To Leeward Part 10

"Precisely," said he. "The wife takes the nationality of the husband."

"I am not disloyal," answered Batis...o...b... "I am very glad to be an Englishman, but I cannot fancy any one else wis.h.i.+ng to be one. I should think every one would be perfectly contented with his own country. I cannot imagine wanting to change my nationality any more than my person."

"Evidently, you are well satisfied," said Leonora.

"Perfectly, thank you, for the present. When I am tired of myself I will retire gracefully--or perhaps gracelessly; but I will retire. I am sure I should never find another personality half as much in sympathy with my ideas."

As they followed Leonora from the dining-room out upon the terrace, Batis...o...b.. watched her intently. There was a strength and ease about her carriage that pleased his strong love of life and beauty. He noticed what he had hardly noticed before, that her figure was a marvel of proportion,--no wasp-waisted impossibility of lacing and high shoulders, but strong and lithe, and instinct with elastic motion. He had seen her lately always in some wrap, or lace, or mazy summer garment, whereas this evening she was clad in close silk of a deep-red colour, with the least possible tr.i.m.m.i.n.g or marring line. The ma.s.ses of her hair, too, rich in red lights and deep shadows, were coiled close to her n.o.ble head, and her dazzling throat just showed at the square cutting of her dress.

"People must be wonderfully mistaken," thought Batis...o...b... "She is certainly, undeniably a great beauty, in her very peculiar way. Gad! I should think so indeed!" which was the strongest expression of affirmation in Julius Batis...o...b..'s vocabulary.

It was no wonder she attracted him. For nearly two months he had been wandering, chiefly in his boat on the salt water, and in that time he had not so much as spoken to a woman. His conversation had been with himself during all that time; and if he had enjoyed intensely the freedom of heart and thought in the intellectual point of view, his strong nature, always drawn to women when not plunged deep in work or adventure, could not withstand the sudden magnetism now thrown upon it.

He knew and felt the evil of it, and he struggled as best he could, but each fresh meeting made the chances of escape fewer and the danger more desperate.

"Marry," said his best friend to him, when, now and then, in the course of years, they met.

"How can I marry?" he would ask. "How can I ever hope to love one woman again as a woman deserves to be loved?"

"Then go into a monastery and do no more mischief," returned the friend.

She was a woman.

"I am no saint," Julius would say, "but I will try to be." And ever he tried and failed again.

They sat upon the terrace in the cool of the early night, with their coffee and their cigarettes. There was a lull in their conversation, the result of having talked so much at table.

"A propos of contentment," said Marcantonio, "we are very discontented people. We are going to Rome to-morrow, or the next day."

Batis...o...b.. was surprised. He paused with his coffee cup in one hand and his cigarette in the other, as though expecting more.

"Of course it is only for a day or two," continued Marcantonio. "We shall return immediately."

"Seriously, Marcantoine," said Leonora, "how long shall we have to stay?"

"Oh--not very long," he said. "I will get the letter. Monsieur Batis...o...b.. will pardon me?" Batis...o...b.. murmured something polite and Marcantonio rose quickly and entered the house.

"Are you really going so soon?" Julius asked in English, when they were alone, and Leonora could see the light in his eyes as he spoke. She looked away, over the starlit sea.

"I am not quite sure," she said. "I think I ought to go."

"I hope you will not," said Batis...o...b.. boldly. She turned and looked at him again, with a little surprise in her face. Marcantonio came back,--it was only a step to his study.

"Here it is," said Marcantonio, sitting down. "He says he thinks that a day should do, if I could be with him all the time. You see, he is old and wishes to put his affairs in order."

"I cannot see"--began Leonora, but stopped.

"Enfin," said Marcantonio, "it might happen to any one, I should think."

"Let us hope it may happen to all of us," remarked Batis...o...b.., for the sake of saying something.

When it came to parting, Batis...o...b.. made some polite remark about the pleasure he had enjoyed.

"When do you go?" he asked, as he shook hands with Marcantonio.

"I think we will go to-morrow night,--n'est-ce-pas, Leonore?" He turned to his wife, as though inquiring. She looked up from her seat in her deep, cane arm-chair.

"To-morrow night? Oh yes--one day is like another--let us go then to-morrow night."

She spoke indifferently enough, as was natural. Batis...o...b.. supposed she meant to go. He took his leave with many wishes to his hosts for a pleasant journey.

Marcantonio lighted a cigarette and stood looking out over the water, by his wife's side. She was quite silent, and fanned herself indolently with a little straw fan decked with ribbons.

"Will you really go to-morrow night?" asked Marcantonio at last. He had a way of dwelling on things that wearied Leonora. What possible difference could it make whether they went to-morrow, or the day after?

"Because," he continued, "if you will be ready, I will make arrangements."

"What arrangements?" asked Leonora languidly.

"I will write to the cardinal to say I am coming,--one must do that."

"You can telegraph."

"What is the use, when there is time for writing? Why should one waste a franc in a telegram?" He had curious little economies of his own.

"A franc!" she exclaimed with a little laugh.

"And besides," he continued, not heeding her remark, "old gentlemen do not like to receive telegrams. It gives on their nerves."

"Enfin," said she, weary of the question, "you can write that you will go to-morrow night, if you like."

"And you--will you go then?" he asked.

"It depends," she answered. "I may be too tired."

Marcantonio knew very well that his wife was not easily fatigued; but he said nothing, and by his silence closed the discussion. She was very changeable, he thought; but then, he loved her very much, and she had a right to be as changeable as she pleased. It was very good of her to have wanted to go at all, and he would not think of pressing her to it.

He was a very sensible and unimaginative man, not at all given to thinking about things he could not see, nor troubling himself about them in the least. So he did not press Leonora now, and did not make himself unhappy because she was a little changeable. The one thing he really objected to was her pursuance of what he considered fruitless objects of study; she had not opened a book of philosophy since their marriage, and he was perfectly satisfied. Before he went to bed he wrote a line to his uncle, Cardinal Carantoni, to say that he should arrive on the next day but one.

Batis...o...b.. strolled back to the town through the narrow lanes, fenced into right and left by high walls. His thoughts were agreeable enough, and he now and then hummed s.n.a.t.c.hes of tunes with evident satisfaction.

What a magnificent creature she was! And clever too,--at least she looked intelligent, and said very cutting things, as though she could say many more if she liked; and she knew about most things that were discussed, and was altogether exactly what her husband called her,--the most charming woman in the world. Besides, he thought he could make a friend of her. How foolish of him, he reflected, to suppose that very afternoon that he must needs fall in love with her! Where was the necessity? He had evidently been mistaken, too, about her relations with her husband. It was clear that they adored each other, could not be separated for a moment, since when he went to Rome on business she must needs accompany him,--in July, too! Would she go? Probably. At all events, he would not call for a week, when they would certainly have come back. This he thought as he walked home.

But when he sat in his room at the hotel he remembered what he had thought as he followed her out of the dining-room. He had not thought then as he had an hour later. The magnetism of her glorious vitality had been upon him, and he had envied Marcantonio with all his heart, right sinfully.

"Some people call women changeable," he reflected as he blew out his candles; "they are not half so changeable as we are, and some day I will write a book to prove it."

CHAPTER VIII.