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Miss Naylor shivered, as if some one had put a penny down her back; and Mrs. Decie, leaning towards Harz, smiled like one who has made a pet dog do a trick. Christian alone was motionless, looking thoughtfully at Harz.
"I fancy that I have it," she said. "Lord Edward Decié, who was a great friend of my father, died about three years ago. The two men did a lot of speculating together, and indeed Lord Edward passed for a shrewd and successful man. When he died I know my father was executor under the will and that he had some control over the Hon. Violet Decié.
Decie, "you lack the elements of wisdom." Herr Paul glared at the approaching stranger. Mrs. Decie had risen, and smilingly held out her hand. "We are so glad to know you; you are an artist too, perhaps? I take a great interest in art, and especially in that school which Mr. Harz represents." The stranger smiled. "He is the genuine article, ma'am," he said.
Cut on both floors by corridors, the Villa was divided into four divisions; each of which had its separate inhabitants, an arrangement which had come about in the following way: When old Nicholas Treffry died, his estate, on the boundary of Cornwall, had been sold and divided up among his three surviving children Nicholas, who was much the eldest, a partner in the well-known firm of Forsyte and Treffry, teamen, of the Strand; Constance, married to a man called Decie; and Margaret, at her father's death engaged to the curate of the parish, John Devorell, who shortly afterwards became its rector.
Treffry was coughing, and when he talked his voice seemed to rumble even more than usual. Greta was dumb, trying to catch Christian's eye; Mrs. Decie alone seemed at ease. After dinner Mr. Treffry went off to his room, leaning heavily on Christian's shoulder. As he sank into his chair, he said to her: "Pull yourself together, my dear!" Christian did not answer him.
Decie said to Greta. "I don't know I really do not know " began Miss Naylor; "he has very high boots," but Greta was already on her way, with hands clasped behind her, and demure eyes taking in the stranger's figure. "Please?" she said, when she was close to him. The stranger took his cap off with a jerk. "This house has no bells," he said in a nasal voice; "it has a tendency to discourage one."
He was fond of both the girls, but did not at all understand them; Greta, his own daughter, was his favourite. Villa Rubein remained their home; it was cheap and roomy. Money, since Paul became housekeeper to himself, was scarce. About this time Mrs. Decie, his wife's sister, whose husband had died in the East, returned to England; Paul invited her to come and live with them.
Decie was happiest in conversations of a literary order, making frequent use of such expressions as: "After all, it produces an illusion does anything else matter?" "Rather a poseur, is he not?" "A question, that, of temperament," or "A matter of the definition of words"; and other charming generalities, which sound well, and seem to go far, and are pleasingly irrefutable.
Greta kept stealing looks at her from under her lashes. "Decided characters are charming, don't you think so, Christian?" Mrs. Decie said, thrusting her chin a little forward, and modelling the words. "That is why I like Mr. Harz so much; such an immense advantage for a man to know his mind. You have only to look at that young man to see that he knows what he wants, and means to have it."
Yr. aff. brother, NICLS. TREFFRY." "Dominique has a carriage here," said Mrs. Decie. "You will have nice time to catch the train. Give my love to your uncle. You must take Barbi with you, I insist on that." She rose from her chair and held Christian's hand: "My dear! You look very tired very! Almost ill. I don't like to see you look like that. Come!"
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