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"Upon my word," explained Percival, with unconcealed annoyance, "you seem to know a great deal about Miss Murray's affairs and mine, Mr. Mr. Vasari. I am flattered by the interest they excite; but I don't see exactly what good is to come of it. I knew of Mr. Stretton's proposal long ago: a very insolent one, I considered it." "Let me ask you a plain question, Mr. Heron.
She was beautiful, after all! That was Stretton's first thought. She was as stately as a queen, with a natural crown of golden-brown hair upon her well-poised head; the grand lines of her figure were emphasized by the plainness of her soft, white dress, which fell to her feet in folds that a sculptor might have envied.
"The eyes are like Stretton's," he said, "and that is all." He took two of the photographs with him, however, as part of his equipment. Mrs. Luttrell continued in the state in which she had been found after her interview with Dino.
She was too feverish to do more than swallow a cup of coffee and a little toast, and she had scarcely concluded her scanty meal before Mr. Heron entered the room with a disconcerted expression upon his face. "Do you know the reason of this freak of Stretton's, Elizabeth?" he asked almost immediately. "What do you mean, Uncle Alfred?"
I can only entreat your patience for a little time. Your marriage with Miss Murray " "Need that be dragged into the discussion?" "It is exactly the point on which I wish to speak." "Indeed." Percival pulled the lawyer's arm-chair towards him, seated himself, and pulled his moustache. "I understand. You are Mr. Stretton's emissary!" "His emissary! No." The denial was sharply spoken.
Percival, in his outspoken dislike of the arrangement, would probably have enlightened him if they had been on friendly terms; but Percival showed so decided and unmistakable an aversion to the tutor, that he scarcely spoke to him during his stay, and, indeed, made his visit a short one, chiefly on account of Mr. Stretton's presence.
"An Italian? A priest?" Hugo was thinking of the possibility of Father Christoforo's having made his way to England. "Yes," said Percival, dubiously. "A Benedictine monk, I believe. He hinted that you knew Stretton's real name." "Quite a mistake," said Hugo. "I know nothing about him. But your priest sounds romantic. An old fellow, isn't he, with grey hair?"
Some such fancies as these passed through the crannies of Stretton's mind while he seemed to be listening to Mr. Heron's mildly-pedantic allocutions, and absorbed in the consideration of mediæval art. Mr. Heron was in raptures with his listener.
Stretton's face, and had changed it very greatly in spite of all these things he had noticed, and been startled by, the expression of a pair of grave, brown eyes graver and sadder than Brian's eyes used to be, but full of the tenderness and the sweetness that Hugo had never seen in the face of any other man. Full, also, of recognition; there was the rub.
"Indeed, I shall remember," he said, fervently. And then the boys burst into the room, and in the hubbub of their arrival Elizabeth escaped. Her violets had fallen out of her brooch. Brian found them upon the floor when she had gone; henceforth he kept them amongst his treasures. Hugo's first call at Strathleckie was made on the day following Mr. Stretton's arrival.
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