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The shadows were long, as he and Adrian strolled back to Craford OldManor.
"Well, now, Truepenny," Adrian began, "now that you 've met her, speakout, and tell me on your heart and conscience how she impresses you."
"She seems all right," was Anthony's temperate reply.
"_All right_?" cried Adrian, looking scorn and pity. "My dearMalaprop, she 's just simply the nicest person of her sex within theconfines of the Solar System. She is to other women what--well, I 'llname no names--what somebody I _could_ name is to other men. And withsuch eyes--hey? Are they bright? Are they sharp? Are they trusty?Are they knowing?"
"I expect she can see with them," said Anthony.
"_See_ with them," Adrian sniffed. "I 'll tell you what she cando--she can see round a corner with them. And then such pretty littleears, besides. Did you notice her ears?"
"I noticed she was n't earless," Anthony admitted.
"_Earless_," cried Adrian. "Her ears are like roses and white lilies.Earless, says he. I 'll bet three-halfpence you 'll presently bedenying that she 's witty."
"She seems witty enough," assented Anthony.
"_Witty_," Adrian scoffed, cutting a caper to signify his disdain forthe weak expression. "Witty is n't the word for it. And then, withall her years, she 's so _young_, is n't she? She breathes the fresh,refreshing savour of an unspoiled soul."
"Yes, she's young--for the time being," Anthony agreed. "By the bye,do you know where she comes from?"
"_Do_ I know? I should rather think I know," said Adrian, swaggering."She has n't a secret from me. She comes from Westmoreland. They 'rean old Westmoreland family. But she lives in Kensington. She has oneof those jolly old houses in Kensington Square. Historic, romantic,poetic Kensington Square, where burning Sappho loved and sang, andThackeray wrote the What-do-you-call-'ems. Who fears to speak ofNinety-eight? That's her number. Ninety-eight, Kensington Square, W.And whenever I have occasion to run up to town, mind, I 'm not to thinkof going to an hotel, I 'm to drive straight to Ninety-eight, and itwill be her joy to take me in. So it sometimes pays to be charming,after all."
"I see," said Anthony.
"You see? The deuce you do. What do you see?" asked Adrian, openinghis blue eyes wide, and peering about, as one who would fain see too.
"You patter of Miss Sandus," said Anthony.
Adrian came to a standstill, and raised his hands towards heaven.
"Now I call upon the choirs of blessed Cherubim and Seraphim," heexclaimed. "I call upon them to suspend their singing for an instant,and to witness this. He sees that I patter of Miss Sandus. Whatperspicuity. And he just a mortal man, like anybody--nay, by allaccounts, just a bluff country squire. Ah, what a noble understanding.Well, then, my dear Hawkshaw, since there's no concealing anything fromyou,--_fine mouche, allez_!--I own up. I patter of Miss Sandus."
"Do you happen to know where Madame Torrebianca comes from?" Anthonyasked.
"Oho!" cried Adrian. "It's Madame Torrebianca that _you 've_ beenraving about. Ah, yes. Oh, I concede at once that Madame Torrebiancais very nice too. None readier than I to do her homage. But for funand devilment give me Peebles. Give me old ladies, or give me littlegirls. You 're welcome to the betwixts and the betweens. Old ladies,who have passed the age of folly, or little girls, who have n't reachedit. But women in the prime of their womanhood are always thinking offashion-plates and curling-irons and love and shopping. Name me, ifyou can, four vainer, tiresomer, or more unfruitful topics. Have younever waked in your bed at midnight to wonder how it has come to passthat I, at my time of life, with my attractions, am still a bachelor?To wonder what untold disappointment, what unwritten history of sorrow,has left me the lonely, brooding celibate you see? I 'll lift theveil--a moment of epanchement. It's because I 've never met amarriageable woman who had n't her noddle stuffed with curling-ironsand fashion-plates and love and shopping."
"Do you happen to know where she comes from?" Anthony repeated.
"She--? Who?" asked Adrian, looking vague. Then, as Anthonyvouchsafed no answer, but merely twirled his stick, and gazed withindifferent eyes at the horizon, "Oh--Madame Torrebianca?" heconjectured. "Still harping on my daughter? Of course I know where_she_ comes from. She comes from the land where the love of the turtlenow melts into sweetness, now maddens to crime--as who should say aland of Guildhall banquets. She comes from Italy. Have you ever eatenortolans in Italy?"
"Do you happen to know what part of Italy?" Anthony persisted.
"From Rome, the pomp and pageant of imperial Rome," returned Adrianpromptly. "I 've got it in the lease. Nothing like having things inleases. The business instinct--what? Put it in black and white, saysI. 'La Nobil Donna Susanna Torrebianca, of the Palazzo Sebastiani, viaQuattro Fontane, Rome, party of the second part.' A _beau vers_, isn't it? The lilt, the swelling cadence, the rich rhyme, the hiddenalliterations,--and then the sensitive, haunting pathos, the eternalverities adumbrated by its symbolism. I 've stood upon Achilles' tomb,and heard Troy doubted. Time--that monster-mother, who brings forthher children only to devour them--Time shall doubt of . . ."
"Rome may be the official sort of address she gives to land-agents andpeople," Anthony interposed. "But the part of Italy where she reallylives is a little castaway island in the Adriatic, some fifty milesnorth from Ancona,--the little, unknown, beautiful island of Sampaolo."
Adrian came to a standstill again, and dropped his jaw in sign ofastonishment.
"Oh, come. Not really?" he gasped at length.
"Yes, really," said Anthony.
"My eye!" Adrian exclaimed.
"It _is_ odd, is n't it?" said Anthony.
"_Odd_?" cried Adrian. "It's--it--it beggars the English tongue."
"Well, if it beggars yours, it is doing pretty well," said Anthony.
"You goose," said Adrian, resuming his walk. "Can you actually supposethat I 've passed all these golden days and weeks in friendlyhob-nobbings with her, and not learned that she came from the island ofSampaolo? A fellow of penetration, like me? I appeal to yourhonour--is it likely?"
"Why the devil have you never told me?" Anthony demanded, with asperity.
"You 've never asked me--you 've never given me a chance. You talk,when you have me for a listener, you talk such an uninterrupted stream,it's a miracle if I ever get a word in edgewise," Adrian explained.
"I trust, at least, that you 've been equally taciturn with her," saidAnthony.
"My good Absolute, I am the soul of taciturnity," Adrian boasted,expanding his chest, and thumping it. "This bosom is a sealedsanctuary for the confidences of those who confide in me. Besides,when I 'm with Madame Torrebianca, believe me, we have other subjectsof conversation than the poor Squire o' Craford."
"You see," said Anthony, "for the lark of the thing, I should like, forthe present, to leave her in ignorance of my connection with Sampaolo."
"That's right," cried Adrian. "Dupe, cozen, jockey the trustful youngcreature. Do. There 's a great-hearted gentleman. You need n't fear_my_ undeceiving her. I know my place; I know who holds thepurse-strings; I know which side my bread is buttered on. Motley's mywear. So long as you pay my wages, you may count upon my connivance."
"I shall see her to-morrow morning at Mass. I wonder whether I am inlove with her," Anthony was thinking.
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