“I’m part of the concern,” he resumed, after a large sip. “And jolly lucky to be, of course—I see that. But it limits what one may call one’s independence. It doesn’t matter a hang what you do, Julius (This to me, London representative of Coldston’s!)—Oh, privately, I mean, of course. But with me, private life—well, family life, I mean—and business are so infernally mixed up together. Nina can’t absolutely give me the sack, but it would be infernally inconvenient not to be on terms with her.” He paused, and added impressively: “It might in the end break up the business.” One might as well think of breaking up the great Pyramid or Mount Popocatepetl! Too large an order even for an age of revolution! “But you and Nina have nothing to quarrel about,” I expostulated—dishonestly. He eyed me, again smiling sourly. “Oh, come, you know better than that!” his smile said, though his tongue didn’t. “And, besides, it would upset that idea that she and I talked over, and that rather particularly attracted me. I think I spoke to you about it? About Cragsfoot, you know.” “Have you heard from Lady Dundrannan lately?” I inquired. “No—not since I left the Villa.” He made this admission rather sulkily. “Ah, then you’re not up-to-date! Cragsfoot’s all arranged. I’m to have it.” And I told him about the family arrangement. Here I must confess to a bit of malicious triumph. The things envisaged itself to me as a fight between Rillington and Frost, and Rillington had won. Waldo’s old allegiance had resisted complete absorption. But my feeling was—at the moment—rather ungenerous; he was a good deal humbled already. He took the disappointment very well. “Well, it was a fancy of mine, but of course you ought to have the first call, if Waldo sells out. So you’ll be living at Cragsfoot after Sir Paget’s death?” He appeared to ruminate over this prospect. “Yes—and I hope to be there a good deal of my time, even before that.” “With Nina and Waldo for your neighbors at Briarmount?” “Of course. Why not? What do you mean? I shall see you there too sometimes, I hope.” “I hope you’ll get on well with her.” He was smiling still, though in a moody, malicious way—as one is apt to smile when contemplating the difficulties or vexations of others. “You and your family,” he added the next moment. And with that he rose from his chair. “No good asking you to dine to-night, I suppose?” I shook my head. “No, you’ll have to be on hand, of course! Well, good-by, then. I’m off early to-morrow.” He held out his hand. “It’ll interest Nina to hear about all this.” He waved his hand round Venice, but no doubt he referred especially to the death and burial of the eminent Don Arsenio Valdez. “Pray give her my best regards. Pave the way for me as a neighbor, Godfrey!” “Taking everything together, it’ll need a bit of smoothing, perhaps.” He nodded to me, and strolled away across the Piazza.