<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2 class="p4">CHAPTER XXII</h2>
<p class="pch">SUITABLE SURROUNDINGS</p>
<p class="drop-cap06">WALDO’S was a business letter; any feelings
that might be influencing the proposed
transaction, any sentiment that
might be involved—whether of Nina’s, of his own,
of his father’s, or of mine—he appeared to consider
as having been adequately indicated in our talk at
Paris, and accorded them only one passing reference.
He assumed that I should be bearing all that—he
had a habit of describing the emotions as “all that,”
I remembered—in mind; what remained was to ask
me whether I were favorably disposed to the arrangement,
the value of his remainder—which must,
alas, before many years were out, become an estate
in possession—to be fixed by a firm of land agents
selected by himself and me—“from which price I
should suggest deducting twenty-five per cent. in
consideration of what I believe the lawyers call
‘natural love and affection’; in other words, because
I’d much sooner sell to you than to a stranger—in
fact, than to <i>anybody else</i>.” The underlining of the
last two words clearly asked me to substitute for
them a proper name with which we were both well<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</SPAN></span>
acquainted. He added that he thought the land
agents’ valuation would be somewhere in the neighborhood
of thirty thousand pounds, timber included—and
so, with kindest remembrances from Nina,
who was splendidly fit, <i>considering</i> (another underlining
gave me news of possible importance for the
future of the Dundrannan barony), he remained my
affectionate cousin.</p>
<p>Though I suspect that son and father, at the bottom
of their hearts, felt much the same about the
matter, Sir Paget’s letter was expressed in a different
vein. Leaving the business to Waldo, he dealt with
the personal aspect:</p>
<p>“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you that I
hadn’t always hoped and expected that the heir of
my body and the child of my dear wife should succeed
me here. That’s nature; but <i>Dis aliter visum</i>.
The All-Highest herself decides otherwise.” (I
saw in my mind the humorous, rather tired, smile
with which he wrote that.) “But I should be an
ungrateful churl indeed if I repined at the prospect
of being succeeded at Cragsfoot by you, who bear
the old name (and, I am told, are to get a handle to
it!)—you who are and have been always son of my
heart, if not of my body—a loyal, true son too, if
you will let me say it. So, if it is to be, I receive it
with happiness, and the more you come to your
future dominions while I—<i>brevis dominus</i>—am still
here to welcome you, the better I shall be pleased.
But, prithee, Julius, remember that you provide, in<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</SPAN></span>
your own person, only for the next generation.
When your turn comes for the doleful cypresses,
what is to happen? You must look to it, my boy!”</p>
<p>After a touching reference to his old and now lost
companion, Aunt Bertha, and to his own loneliness,
he went on more lightly: “But Waldo comes over
every day from Briarmount when they are ‘in residence,’
and the aforesaid All-Highest herself pays
me a state visit once or twice a week. The Queen-Regent
expects an Heir-Apparent. Oh, confidently!
I think she can’t quite make out how fate, or nature,
or the other Deity dared to thwart her, last time!
I confess I am hypnotized—I too have no doubt of
the event! So, as to that, all is calm and confidence—the
third peer of the line is on his way! But is there
anything wrong in her outlying dominions? Villa
San Carlo, though it sounds like a charming winter
palace, doesn’t seem to have been an unqualified
success. ‘Rather tiresome down there!’ she said.
I asked politely after the cousin. Very well, when
she had seen him last, but she really didn’t know
what he was doing; it seemed to her that he was
taking a very long holiday from business—‘Our
works down there are of only secondary importance.’
I remarked that you had written saying
how much you were enjoying yourself at Villa San
Carlo, and how you regretted being detained in
Paris. ‘Oh, he meant to leave us anyhow, I think!’
I fancied somehow that both of you gentleman had
incurred the royal displeasure. What have you<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</SPAN></span>
been up to? Rebellion, <i>lèse-majesté</i>, treason?
You are bold men if you defy my Lady Dundrannan!
Well, she’s probably right in thinking that Cragsfoot
is too small for her, and not worth adding to
her dominions!”</p>
<p>Though the purchase would need some contriving,
the price that Waldo’s letter indicated was not an
insuperable difficulty, thanks to the value which Sir
Ezekiel was now kind enough to put on my services;
I could pay it, and keep up the place on a footing of
frugal decency when the time came. For the rest,
the prospect was attractive. Cragsfoot had always
been an integral part of my life; my orphaned childhood
had been spent there. If it passed to a
stranger, I should feel as it were dug up by the roots.
If I did not fall in with the arrangement, pass to a
stranger it would; I felt sure of that; the All-Highest
had issued her command. “So be it!” I
said to myself—half in pleasure, still half in resentment
at the Dundrannan fiat, which broke the direct
line of the Rillingtons of Cragsfoot. I also made
up my mind to obey Sir Paget’s implied invitation as
soon as——</p>
<p>As soon as what? The summons from Cragsfoot—the
call back to home and home life (my appointment
to our London office was now ratified)—brought
me up against that question. I could
answer it only by saying—as soon as Lucinda’s affair
had somehow settled itself. She could not be
left where she was; as a permanency, the present<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</SPAN></span>
situation was intolerable. She must yield or she
must go; Valdez would never let her alone, short of
her adopting one of those alternatives; he would
keep on at his pestering and posturing. She had no
money; her mother had lived on an annuity, or an
allowance, or something of that kind, which expired
with the good lady herself. Clearly, however, she
was able to support herself. She must not sell
flowers on the Piazza all her life; I thought that she
would consent to borrow enough money from me to
set herself up in a modest way in business, and I determined
to make that proposal to her on the morrow—as
soon as we had got through the ordeal of
this evening’s dinner. I fervently hoped that we
might get through it without a flare-up between Arsenio
and his honored guest Godfrey Frost. Out
of favor at Briarmount was he, that young man?
I could easily have told Sir Paget the reason for
that!</p>
<p>The only one of the prospective party whom I encountered
in the course of the afternoon—though I
admit that I haunted the Piazza in the hope of seeing
Lucinda—was the host himself. I met him in
company with a tall, lean visaged, eminently respectable
person, wearing a tall hat and a black
frock coat. Arsenio stopped me, and introduced
me to his companion. He said that Signor Alessandro
Panizzi and I ought to know one another; I
didn’t see why, and merely supposed that he was
exhibiting his respectable friend, who was, it appeared,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</SPAN></span>
one of the leading lawyers in Venice and,
indeed, an ex-Syndic of the city. Signor Panizzi, on
his part, treated Arsenio with the greatest deference;
he referred to him, in the course of our brief
conversation, as “our noble friend,” and was apparently
hugely gratified by the familiar, if somewhat
lordly, bearing which Arsenio adopted towards
him. But, after all, Arsenio was now rich—notoriously
so, thanks to the way in which wealth had
come to him; one could understand that he might be
regarded as a highly-to-be-valued citizen of Venice.
Perhaps he was going to run for Mayor himself—one
more brilliant device to dazzle Lucinda!</p>
<p>There it was—in thinking of him one always expected,
one always came back to, the bizarre, the incongruous
and ridiculous. It was the overpowering
instinct for the dramatic, the theatrical, in him, without
any taste to guide or to limit it. That was
what made it impossible to take him, or his emotions
and attitudes, seriously; Waldo’s “all that” seemed
just the applicable description. I walked away
wondering just what particular line his bamboozlement
of Signor Alessandro Panizzi might be taking.
Moreover, that he could find leisure in his thoughts
to posture to somebody else—besides Lucinda and
myself—was reassuring. It made his hints of the
night before seem even more unreal and fantastic.</p>
<p>That same last word was the only one appropriate
to describe what I found happening to my unfortunate
<i>salon</i>, when I got back early in the evening.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</SPAN></span>
Half a dozen men, under the superintendence
of Louis and the fat old <i>portière</i> who lived
in a sort of cupboard on the ground floor, opening
off the hall, were engaged in transforming it into
what they obviously considered to be a scene of
splendor. The old <i>portière</i> was rubbing his plump
hands in delight; at last Don Arsenio was launching
out, spending his money handsomely, doing justice to
Palazzo Valdez; the rich English nobleman (this
was Godfrey Frost—probably after Arsenio’s own
description) would undoubtedly be much impressed.
Very possibly—but possibly not quite as old Amedeo
expected! The table groaned—or at all events
I groaned for it—under silver plate and silver
candlesticks. The latter were also stuck galore in
sconces on the walls. Table and walls were
festooned with chains of white flowers; the like
bedecked the one handsome thing that really belonged
to the room—the antique chandelier in the
middle of the ceiling; I had never put lights in it,
but they were there now. And the banquet was to
be on a scale commensurate with these trappings.
“Prodigious! Considering the times, absolutely
prodigious!” Amedeo assured me; he, for his part,
could not conceive how Don Arsenio and Signor
Louis had contrived to obtain the materials for such
a feast. Signor Louis smiled mysteriously; tricks
of the trade were insinuated.</p>
<p>It seemed to me that Arsenio had gone stark
mad. What were we in for this evening?</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>Just as this thought once again seized on my
mind, I saw something that gave me a little start.
The butt of a revolver or pistol protruded from the
side-pocket of Louis’s jacket, and the pocket bulged
with the rest of the weapon.</p>
<p>“What in the world are you carrying that thing
about for?” I exclaimed.</p>
<p>“Monsieur Valdez told me to clean it,” he
answered quietly. “He gave it to me for that purpose—out
of his bureau.”</p>
<p>“He didn’t tell you to carry it about with you
while you did your work, did he?”</p>
<p>“No, he didn’t,” said Arsenio’s voice just behind
me. The door stood open for the workers, and he
had come in, in his usual quiet fashion. I turned
round, to find him grinning at me. “Give it here,
Louis,” he ordered, and slipped the thing into his
own pocket. “The room looks fine now, doesn’t
it?” he asked.</p>
<p>“What do you want with your revolver to-day?”
I asked.</p>
<p>He looked at me with malicious glee. “Aha,
Julius, I did frighten you last night then, after all!
You pretended to be very scornful, but I did make
an impression! Or else why do you question me
about my revolver?”</p>
<p>“I didn’t believe a word of that nonsense you
hinted at last night,” I protested. “But what do you
want with your revolver?”</p>
<p>“My dear fellow, I don’t want to boast of my<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</SPAN></span>
wealth, but there’s a considerable sum of money
in my bureau—very considerable. No harm in
being on the safe side, is there?”</p>
<p>That seemed reasonable: his manner too changed
suddenly from derision to a plausible common sense.
“Possessing a revolver—as most of us who served
do—doesn’t mean that one intends to use it—on
oneself or on anybody else, does it?”</p>
<p>I felt at a loss. When he wanted me to believe,
I didn’t. When he wanted me not to believe, I did—or,
at all events, half did. With Arsenio the
plausible sensible explanation was always suspect; to
be merely sensible was so contrary to his nature.</p>
<p>The busy men had apparently finished their ridiculous
work. Louis came in and looked round with
a satisfied air.</p>
<p>“Splendid, Louis!” said Arsenio. “Here, take
this thing and put it on the bureau in my room.”
As Louis obediently took the revolver and left us
alone together, Arsenio added to me: “Don’t
spoil your dinner—a good one, I hope, for these
hungry days—by taking seriously anything I said
last night. Perhaps in the end I did mean—No, I
didn’t really. I was wrought up. My friend,
wasn’t it natural?”</p>
<p>Well, it was natural, of course. On a man prone
to what Lucinda had called “heroics” the hour in
which she had given him that kiss—the kiss of farewell,
as we had both interpreted it to be—would
naturally induce them. I should have been disposed<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</SPAN></span>
to accept his disclaimer of any desperate intentions,
except for the fact that somehow he still seemed to
be watching me, watching what effect his words had
on me, and rather curiously anxious to efface the impression
which the sudden appearance of the revolver
had made upon me.</p>
<p>“Last night—yes!” He dropped into a chair.
“Her action affected me strangely. It is long since
she kissed me. And then to kiss me like that! Can
you wonder that I gave way?” He smiled up at
me. “One doesn’t easily part from Lucinda. Why,
you told me that Waldo—our old Waldo—went
nearly mad with rage when I took her from him.”
His brows went up and he smiled. “It needed a
European War to save me, you said! Well, if my
excitements are not as tremendous as Waldo’s, I
must admit that they are more frequent. But to-day
I’ve come to my senses. Pray believe me, my
dear Julius—and don’t let any absurd notion spoil
your dinner.”</p>
<p>He was very anxious to convince me. My mind
obstinately urged the question: Was he afraid that
I might watch him, that I might interfere with his
plan? I tried to shake off the notion—not quite
successfully. I had a feeling that “heroics” might
be like strong drink; a man could indulge in a lot
of them, and yet be master of them—and of himself.
But there might come a point where they would gain
the mastery, and he would be a slave. In which
case——</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“You think this dinner of mine a mad affair?” I
found Arsenio saying. “Well, think so, in your
stolid English fashion!” He shrugged his shoulders
scornfully. “You don’t see what it means?
Oh, of course you don’t! I suppose you love Lucinda
as well—I said, Julius, that you loved Lucinda
as well—and the one merit of the English language
is, that ‘love’ is a tolerably distinctive word when applied
to a woman—in that damned black frock as if
she were dressed as her beauty deserves? Well, I
don’t; I know—we know, we Southerners—how the
setting enhances the jewel. By my cunning incitements—you
heard, but you had no ears—she will
dress herself to-night; you’ll see!” He waved his
hands to embrace the room. “And I have given
her suitable surroundings!”</p>
<p>“I suppose it’s about time that we bedecked ourselves,”
I suggested, rather wearily.</p>
<p>“Yes—but one moment!” He leant forward in
his chair. “What’s to become of her, Julius?”</p>
<p>I answered him rather fiercely, brutally perhaps.
“I think you’ve lost the right to concern yourself
with that.”</p>
<p>“I have, I know. Hence the occasion of this evening.
But you, Julius?”</p>
<p>“I shall always be at her service, if she needs
help. As you know, she’s very independent.”</p>
<p>He nodded his head. Then he smiled his monkey
smile. “And there’s Godfrey Frost, of course.
Entirely in a position to assist her! A sound head!<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</SPAN></span>
A good business man! Wants his price, but——!”</p>
<p>“Oh, damn you, go and dress for your infernal
dinner!”</p>
<p>The devil was in him. He got up with a grin.
“I doubt whether you’ll be very good company!
Oh, let’s see, where’s that revolver? Oh, I gave
it back to Louis, so I did! Our esteemed friend
ought to be here in half an hour. Do you happen
to know that he and Lucinda have been to the Lido
together this afternoon? No, you don’t? Oh,
yes! My friend Alessandro and I saw them embarking.
Doesn’t that fact add a further interest
to this evening? But look at the room—the table!
Shall we not outshine the Frost millions to-night—you
and I, Julius?”</p>
<p>“It isn’t my affair, thank God!”</p>
<p>“Oh, that’s as it may turn out! <i>Au revoir</i>, then,
in half an hour!”</p>
<p>He succeeded in leaving me in about as bewildered
a state of mind as I have ever been in in all my life;
I, who have often had to decide whether a politician
was an honest man or not!——</p>
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