Adventure stories; British -- Portugal -- Fiction; Lisbon (Portugal) -- Fiction; Love stories
“My dear lady, I’ll ask the whole regiment if you wish it.”
“Here he comes, you can ask him now. I suppose you know him?”
A young fellow in the uniform of a lieutenant had entered the palm
house and came hurrying toward us. I did not care for his looks.
Tall and slight of figure, a foppish and affected manner, anæmic and
dissipated in looks with a narrow, retreating forehead, no chin to
speak of, and prominent eyes, in one of which he had an eyeglass, I set
him down as weak, unstable, shallow, and generally undesirable. But he
was Miralda’s half-brother and thus to me a person of consideration.
“I say, Inez, this is too bad. I’ve been hunting for you everywhere and
the dance is all but over.”
She beamed on him with one of her richest smiles. “I own my fault,
Vasco, but I sent word to you by Miralda. I simply could not resist the
opportunity of a chat with the distinguished Englishman every one is
talking about. Mr. Donnington, Lieutenant de Linto.”
I had risen and shook hands cordially, expressing my pleasure at
meeting him. “I fear that unwittingly I have taken your place,
lieutenant,” I added. “Pray pardon me.”
“Here’s my card, Vasco. Take two dances for the one we have missed.”
“That’s all right then,” he said, as he took her card eagerly and
scribbled his initials on it. “I think after all I’m obliged to you,
Mr. Donnington,” he added with a vacuous smile which he intended to be
pleasant.
“Mr. Donnington has asked me to make up a little yachting party one
day, Vasco, and I was just mentioning your name as you came up.”
“Oh, I say, but I’m a rare bad sailor,” he replied doubtfully.
“We’ll choose a fine day then, Vasco. And of course I couldn’t go
without you.” She laid her hand on his arm and glanced up into his face
with a yearning look which convinced him of her perfect sincerity and
fetched a sigh out of him that told its own tale.
I excused myself promptly, and as I turned away he took the chair by
her side, feasting his big eyes on her beauty and letting his little
senses surfeit themselves in the glamour of her charms.
She had his scalp right enough. He was hers, body and soul and honour.
But why had she taken the trouble? She cared for him even less than I
cared for her; and the night before I had seen her look at Barosa with
the light which only one man can bring to a woman’s eyes. Only one at a
time, anyway.
Why then should she fool this little insignificant creature? Of course
she had a purpose. She was not the woman to waste her time and her
glances for nothing.
Was it those confounded politics again? One of the little wheels within
the big one which was to have its part to play when the whole machinery
of plot and conspiracy was set in motion.
Fools can be useful at times.
What part had this one to play?
It was nothing to me--and yet it might be much. He was Miralda’s
brother; and nothing which concerned her could be indifferent to me.
CHAPTER VI
DR. BAROSA
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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