To Leeward Part 9

The men repeated the rhyme to each other with a grin, and bent hard to their work. They were not Neapolitans as Batis...o...b.. called them, but strong-backed, slim fishermen from the southern coast, as dark as Arabs and as merry as thieves, enjoying a race of all things best in the world, and well able to row it. Swiftly the dark green boat crept up to her rival, and soon Batis...o...b.. could hear the remarks of the men. His own crew did their best, but it was a hopeless case.

"Monsieur Batis...o...b.., Monsieur Batis...o...b..," shouted Marcantonio, almost as much excited as his wife, "we shall conquer you immediately!"

Julius turned and waved his hat, and made a gesture of submission. A few lengths more and they were beside him. He raised his hand, and his men hung on their oars.

"Kismet! it is my portion," he said to himself as he gave up the fight.

"But where are you going in such a hurry, Mr. Batis...o...b..?" asked Leonora, who was delighted at having won the race. "You see it is no use running away; we can catch you so easily."

"Yes," said Batis...o...b.., laughing recklessly at the hidden truth of her words, "I see it is of no use, but I tried hard. It was a good race."

He turned in his seat and leaned over, looking at his friends. The boats drifted together, and the men held them side by side, uns.h.i.+pping their oars. Batis...o...b.. admired the whole turnout, and complimented Leonora upon it. Marcantonio was pleased with everything and everybody; he was delighted that his wife should have had the small satisfaction of victory, and he was proud that his boat had fulfilled his expectations.

So they floated along side by side, saying the pleasantest manner of things possible to each other. Time flew by, and presently they turned homewards.

"I wonder how long it will be," thought Batis...o...b.. as he held the tiller hard over and his boat swung about, "before I tell her where I was going 'in such a hurry'?" And he smiled in a grim sort of irony at himself, for he knew that he was lost.

"Eight o'clock--don't forget!" cried Leonora. She had a pleasant voice that carried far over the water. Batis...o...b.. waved his hat, and smiled and bowed. They were soon separated, and their courses became more and more divergent as they neared the land.

Batis...o...b.. swore a little over his dressing, quite quietly and to himself, but he bestowed much care upon his appearance. He knew just how much always depends on appearance at the outset, and how little it is to be relied on at a later stage. So he gave an unusual amount of thought to his tie, and was extremely fastidious about the flower in his coat.

As for Leonora, she was on the point of a change of mood. She had been very gay and happy all day long, and the adventure with the boat had still further raised her spirits. But that was all the more reason why they should sink again before long, for her humours were mostly of short duration, though of strong impulse. This evening she felt as though there were something the matter, or as though something were going to happen, and her gayety seemed to be the least bit fict.i.tious to herself.

She and her husband stood on the terrace in the sunset, awaiting their guest.

"My dear," said Marcantonio, "I am in despair. I shall be obliged to go to Rome to-morrow or the next day. My uncle, the cardinal, writes me that it is very important." Leonora's face fell; she had a sharp little sense of pain.

"Oh, Marcantoine," she said, "do not go away now!"

"It is only for a day or two, my angel," he said, drawing her arm through his.

"Must you really go?" she asked, not looking at him.

"Helas, yes."

"Then I will go with you," said she, in a determined tone.

"Ah, I thank you for the wish, cherie," he answered. "But you will tire yourself, and be so hot and uncomfortable. See, I will only be away a day and a half."

"But I do not want to be alone here without you," she pleaded. She could not for her life have told why she was so distressed at the idea, but it gave her pain, and she insisted.

"As you wish," said Marcantonio, kissing her hand. "I will make every arrangement for your comfort, and do what I can to make the journey pleasant."

He was a little surprised, but, manlike, he was flattered at his wife's show of affection. There are moments in a woman's life when, whether she loves her husband or not, she turns to him and holds to him with an instinctive sense of reliance.

A moment later Julius Batis...o...b.. was announced, and the three went in to dinner. It was a strange position, though it is by no means an uncommon one. A man, his wife, and another man, an outsider; the outsider loving the woman, the husband supremely happy and unconscious, and the woman feeling the evil influence, not altogether opposing it, and yet clinging desperately to her husband's love. Three lives, all trembling in the balance of weal and woe. But no one could have suspected it from their appearance, for they were apparently the gayest and most thoughtless of mortals.

The adventure in the afternoon, the expedition to Castellamare, the baskets and even the cook,--then, the events of the past winter, their many mutual acquaintances, and the whole unfathomable cyclopaedia of society facts and fictions,--everything was reviewed in turn, and talked of with witty comments, good-natured or ill-natured as the case might be. Batis...o...b.. was full of strange stories, generally about people they all knew, but he was not a gossip by nature, and he avoided saying disagreeable things. Leonora, on the other hand, would be gay and brilliant for a few moments, and then would let fall some bitter saying that sounded oddly to Batis...o...b.., though it made her husband laugh.

"You would have us believe you terribly disillusioned, Marchesa," said Batis...o...b.., after one of these sallies. Leonora laughed, and her eyes flashed again as she looked at him across the table.

"You, who are so fond of Eastern magic," she said, "should give back to this age all the illusions we have lost."

"Were I to do so," answered Batis...o...b.., looking into her eyes as he spoke, "I fear that you, who are so fond of Western philosophy, would tear them all to pieces."

"My poor philosophy," exclaimed Leonora, "you will not let it alone. You seem to think it is to blame for everything,--as if one could not try, ever so humbly, to learn a little something for one's self, without being always held up for it as an exception to the whole human race. It is as if I were to attribute everything you say and do to the fact of your having written a book--how many--two? three?" She laughed gayly. "I do not know," she continued, "and I will never read anything more that you write, because you laugh at my philosophy."

"It is better to laugh at it than to cry at it," said Marcantonio, without meaning anything.

"Why should I cry at it?" asked Leonora quickly. Her husband did not know how honestly she had shed tears and made herself miserable over it all.

"You laugh now," he answered, "but imagine a little. All philosophers are old and hideous, and wear"--

"For goodness' sake, Marchese," broke in Batis...o...b.., "do not paint the devil on the wall, as the Germans say."

"The Germans need not paint the devil," retorted Marcantonio, irrelevantly. "They need only look into the gla.s.s." He hated the whole race.

"You might as well say that Italians need not go to the theatre," put in Leonora, "because they are all actors." Her husband laughed good-humouredly.

"You might as well say," said Batis...o...b.., "that Englishmen need not keep horses because they are all donkeys. But please do not say it."

"No," said Leonora, "we will spare you. But you might say anything in the world of that kind. It has no bearing on my philosophy."

"That is true," answered Marcantonio. "I said that philosophers were old and hideous, but not that they were devils, actors, or donkeys. You suggest the idea. I think they are probably all three."

"Provided you do not think so after I have become a philosopher," said Leonora, "you may think what you please at present, mon ami."

"I think that you are altogether the most charming woman in the world,"

replied her husband, looking at her affectionately.

"Is it permitted to remark that the Marchese is not alone in that opinion?" inquired Batis...o...b.., politely.

"No," said Leonora, demurely, "it is not permitted. And observe that an English husband would not say that kind of thing in public, mon cher."

"Perhaps because they do not believe it in private," objected Marcantonio.

"More likely for the reason I suggested," observed Batis...o...b.., "that we are all donkeys."

"All?" asked Leonora. "But some of you are authors"--

"It is the same thing," said Batis...o...b...

"Mon Dieu! there are times"--began Marcantonio.

"When you believe it?" inquired Batis...o...b.., laughing.

"Ah, no! you are unkind; but times when I should like to be an Englishman."

"I have heard of such people," said Batis...o...b.., gravely, "but I have never met one. You interest me, Marchese."

"You must not be so terribly disloyal," said Leonora. "You know I am English, too,--at least, I was," she added, looking at Marcantonio.