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My man in Palma was unfortunately zealous." Fitz nodded. "Yes," he said, "I was there." Cipriani de Lloseta glanced at him sharply. "I am glad of that," he said. "It was very stupid of me. I ought to have telegraphed to him to hold his tongue." "But Miss Challoner could not have accepted the Val d'Erraha as a present?" "Oh yes, she could, if she had not known.
He pushed the great olive-wood gate open and passed into the terraced garden, all overgrown, neglected, mournful. It was a strange home-coming, with no one near to see. He spent the whole day at Lloseta engaged in the very practical work of employing men to labour at the garden and in the house.
No other but Cipriani de Lloseta would have sat with that perfect composure, wrapt in an impenetrable Spanish silence, providing with grave dignity such a very poor evening's entertainment. And Fitz seemed quite content. He leant back, gravely smoking the good cigar.
"I would not do it with a teaspoon," De Lloseta had answered, and then he sat down to correct the proof of Eve's fourth article on "Spain and Spanish Life." They had been sitting thus together for half an hour in friendly silence, only broken by an occasional high-class Spanish anathema hurled at the head of the printer.
Cipriani de Lloseta and Fitz were standing on the hearthrug together. Mrs. Harrington had not yet come down. They came forward together, the Count taking her hand first, with his courteous bow. Fitz followed, shaking hands in silence, with that simplicity which she had learned to look for and to like in him. "I wonder," said Eve, "why Mrs.
The Count rode alone beneath the gloom of the maritime pines which grow to their finest European stature on the northern slope of D'Erraha. He had been in the saddle all day; but Cipriani de Lloseta was a Spaniard, and a Spaniard is a different man when he has thrown his leg across a horse.
It is a place a place one might easily become attached to. Do you know" he turned his back to her, busying himself with the silver teapot "Lloseta?" he added jerkily. "Yes. My father and I used to go there very often." "Ah " He waited handing Captain Bontnor a cup of tea in silence. But Eve was not thinking of Lloseta; she was thinking of the Casa d'Erraha.
"Three generations ago," he said, "a Count de Lloseta, the grandfather of this present excellency, made over on 'rotas' the estate and house known as the Val d'Erraha to the grandfather of the late Cavalier Challoner a Captain Challoner, one of Admiral Byng's men." Again he paused, arranging his papers. "The Majorcan system 'rotas' is known to your excellency?" "No, senor."
He threw the paper down carelessly on the table, and came across the room towards the Count de Lloseta. He was a surprisingly tall man when he stood up; for in his chair he seemed to sink into himself. His hair was grey rather long and straggly his eyes hazel, looking through spectacles wildly. His cheeks were very hollow, his chin square and bony.
She would not have known what to do with a daughter, so Fate had sent her a son. From the Caballero Challoner to Fitz, from Fitz to Captain Bontnor, from Captain Bontnor to John Craik, and from Craik back to Fitz, this, with Cipriani de Lloseta ever coming and going, in and out, had been Eve FitzHenry's life.
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