The Czar's Spy: The Mystery of a Silent LoveLe Queux, William
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The Czar's Spy: The Mystery of a Silent Love
Le Queux, William
Spy stories
Mrs. Leithcourt and her husband, a tall, thin, gray-headed, well-dressed
man, both came forward to greet us, and after a few introductions I
joined a set at tennis. They were a merry crowd. The Leithcourts were
entertaining a large house-party, and their hospitality was on a scale
quite in keeping with the fine old place they rented.
Tea was served on the lawn by the footmen, and afterwards, being tired
of the game, I found myself strolling with Muriel Leithcourt, a bright,
dark-eyed girl with tightly-bound hair, and wearing a cotton blouse and
flannel tennis skirt.
I was apologizing for my terribly bad play, explaining that I had no
practice out in Italy, whereupon she said--
"I know Italy slightly. I was in Florence and Naples with mother last
season."
And then we began to discuss pictures and sculptures and the sights of
Italy generally. I discerned from her remarks that she had traveled
widely; indeed, she told me that both her father and mother were never
happier than when moving from place to place in search of variety and
distraction. We had entered the huge paneled hall of the Castle, and had
passed up the quaint old stone staircase to the long banqueting hall
with its paneled oak ceiling, which in these modern days had been
transformed into a bright, pleasant drawing-room, from the windows of
which was presented a marvelous view over the lovely Nithsdale and
across to the heather-clad hills beyond.
It was pleasant lounging there in the cool old room after the hot
sunshine outside, and as I gazed around the place I noted how much more
luxurious and tasteful it now was to what it had been in the days when I
had visited its owner several years before.
"We are awfully glad to be up here," my pretty companion was saying. "We
had such a busy season in London." And then she went on to describe the
Court ball, and two or three of the most notable functions about which I
had read in my English paper beside the Mediterranean.
She attracted me on account of her bright vivacity, quick wit and keen
sense of humor, therefore I sat listening to her pleasant chatter.
Exiled as I was in a foreign land, I seldom spoke English save with
Hutcheson, the Consul, and even then we generally spoke Italian if there
were others present, in order that our companions should understand.
Therefore her gossip interested me, and as the golden sunset flooded the
handsome old room I sat listening to her, inwardly admiring her innate
grace and handsome countenance.
I had no idea who or what her father was--whether a wealthy
manufacturer, like so many who take expensive shoots and give big
entertainments in order to edge their way into Society by its back door,
or whether he was a gentleman of means and of good family. I rather
guessed the latter, from his gentlemanly bearing and polished manner.
His appearance, tall and erect, was that of a retired officer, and his
clean-cut face was one of marked distinction.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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