assure you," was her reply, as she lookedat him with open frankness, her cheeks betraying a slightly heightenedcolour. "I know there's quite a lot of gossip about it, but the rumoursare entirely without foundation," she laughed; and as she sat there inthe deep old window-seat, he recognised that, notwithstanding therefined and dignified beauty of a woman who was brilliant in a brilliantcourt, she still retained a soft simplicity and a virgin innocence; shewas a woman whose first tears would spring from compassion, "sufferingwith those that she saw suffer." She had no acquired scruples ofhonour, no coy concealments, no assumed dignity standing in its owndefence. Her bashfulness as they spoke together was less a quality thanan instinct; like the self-folding flower, spontaneous and unconscious.Cosmopolitan life in that glare and glitter of aristocratic Rome--thatcircle where, from the innate distrust women have of each other, thedread of the betrayed confidence and jealous rivalry, they made nofriends, and were indeed ignorant of the true meaning of friendship,where flattery and hypocrisy were the very air and atmosphere andmistrust lay in every hand-clasp and lurked in every glance--had alreadyopened Mary Morini's eyes to the hollow shams, the manifold hypocrisies,and the lamentable insincerity of social intimacies, and she hadrecoiled from it with disgust.
She had retained her woman's heart, for that was unalterable andinalienable as a part of her being; but her looks, her language, herthoughts, assumed to George Macbean, as he stood there beneath the spellof her beauty, the cast of the pure ideal.
And yet she loved Jules Dubard!
He bit his lip and gazed out of the old diamond panes upon the tangle ofred and white roses around the lawn.
Ah! how he longed to speak to her in confidence--to reveal to her thesecret that now oppressed his heart until he seemed stifled by itsghastliness.
But it was utterly impossible, he told himself. Now that Dubard hadfled, he must find other and secret means by which to acquaint her withthe truth, and at the same time shield himself from the Frenchman'scrushing revenge.
He contrived to conceal the storm of emotion that tore his heart, andlaughed with her about the unfounded rumours that had got abroadconcerning her engagement, saying--
"Of course in a rural neighbourhood like this the villagers invent allkinds of reports based upon their own surmises."
"Yes," she declared. "They really know more about our business than wedo ourselves. Only fancy! That I am engaged to marry Count Dubard--ridiculous!"
"Why ridiculous?" he asked, standing before her.
"Well--because it is!" she laughed, her fine eyes meeting his quitefrankly. "I'm not engaged, Mr Macbean. So if you hear such a reportagain you can just flatly deny it."
"I shall certainly do so," he declared, "and I shall reserve mycongratulations for a future occasion."
She then turned the conversation to tennis, evidently being averse tothe further discussion of the man who had courted and flattered her soassiduously--the man who was her father's friend--and presently she tookMacbean out across the lawn to introduce him to her father, who hadseated himself in a long cane chair beneath the great cedar, and wasreading his Italian paper.
His Excellency looked up as they approached, whereupon Mary exclaimed--
"This is Mr Macbean, father. He wishes to salute you. He was hereyesterday playing tennis, but you were not visible."
"Very glad to meet you, sir," exclaimed Camillo Morini, rising, graspingthe young man's hand, and raising his grey felt hat. "You know," heexplained, as he reseated himself, "I am a busy man, and so I have butlittle opportunity of meeting my wife's English friends. But," headded, in very good English, after a slight pause, as he readjusted hisgold-rimmed glasses and looked harder at the young man, "if I am notmistaken, we have met before, have we not? I seem to recognise yourface."
"Yes, your Excellency," laughed Macbean, whereupon both Mary and herfather started in surprise, for it was apparent that their visitor wasaware of Morini's true position. "I had the honour of having anaudience of your Excellency in Rome. I am secretary to MrMorgan-Mason, and accompanied him to Rome on the deputation which waitedupon you regarding the concession of supplying army stores inAbyssinia."
"Of course, of course!" exclaimed the Minister, suddenly interested. "Irecollect quite well. You introduced the deputation, and I rememberremarking how well you spoke Italian for an Englishman. Ah yes. Icould not give the concession, as it had already been given to a Germanfirm," he added, omitting, however, the real reason, namely, because theEnglish company had offered no secret commission. "And you aresecretary to Morgan-Mason? He is a deputy, I believe."
Macbean explained that his employer sat for South-West Norfolk, and inresponse to other inquiries gave certain information concerning hispolitics and his social influence, facts of which the clever Ministermade a note; for an idea had occurred to him that the moniedprovision-dealer whose pompousness had struck him as he had sat in hisprivate cabinet at the Ministry of War might be one day of service tohim.
All through his career it had been part of Camillo Morini's creed tonote persons who might be of assistance to him, and to afterwards usetheir influence, or their weaknesses, to his advantage. A keen judge ofcharacter, he read men's minds as he would an open book. He hadrecognised the weakness of that white-waistcoated Englishman who wasstruggling into society, and he resolved that one day both the Member ofParliament and his secretary should be put to their proper uses.
"Mr Macbean called to see Count Dubard, who is a friend of his," hisdaughter explained.
"Oh, you are acquainted! How curious!" exclaimed His Excellency."Dubard unfortunately left this morning--because he received a letterwhich recalled him at once to Paris. But as my valet tells me that noletters arrived for the count this morning, I can only surmise that hewas tired of us here, and found country life in England too dull," helaughed knowingly. "I've received the same fictitious letter myselfbefore now, when I've been tired of a host and hostess."
And they all three laughed in chorus. His Excellency was of courseunaware of the real reason of Jules Dubard's flight, and the youngEnglishman smiled within himself as he reflected upon the staggeringsurprise it would cause that calm, astute man who was such a power inthe south of Europe if he knew the actual truth.
"Of course," added Signor Morini, turning to the young man, "you will dome one kind favour? You will not mention to anyone here my trueposition. I come to England each year for rest and quiet, and if I amunknown no political significance can be attached to my summer visits--you understand?"
"Certainly, your Excellency, I shall respect your wishes," was Macbean'sreply, and a few minutes later he took leave of the great statesman andhis daughter, and, full of strange conflicting reflections, rode outupon the broad highway back to Thornby.
CHAPTER SIX.
DISCLOSES CERTAIN STRANGE FACTS.
As Big Ben boomed forth twelve o'clock over London that same night thesupper-room at the Savoy was filled to overflowing with a boisterous,well-dressed crowd of after-theatre revellers. The scene was brighterand gayer perhaps than any other scene at that hour in all the giantcity. The "smart set," that slangy, vulgar result of society'sdegeneration, was as largely represented as usual; the women were fair,the jewels sparkled, the dresses were rich, and in the atmosphere wasthat restlessness, that perpetual craze for excitement which proves soattractive to habitues of the place.
Every table in the great room was engaged, and the company wasessentially _le monde ou l'on s'amuse_. But you probably have sat thereamid the hurrying of the waiters, the hum of voices, the loud laughterof "smart women," the clinking of champagne-glasses, that babel of noisedrowned by the waltzes played by the Hungarian band. The air was heavywith the combined odour of a hundred perfumes, the fresh flowers droopedupon the tables, and the merry company crowded into that last half-hourall the merriment they could before the lights were lowered.
At such places one sees exhibited in public the full, true, and soleomnipotence of money--how it wins the impoverished gr
eat ones to beguests of its possessor, how it purchases the smiles of the haughtiest,the favours of the most exclusive.
Lazily watching that animated scene, the two men who had been guests atOrton, Dubard and Borselli, were sitting apart at a small table near thewindow. A bottle of Krug stood between them, and as they leaned theirelbows on the table they criticised their fellow-guests, speaking inItalian, so that their remarks should not be understood by theirneighbours.
The band had just concluded Desgranges' "Jalouse," that air soreminiscent of the terrace of the Cafe de Paris at Monte Carlo, theleader had bowed to the company, and the waiters were busy collectingthe banknotes with which the bills were in most cases paid, when