Part 7 (1/2)

”To the left, my dear, among the trees,” he would reply. Or, ”Half-way up the street. _Now_ don't you see?” Or, removing the field-gla.s.ses for a moment to observe the direction of her anxious blinking, ”Why, bless my soul, you aren't looking the right way _at all_. Get it in a line with that chimney over there, and the yellow house. The _yellow_ house. You're looking straight at the pink one. Bless my soul, tut, tut.” And so forth.

A small boy, leaning far over the side of the boat, gazed rapturously into the water, announcing in shrill tones that he could see to the very bottom, an anxious elder sister grasping the back of his jersey meanwhile. A girl with a pigtail jumped about in a manner calculated to bring an abrupt and watery conclusion to the pa.s.sage, till forcibly restrained by her melancholy-looking father. A young man announced that it was going to be, ”Deuced hot on sh.o.r.e, what?” And a gus.h.i.+ng young thing of some forty summers appealed to everyone at intervals to know the hour to the very second it would be necessary to return, since it really would be a sin to keep the s.h.i.+p waiting. While the remarks from an elderly and cynical gentleman, that, in the event of unpunctuality on her part, it would be more probable that she would find herself waiting indefinitely at Teneriffe, caused her to giggle hysterically, and label him a naughty man.

”It is a matter for devout thankfulness,” said the d.u.c.h.essa some ten minutes later, as she and Antony were walking across the square, ”that the _Fort Salisbury_ is large enough to permit of a certain separation from one's fellow humans. I do not wish to be uncharitable, but their proximity does not always appeal to me.”

Antony laughed, and tossed some coppers to a small brown-faced girl, who, clasping an infant nearly as large as herself, jabbered at him in an unknown but wholly understandable language.

”You'll be besieged and bankrupt before you see the s.h.i.+p again, if you begin that,” warned the d.u.c.h.essa.

”Quite possible,” returned Antony smiling.

The d.u.c.h.essa shook her head.

”Oh, if you are in that mood, warnings are waste of breath,” she announced.

”Quite,” agreed Antony, still smiling.

He was radiantly, idiotically happy. The joy of the morning, the brilliance of the suns.h.i.+ne, and the fact that the d.u.c.h.essa was walking by his side, had gone to his head like wine. If the expenditure of coppers could impart one tenth of his happiness to others, he would fling them broadcast, he would be a very spendthrift with his gladness.

At the church to the left of the square, the d.u.c.h.essa paused.

”In here first,” she said. And Antony followed her up the steps.

They made their way through a swarm of grubby children, and entered the porch. It was cool and dark in the church in contrast to the heat and suns.h.i.+ne without. Here and there Antony descried a kneeling figure,--women with handkerchiefs on their heads, and a big basket beside them; an old man or two; a girl telling her beads before the Lady Altar; and a small dark-haired child, who gazed stolidly at the d.u.c.h.essa. Votive candles burned before the various shrines. The ruby lamp made a spot of light in the shadows above the High Altar.

The d.u.c.h.essa dropped on one knee, and then knelt for a few moments at one of the _prie-dieux_. Antony watched her. He was sensible that she was not a mere sight-seer. The church held an element of home for her. Two of the pa.s.sengers--the young man and the cynical elderly gentleman, who had been in the boat with them--strolled in behind him. They gazed curiously about, remarking in loudish whispers on what they saw. Antony felt suddenly, and quite unreasonably, annoyed at their entry. Somehow they detracted from the harmony and peace of the building.

”I didn't know you were a Catholic,” he said five minutes later, as he and the d.u.c.h.essa emerged once more into the sunlight.

”You never asked me,” she returned smiling.

”No,” agreed Antony. And then he added simply, as an afterthought, ”it didn't occur to me to ask you.”

”It wouldn't,” responded the d.u.c.h.essa, a little twinkle in her eyes.

”No,” agreed Antony again. ”I wish those people hadn't come in,” he added somewhat irrelevantly.

”What people?” demanded the d.u.c.h.essa. ”Oh, you mean those two men. Why not? Most tourists visit the church.”

”I dare say,” returned Antony. ”But--well, they didn't belong.”

”No?” queried the d.u.c.h.essa innocently.

Antony reddened.

”You mean I didn't,” he said a little stiffly.

”Ah, forgive me.” The d.u.c.h.essa's voice held a note of quick contrition.

”I didn't mean to hurt you. Somehow we Catholics get used to Protestants regarding our churches merely as a sight to be seen, and for the moment I smiled to think that _you_ should be the one whom it irritated. But I do know what you mean, of course. And--I'm _glad_ you felt it.”