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Updated: June 14, 2025
They all knew that the time had come for the Count de Lloseta to tell his story to redeem the promise made to Eve and Fitz long ago, before they were married. Cipriani de Lloseta leant back in his deep garden-chair nursing one booted leg over the other.
"That has been the keynote of his life as long as I have known him. If there had been anything to do, you may be sure that De Lloseta would have done it." Eve was bending over the small beginnings of a man lying supine on her knees. She drew Henry Cyprian's wraps closer around him preparatory to taking him indoors. "Then his is surely the saddest life imaginable," she said.
"My dear, I did not propose doing so," answered Mrs. Harrington, and her voice was so humble and conciliatory that De Lloseta looked up from his plate, from one face to the other. That Mrs. Harrington should accept this reproof thus humbly seemed to come as a surprise to them all, except Fitz, who went on eating his dinner with a singular composure. It would appear that Mrs.
They are two hundred years behind Northern Europe. What must they have been a hundred and twenty years ago? We have no means of finding out what passed between your great-grandfather and my grandfather. We only know that three generations of Challoners have lived in the Casa d'Erraha, paying to the Counts of Lloseta a certain proportion of the product of the estate.
Often, often this man watches the boats depart, but he never goes himself. Often, often he gazes out in his chastened, impenetrable silence over the horizon, as if seeking to pierce the distance and look on the bare heights of the far-off island. For there, over the glassy smoothness of the horizon, behind those little grey clouds, is Majorca and Lloseta.
He was killed while riding a steeplechase last week. I regret him deeply. He was one of my few friends." Eve laid the letter down with a little sigh, a species of sigh which she reserved for Cipriani de Lloseta. "He is a nineteenth-century Quixote," she said. "No one ever knows what good he may be doing." Then they fell to talking of this man, of what he had done and what he had left undone.
She found De Lloseta in the hall, and he followed her into the room. Whenever she attempted to demonstrate her right to the attention of the only young man present by one of those little glances or words with which women hurt each other, De Lloseta seemed to step in, intercepting with his dark smile.
The labourers in the fields, men and women, brown, sunburnt, half Moorish, wholly simple and natural, paused in their toil and looked wonderingly at the lonely horseman; the patient mules walking their ceaseless round at the Moorish wells blinked lazily at him; the eagles of Lloseta swept slowly round in a great circle far above the old castle, as they had swept in his childhood, and he looked up at them with his strange patient smile.
The Harringtons stayed longer than we invited them for. They were well- bred adventurers. I have met many such in English country houses people who shoot, and fish, and hunt at the expense of others. It suited them to stay at Lloseta, and they did so. They were people who got the best of everything by asking for it by looking upon it in a well-bred way as their right.
At dinner, when Fitz was absent-minded, Agatha managed to show the others that she alone could follow him into the land of his reflections and call him back from thence. But on several occasions, when she was about to turn to him with a smile which was especially reserved for certain young men under certain circumstances, Cipriani de Lloseta spoke to her and spoilt the small manoeuvre.
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