The Man with the Double Heart Part 55

"But didn't you tell them?" The Bishop stared. "I'd have gone straight to the British Consul. A most disgraceful state of things!"

"Not I!" McTaggart laughed. "What was the use? To begin with, I'd no idea of the address. Naples is like a rabbit-warren--and besides they'd have chaffed me out of my life."

"What an adventure!" His hostess shuddered. She thought for a moment.

"What became of the girl? You never saw her again, I suppose. She must have been a paid decoy?"

"Looks like it." McTaggart agreed. He lit up a cigarette. "That's how I mended my broken heart. But promise you won't tell Mrs. Fleming!"

"I shouldn't dream of it," said the Bishop in a shocked voice. The others laughed.

"The luckiest part to my mind was getting past the Vivianis'--I can see them now, very absorbed. Bellanti had doubled 'no trumps.' That saved it, I believe--and the story from getting all over Rome."

They talked for a little longer, then McTaggart rose to his feet.

"It's getting late, I'm afraid." He shook hands with Lady Leason.

"Thank you so much for a happy evening"--and turned to the Bishop, who detained him.

"I'm going back to Oxton to-morrow," he blinked for a moment, hesitating.

"I wonder now--would you care to come and spend a quiet week-end with us? Do you know that part of the country at all? It's very pleasant in the summer."

"It's awfully kind of you," said McTaggart. He thought quickly through his engagements--"d'you mean _this_ week-end?" he asked--"if so, I shall be delighted."

"Then that's settled"--the Bishop smiled--"we might travel down together to-morrow--I'm going by the three-fifteen. Would that suit you?"

"Splendidly."

Lady Leason watched the pair, a twinkle in her hazel eyes.

"Well--no Neapolitan adventures." Mischievously she shook a finger at the younger man standing there. For no reason, apparently, McTaggart went a trifle red.

"Oh--I've turned over a new leaf."

The Bishop beamed at his cousin.

"It wasn't his fault, Laura, my dear."

"Of course not." She caught McTaggart's eye. "Though I don't _quite_ understand ... Oh, never mind!" She laughed aloud. "But don't demoralize Bertram."

"I couldn't," said McTaggart, smiling.

CHAPTER XXV

McTaggart's week-end visit prolonged itself. For on Monday the Bishop drove him over to lunch at Rustall, Lord Warleigh's fine old Tudor mansion near Oxton. Here he found again a friend of college days, Gilbert Crewkerne, a nephew of the house, and received an unexpected invitation to move on to Rustall and take part in a cricket match fixed for the following Sat.u.r.day.

The Territorials, camping in the neighborhood, were sending an eleven to play against the house party. Unfortunately one of Lord Warleigh's guests had sprained his ankle and Crewkerne saw in McTaggart's visit to Oxton the kindly finger of Providence.

Mario was delighted with the change of plans, approving this beautiful country house, with its vast rooms and fine old park. He had been dismayed by his London quarters, so poor a setting for his young master's rank, and the only flaw in the present scheme was the fact of McTaggart's strict prohibition. He would have liked to proclaim aloud the secret of the former's inheritance, and was not a little pained to find how little McTaggart valued his t.i.tle.

It lowered too his own sense of importance in the servants' hall, where each man took rank according to his master. He resented the butler's distant patronage, but his loyalty was proof against the strong temptation that beset him.

A chance remark of his disclosed the fact to McTaggart one evening as he dressed for dinner.

"Never mind, Mario. We'll go back to Rome for the winter months." He saw the olive face brighten and felt a sudden touch of pity.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? I expect you find it lonely in England--though you're picking up the language fast. Have you heard lately from Lucia?"

He added the question with a smile. Lucia was the Principessa's maid and lived in a fine old Roman palace not far from his own flat.

"Sissignore--a letter last week. They are still at Viareggio. The Poet was taken very ill and Don Cesare has fought a duel."

"Never!--who with?" McTaggart laughed--"And why?"

Mario spread out his hands. "Chi lo sa?--They talk of a lady ... it was with the young Count Guido Chigi."

"He's starting young," McTaggart decided. "Lucia must have had her hands full. I shouldn't care to nurse the Poet. I should think he would keep her pretty busy!"

"And a good thing too," said Mario shrewdly. He did not approve of idleness for his betrothed during his absence.

McTaggart smiled at his valet's voice. He took an interest in his servants, and was not one of those modern masters who consider good wages their only duty toward the men they employ.

Without reasoning out the matter his quick intuition showed him the cause of much of the present-day trouble in domestic service in this country. He realized that a good servant will rarely take a base advantage of his master's kindness if he respects him, and without being socialistic he broke through conventional barriers, appreciating the fact that money alone will not buy fidelity.

His utter lack of sn.o.bism showed him there could be no loss of dignity in quiet friendship with a man whose very dependence upon himself arose from an accident of birth, and whose in.o.btrusive, steady attention formed one of the luxuries of life.

Possibly his Italian blood had something to do with his convictions; for in that old land there is more freedom of intercourse between master and man. It is less swayed by the rule of wealth.

In England, at present, a new type has quickly swung into power, without a material alteration in the status of those it employs. Hence confusion. For inherited prejudice points out the weakness of brand-new dignity to men and women accustomed for centuries to respect good breeding above money.

And there is no cla.s.s on earth so shrewd as the servant cla.s.s to appreciate Caste.

Although one hears endless complaints showered upon it nowadays, one meets constantly with cases of faithful and devoted service, where gentle folk of reduced means, living on their slender incomes and debarred from offering adequate wages, find loyal friends in their servants. Old traditions die hard, and although estates pa.s.s away, squires are ruined by taxation and money seems the only G.o.d, in the heart of the people lingers yet a deep-set love for the old stock.

Had McTaggart lost his wealth or been debarred by a sorry chance of his t.i.tle and Italian property, Mario would have openly grumbled but stayed on through adverse fortune, using his nimble wits to find a means of serving his young master.

It was, however, with deep regret that he packed up the latter's clothes and left Rustall for the train that carried them back to the London rooms.

Long ago he had decided that marriage would solve the present difficulties. He could not picture a young Marchesa in anything but fitting surroundings.

Unaware of the thoughts of his man, and that Mario himself had joined in the general conspiracy against him, McTaggart at last reached home.

London was stuffy, white with dust, after the green countryside, and as they drove through deserted streets he was planning already his next departure. Lord Warleigh had asked him up to Scotland to shoot for the last week in August, and this would fit in well with his plans to spend a few days with the Leasons. The Uniackes, he knew, were off shortly for a month at Worthing, and McTaggart had a hazy idea of a motor trip in his new car on the south coast to fill the gap before he should start for the North.

He wondered if Bethune would care to join him; conscious, with a touch of remorse, that of late he had neglected the latter, absorbed in his own friendship with Jill.