"Well, don't you see that all you've got to do—on the question we're dealing with—is to claim your very own wild freedom? Surely I'm right in feeling you," Lord John further remarked, "to have jumped at once to my idea that Bender is heaven-sent—and at what they call the psychologic moment, don't they?—to point that moral. Why look anywhere else for a sum of money that—smaller or greater—you can find with perfect ease in that extraordinarily bulging pocket?"
Lord Theign, slowly pacing the hall again, threw up his hands. "Ah, with 'perfect ease' can scarcely be said!"
"Why not?—when he absolutely thrusts his dirty dollars down your throat."
"Oh, I'm not talking of ease to him," Lord Theign returned—"I'm talking of ease to myself. I shall have to make a sacrifice."
"Why not then—for so great a convenience—gallantly make it?"
"Ah, my dear chap, if you want me to sell my Sir Joshua——!"
But the horror in the words said enough, and Lord John felt its chill. "I don't make a point of that—God forbid! But there are other things to which the objection wouldn't apply."
"You see how it applies—in the case of the Moret-to—for him. A mere Moretto," said Lord Theign, "is too cheap—for a Yankee 'on the spend.'"
"Then the Mantovano wouldn't be."
"It remains to be proved that it is a Mantovano."
"Well," said Lord John, "go into it."
"Hanged if I won't!" his friend broke out after a moment. "It would suit me. I mean"—the explanation came after a brief intensity of thought—"the possible size of his cheque would."
"Oh," said Lord John gaily, "I guess there's no limit to the possible size of his cheque!"
"Yes, it would suit me, it would suit me!" the elder man, standing there, audibly mused. But his air changed and a lighter question came up to him as he saw his daughter reappear at the door from the terrace. "Well, the infant horde?" he immediately put to her.
Lady Grace came in, dutifully accounting for them. "They've marched off—in a huge procession."
"Thank goodness! And our friends?"
"All playing tennis," she said—"save those who are sitting it out." To which she added, as to explain her return: "Mr. Crimble has gone?"
Lord John took upon him to say. "He's in the library, to which you addressed him—making discoveries."
"Not then, I hope," she smiled, "to our disadvantage!"
"To your very great honour and glory." Lord John clearly valued the effect he might produce.
"Your Moretto of Brescia—do you know what it really and spendidly is?" And then as the girl, in her surprise, but wondered: "A Mantovano, neither more nor less. Ever so much more swagger."
"A Mantovano?" Lady Grace echoed. "Why, how tremendously jolly!"
Her father was struck. "Do you know the artist—of whom I had never heard?"
"Yes, something of the little that is known." And she rejoiced as her knowledge came to her. "He's a tremendous swell, because, great as he was, there are but seven proved examples——"
"With this of yours," Lord John broke in, "there are eight."
"Then why haven't I known about him?" Lord Theign put it as if so many other people were guilty for this.
His daughter was the first to plead for the vague body. "Why, I suppose in order that you should have exactly this pleasure, father."
"Oh, pleasures not desired are like acquaintances not sought—they rather bore one!" Lord Theign sighed. With which he moved away from her.
Her eyes followed him an instant—then she smiled at their guest. "Is he bored at having the higher prize—if you're sure it is the higher?"
"Mr. Crimble is sure—because if he isn't," Lord John added, "he's a wretch."
"Well," she returned, "as he's certainly not a wretch it must be true. And fancy," she exclaimed further, though as more particularly for herself, "our having suddenly incurred this immense debt to him!"
"Oh, I shall pay Mr. Crimble!" said her father, who had turned round.
The whole question appeared to have provoked in Lord John a rise of spirits and a flush of humour. "Don't you let him stick it on."
His host, however, bethinking himself, checked him. "Go you to Mr. Bender straight!"
Lord John saw the point. "Yes—till he leaves. But I shall find you here, shan't I?" he asked with all earnestness of Lady Grace.
She had an hesitation, but after a look at her father she assented. "I'll wait for you."
"Then à tantôt!" It made him show for happy as, waving his hand at her, he proceeded to seek Mr. Bender in presence of the object that most excited that gentleman's appetite—to say nothing of the effect involved on Lord John's own.
IX
Lord Theign, when he had gone, revolved—it might have been nervously—about the place a little, but soon broke ground. "He'll have told you, I understand, that I've promised to speak to you for him. But I understand also that he has found something to say for himself."
"Yes, we talked—a while since," the girl said. "At least he did."
"Then if you listened I hope you listened with a good grace."
"Oh, he speaks very well—and I've never disliked him."
It pulled her father up. "Is that all—when I think so much of him?"
She seemed to say that she had, to her own mind, been liberal and gone far; but she waited a little. "Do you think very, very much?"
"Surely I've made my good opinion clear to you!"
Again she had a pause. "Oh yes, I've seen you like him and believe in him—and I've found him pleasant and clever."
"He has never had," Lord Theign more or less ingeniously explained, "what I call a real show." But the character under discussion could after all be summed up without searching analysis. "I consider nevertheless that there's plenty in him."
It was a moderate claim, to which Lady Grace might assent. "He strikes me as naturally quick and—well, nice. But I agree with you than he hasn't had a chance."
"Then if you can see your way by sympathy and confidence to help him to one I dare say you'll find your reward."
For a third time she considered, as if a certain curtness in her companion's manner rather hindered, in such a question, than helped. Didn't he simplify too much, you would have felt her ask, and wasn't his visible wish for brevity of debate a sign of his uncomfortable and indeed rather irritated sense of his not making a figure in it? "Do you desire it very particularly?" was, however, all she at last brought out.
"I should like it exceedingly—if you act from conviction. Then of course only; but of one thing I'm myself convinced—of what he thinks of yourself and feels for you."
"Then would you mind my waiting a little?" she asked. "I mean to be absolutely sure of myself." After which, on his delaying to agree, she added frankly, as to help her case: "Upon my word, father, I should like to do what would please you."
But it determined in him a sharper impatience. "Ah, what would please me! Don't put it off on 'me'! Judge absolutely for yourself"—he slightly took himself up—"in the light of my having consented to do for him what I always hate to do: deviate from my normal practice of never intermeddling. If I've deviated now you can judge. But to do so all round, of course, take—in reason!—your time."
"May I ask then," she said, "for still a little more?"
He looked for this, verily, as if it was not in reason. "You know," he then returned, "what he'll feel that a sign of."
"Well, I'll tell him what I mean."
"Then I'll send him to you."
He glanced at his watch and was going, but after a "Thanks, father," she had stopped him. "There's one thing more." An embarrassment showed in her manner, but at the cost of some effect of earnest abruptness she surmounted it. "What does your American—Mr. Bender—want?"