Part 13 (2/2)

”You couldn't do better,” I said reflectively, examining the ash of my cigar as I spoke. ”There is only one objection to the scheme so far as I can see.”

”Objection?” he cried, firing up as usual. ”What sort of objection can there be to such a thing?”

”It is just possible you may marry the wrong girl,” I said quietly. ”You must admit that _that_ would be a very decided one.”

”I am not likely to be such an idiot,” he returned. ”What is more, I am not about to marry a girl.”

I was becoming more and more convinced that my suspicions were correct.

”In that case, the objection is removed,” I said. ”And now let me offer you my heartiest congratulations. I sincerely hope you may be happy.”

”But hang it all, you haven't asked me yet who the lady is! You might have done that.”

”If I wanted to waste time I might very well have done it,” I replied.

”There is no need, however, seeing that I already know who she is.”

”The deuce you do! Then who is she?”

”The Countess de Venetza,” I answered, shaking the ash of my cigar into the tray beside me. ”I had my suspicions at lunch, and you afterwards confirmed them. I presume I am correct?”

”Quite correct,” he said in a tone of relief. ”And, by Jove, don't you think I am a lucky man? Isn't she simply beautiful?”

I offered no reply to the first question. On the second point, however, I was fortunate enough to be in a position to rea.s.sure him. Whatever else she might be, or might not be, the Countess was certainly very beautiful.

”I shall have her painted by Collier,” he continued, ”or another of those artist fellows. She will be in black velvet, holding the folds of a curtain in her hand, and I'll hang it in the gallery at the old place, with all the other family pictures round her. There'll not be another there to equal her.”

In my own heart I wondered what those stately old ladies in frills and brocades would say to the new-comer. I did not mention the fact, however, to Rotherhithe. In his present condition he was ready to take offence at anything, at least where she was concerned.

”And when will the wedding take place?” I enquired. ”And where?”

”I can't quite say,” he replied; ”there's such a lot to be settled first, you see. I want her to let it be in London, but, so far, she hasn't given me a definite answer.”

”And her respected father? What has he to say upon the subject?”

”Oh, he's pleased enough. I had a telegram from him this morning.

Between ourselves, I think foreigners overdo it a bit, don't you?”

”They certainly express their feelings somewhat more warmly than we usually do,” I said, as if in explanation of my own conduct; ”but in this case one feels justified in launching out a little. Might I ask how long you have known the lady?”

I put the question listlessly, seeing that the chance of my learning a little of her past history was a poor one.

”Oh, I have known her a long time,” he answered vaguely. ”We were together in Cairo and Algiers, and other places. What a fellow you are, to be sure, to ask questions! Does it mean that you think----”

He stopped and glared at me, but I soothed him down.

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