Part 40 (1/2)

She laughed. ”Oh, is that all? My dear Mr. Smart, he has come to see you about the frescoes.”

”But I have insulted him!”

”Not permanently,” she said. ”I know him too well. He is like a leech.

He has given you time to reflect and therefore regret your action of the other night. Go down and see him.”

p.o.o.pend.y.k.e volunteered further information. ”There is also a man down there--a cheap looking person--who says he must see the Countess Tarnowsy at once.”

”A middle-aged man with the upper b.u.t.ton of his waistcoat off?” she asked sharply.

”I--I can't say as to the b.u.t.ton.”

”I am expecting one of my lawyers. It must be he. He was to have a b.u.t.ton off.”

”I'll look him over again,” said p.o.o.pend.y.k.e.

”Do. And be careful not to let the Count catch a glimpse of him. That would be fatal.”

”No danger of that. He went at once to old Conrad's room.”

”Good! I had a note from him this morning, Mr. Smart. He is Mr. Bangs of London.”

”May I inquire, Countess, how you manage to have letters delivered to you here? Isn't it extremely dangerous to have them go through the mails?”

”They are all directed to the Schmicks,” she explained.

”They are pa.s.sed on to me. Now go and see the Count. Don't lend him any money.”

”I shall probably kick him over the cliff,” I said, with a scowl.

She laid her hand upon my arm. ”Be careful,” she said very earnestly, ”for my sake.”

p.o.o.pend.y.k.e had already started down the stairs. I raised her hand to my lips. Then I rushed away, cursing myself for a fool, an ingrate, a presumptuous bounder.

My uncalled-for act had brought a swift flush of anger to her cheek.

I saw it quite plainly as she lowered her head and drew back into the shadow of the curtain. Bounder! That is what I was for taking advantage of her simple trust in me. Strange to say, she came to the head of the stairs and watched me until I was out of sight in the hall below.

The Count was waiting for me in the loggia. It was quite warm and he fanned himself lazily with his broad straw hat. As I approached, he tossed his cigarette over the wall and hastened to meet me. There was a quaint diffident smile on his lips.

”It is good to see you again, old fellow,” he said, with an amiability that surprised me. ”I was afraid you might hold a grievance against me. You Americans are queer chaps, you know. Our little tilt of the other evening, you understand. Stupid way for two grown-up men to behave, wasn't it? Of course, the explanation is simple. We had been drinking. Men do silly things in their cups.”

Consummate a.s.surance! I had not touched a drop of anything that night.

”I a.s.sure you, Count Tarnowsy, the little tilt, as you are pleased to call it, was of no consequence. I had quite forgotten that it occurred.

Sorry you reminded me of it.”

The irony was wasted. He beamed. ”My dear fellow, shall we not shake hands?”

There _was_ something irresistibly winning about him, as I've said before. Something boyish, ingenuous, charming,--what you will,--that went far toward accounting for many things that you who have never seen him may consider incomprehensible.