he entered.

Till this moment Lesbia's whole being had been absorbed in the scene--that bitter anathema of the brother, the sister's cry of anguish and shame. Where else is there tragedy so human, so enthralling--grief that so wrings the spectator's heart? It needed a Goethe and a Gounod to produce this masterpiece.

In an instant, in a flash, Lesbia's interest in the stage was gone. Her first glance at the stranger told, her who he was. The olive tint, the eyes of deepest black, the grand form of the head and perfect chiselling of the features could belong only to that scion of an old Castilian race whom she had heard described the other evening--'clever as Satan, handsome as Apollo.'

Yes, this must be the man, Don Gomez de Montesma. There was nothing in Mr. Smithson's manner to indicate that the Spaniard was an unwelcome guest. On the contrary, Smithson received him with a cordiality which in a man of naturally reserved manner seemed almost rapture. The curtain fell, and he presented Don Gomez to Lady Kirkbank and Lady Lesbia; whereupon dear Georgie began to gush, after her wont, and to ask a good many questions in a manner that was too girlish to seem impertinent.

'How perfectly you speak Englis.h.!.+' she exclaimed. 'You must have lived in England a good deal.'

'On the contrary, it is my misfortune to have, lived here very little, but I have known a good many English and Americans in Cuba and in Paris.'

'In Cuba! Do you really come from Cuba? I have always fancied that Cuba must be an altogether charming place to live in--like Biarritz or Pau, don't you know, only further away. Do please tell me where it is, and what kind of a place.'

Geographically, Lady Kirkbank's mind was a blank. It was quite a revelation to her to find that Cuba was an island.

'It must be a lovely spot!' exclaimed the fervid creature. 'Let me see, now, what do we get from Cuba?--cigars--and--and tobacco. I suppose in Cuba everybody smokes?'

'Men, women, and children.'

'How delicious! Would that I were a Cuban! And the natives, are they nice?'

'There are no aborigines. The Indians whom Columbus found soon perished off the face of the island. European civilisation generally has that effect. But one of our most benevolent captain-generals provided us with an imported population of n.i.g.g.e.rs.'

'How delightful. I have always longed to live among a slave population, dear submissive black things dressed in coral necklaces and feathers, instead of the horrid over-fed wretches we have to wait upon us. And if the aborigines were not wanted it was just as well for them to die out, don't you know,' prattled Lady Kirkbank.

'It was very accommodating of them, no doubt. Yet we could employ half a million of them, if we had them, in draining our swamps. Agriculture suffered by the loss of Indian labour.'

'I suppose they were like the creatures in Pizarro, poor dear yellow things with bra.s.s bracelets,' said Lady Kirkbank. 'I remember seeing Macready as Rolla when I was quite a little thing.'

And now the curtain rose for the last act.

'Do you care about staying for the end?' asked Mr. Smithson of Lesbia.