Part 2 (2/2)
”So my cousin lives up in the fog. And does it always hang about like this?”
”Oh dear no!” replied the d.u.c.h.ess. ”It goes away sometimes, in the afternoon. The sirocco, this year, has been most exceptional. Most exceptional! Don't you think so, Denis?”
”Really couldn't say, d.u.c.h.ess. You know I only arrived last week.”
”Most exceptional! Don Francesco will bear me out.”
”It blows,” said the priest, ”when the good G.o.d wishes it to blow. He has been wis.h.i.+ng pretty frequently of late.”
”I am writing to your cousin,” the d.u.c.h.ess remarked, ”to ask her to my small annual gathering after the festival of Saint Dodeka.n.u.s.
To-morrow, you know. Quite an informal little affair. I may count on you, Bishop? You'll all come, won't you? You too, Mr. Keith. But no long words, remember! Nothing about reflexes and preternatural and things like that. And not a syllable about the Incarnation, please. It scares me. What's the name of her villa, Denis?”
”Mon Repos. Rather a commonplace name, I think--Mon Repos.”
”It is,” said Keith. ”But there is nothing commonplace about the lady.
She iw what I would call a New Woman.”
”Dear me!”
Mr. Heard was alarmed at this picture of his cousin. He did not altogether approve of New Women.
”She has long ago pa.s.sed the stage you have in mind, Bishop. She is newer than that. The real novelty! Looks after the baby, and thinks of her husband in India. I believe I have many points in common with the New Woman. I often think of people in India.”
”Such a dear little child,” said the d.u.c.h.ess.
”Almost as round as myself,” added Don Francesco. ”There goes the Commissioner! He is fussing about with the judge, that red-haired man--do you see, Mr. Heard?--who limps like Mephistopheles and spits continually. They say he wants to imprison all the Russians. Poor folks! They ought to be sent home; they don't belong here. He is looking at us now. Ha, the animal! He has the Evil Eye. He is also scrofulous, rachitic. And his name is Malipizzo.”
”What a funny name,” remarked the Bishop.
”Yes, and he is a funny animal. They are great friends, those two.”
”A horrible man, that judge,” said the d.u.c.h.ess. ”Only think, Mr. Heard, an atheist.”
”A freemason,” corrected Mr. Keith.
”It's the same thing. And ugly! n.o.body has a right to be quite so ugly.
I declare he's worse than the cinematographic villain--you remember, Denis?”
”It is a miracle he has lived so long, with that face,” added Don Francesco. ”I think G.o.d created him in order that mankind should have some idea of the meaning of the word 'grotesque.'”
The proud t.i.tle ”Commissioner” caused the bishop to pay particular attention to the other of the two individuals in question. He beheld a stumpy and pompous-looking personage, flushed in the face, with a moth-eaten grey beard and s.h.i.+fty grey eyes, clothed in a flannel s.h.i.+rt, tweed knickerbockers, brown stockings, white spats and shoes. Such was the Commissioner's invariable get-up, save that in winter he wore a cap instead of a panama. He was smoking a briar pipe and looking blatantly British, as if he had just spent an unwashed night in a third-cla.s.s carriage between King's Cross and Aberdeen. The magistrate, on the other hand--the red-haired man--was jauntily dressed, with a straw hat on one side of his repulsive head, and plenty of starch about him.
”I never knew we had a Commissioner here,” said Mr. Heard.
Keith replied:
”We haven't. He is Financial Commissioner for Nicaragua. An incomparable a.s.s is Mr. Freddy Parker.”
”Oh, he has a sensible idea now and then, when he forgets to be a fool,” observed Don Francesco. ”He is President of the Club, Mr. Heard.
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