Adventure stories; Greece -- Fiction; Islands -- Fiction; Love stories
The Rector, who had fully intended to ask Caliphronas to be his guest,
was rather startled by Maurice’s precipitancy, but, on the whole, was
not ill-pleased, for two reasons: the first being that he did not much
care about burdening himself with this eccentric foreigner; and the
second, that he was delighted that, during the stay of the Count at the
Grange, Maurice would take to his modelling again.
“By the way,” said Maurice, turning suddenly to the Count, “do you know
any one called Crispin?”
“Creespeen!” repeated Caliphronas, with his foreign accent; “no, I do
not know that name.”
“He is a gentleman who is staying with me,” replied Roylands carelessly;
“and, as he is pretty well acquainted with your part of the world, I
thought you might have met him.”
The Greek smilingly denied that he had the honor of Crispin’s
acquaintance, but it seemed to Maurice as though there was a shade of
apprehension on his face which somewhat puzzled the young man.
“Can’t make this fellow out,” was his mental comment. “Hope I’m not
making a mistake in asking him to the Grange. Still, the Archdeacon’s
letter to Carriston is a sufficient guarantee that he is not a swindler,
so I will chance it.”
“I must now say good-by,” said Caliphronas to the Rector, “and thank you
for your kindness. Of course I will see you soon again.”
“Oh yes. You must come here as often as you can.”
“That will not be much if I am to sit for this artist,” laughed
Caliphronas, turning to Maurice. “Good-by, sir; I will see you to-night
at six o’clock.”
He turned away gayly and left the garden, followed by the admiring eyes
of the two men, especially of Maurice, who congratulated himself on his
good fortune in obtaining such a perfect model.
Meanwhile Caliphronas was walking swiftly in the direction of the
Royland Arms.
“Good!” he muttered to himself in Greek. “The first step is taken, so I
have no fear now.”
CHAPTER V.
CRISPIN IS PUZZLED.
I’ve seen you before
But where I forget,
Yet somewhere of yore
I’ve seen you before;
You meet me once more,
A stranger—and yet
I’ve seen you before,
But where I forget.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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