new-comer's resplendent appearance; "it will be dull in these parts for a young gentleman."
"Oh, I can make myself at home anywhere, Madame," replied Spruce, accepting a cup of very weak tea from Mrs. Tesk. "My visit here is only to collect material for a novel."
"I read the stories of my countryman, Maurus Jokai," said Madame with a nod. "You write like him. Is it not so?"
"By no means. I know nothing of Maurus Jokai."
"Gaszynski! Morzycka! Zmorski! Mukulitch! Riedl! Vehse?" the foreign lady ran off these difficult names of Polish, Russian and Hungarian authors still smiling; "you know them. Eh? What?"
"Never heard of them Madame. They sound like names out of the Book of Numbers to me. I am a very ignorant person, as you will find."
"Ah, say not so, Mr. Spruce. You like amusement perhaps. The dance, the cricket, the five o'clock tea? Tell me."
"All those things are more in my line. I hear from Mrs. Tesk that your daughter dances?"
"Ah, yes. Zara?"
"I am at the Bijou Music-hall just now in a Fire-dance," said the girl in an indifferent manner, for Spruce had not made the same impression on her as he had on her mother; "and Mr. Bracken here is in the orchestra."
"Second-violin," growled Bracken, who was paying great attention to the thin bread and butter. "Hard work and bad pay"--he stole a glance at the dancer--"but I have my compensations."
The look was sufficient to make Spruce understand that the young man was in love with Zara, just as the frown of Madame Alpenny, who had intercepted the look, showed him the mother's disapproval. The dancer was a tall and rather gaunt girl, handsome in a bold gipsy flamboyant way, with flashing dark eyes and a somewhat defiant manner, while the violinist was roughly good-looking, and seemed to pay very little attention to his dress. Evidently a romance was in progress here, and Spruce promised himself some amusement in watching the efforts--which he was sure were being made--of the mother to keep the lovers apart.
"You see," said Mrs. Tesk complacently, "we have many talents assembled here, Mr. Spruce. Mademoiselle Zara indulges in the light fantastic toe; Mr. Bracken is devoted to the noble art of music, and Madame Alpenny is conversant with the literature of foreign nations, which is natural considering her nationality. In my own person, I represent the English element of letters, and if you enjoy heart to heart talks, I am prepared to discuss poetry with you from Dan Chaucer down to Robert Browning."
"Thanks very much," said the new guest hastily and scarcely relishing the prospect; "but my doctor won't let me read much, as my health is not very good. But I daresay," he added, glancing round at the queer set he found himself amongst, "we can get up a game of bridge occasionally."
"Ah, but certainly," cried Madame with vivacity and her splendid eyes flashed; "for my part I delight in cards!"
"My preference is for Patience," said Mrs. Tesk solemnly. "I find it relieves the strain on my mind. So long as the stakes are not very high, Mr. Spruce, I shall be delighted to join you and Madame and Mademoiselle Zara in a friendly game. Oh, you will not find us dull, I think. And when Mr. Owain Hench returns he will be able to inform you about many parts of the world not usually accessible to the ordinary person."
Spruce rather resented Mrs. Tesk calling him an ordinary person, as he considered that he was head and shoulders above the assembled company. However, he did not allow any sign of annoyance at her density to escape him, but uttered a little chuckling laugh of acquiescence. "I'll be glad to see Hench again. He was always a good chap."
"Ah!" Madame glanced at her defiant daughter and then at Spruce; "it appears, then, that you know Mr. Hench?"
"We were at school together."
"So! He is a charming young man."
Zara laughed meaningly. "With money mamma thinks that he would be still more charming," she said significantly, and the sallow face of Madame grew red.
"It is true," she admitted frankly. "When one has a daughter, one must be careful of charming young men who are not rich. What do you say, Mr. Spruce?"
"Well, I never had a daughter, so I can't say anything," replied the little man, who was rapidly understanding many things. "And your opinion, Mr. Bracken, if I may ask it?" He put the question advisedly, as the mention of Hench's name had brought a scowl to the face of the violinist.
"Money isn't everything," growled Bracken, passing his hand through his rough hair, which he wore a trifle long, after the fashion of musicians. "Hench is a good fellow, and being clever will be rich some day."
"Ah! no"--Madame Alpenny shook her head vehemently--"he is too--what you call--careless of money. He is idle; he is a mystery."
Spruce opened his pale blue eyes at the last word, and put in his monocle to stare at the Hungarian lady. "There never was any mystery about Hench at school," he observed rather puzzled. "He was always rather a commonplace sort of chap."
"There is a mystery," insisted Madame more vehemently than ever. "I have seen him before, but where--no, it is impossible to say."
"You don't mean to say that he is wanted by the police?" asked Bracken.
"Don't speak like that!" cried Zara with a frown. "Mr. Hench is the most honourable man in the world. There is nothing mean about him."
"He is all that is agreeable and polite," said her mother gravely; "and but for one thing I have no fault to find with him. Still, I have seen him somewhere, that young gentleman; he has a history!"
"History! mystery! You jump to conclusions, mamma."
"Zara, my father was a diplomatist, and I am observant."
"Suspicious, I should say," remarked Bracken under his breath.
But low as he spoke the woman heard him. "Of some people I am," she said with a dark glance, which revealed that she was not so good-humoured as she looked.
Zara rose with a swing of her skirts and looked as graceful and as dangerous as a pantheress. "I am going to lie down," she observed rather irrelevantly. "I always lie down, Mr. Spruce, so as to prepare for the fatigues of the night. If you ask Mr. Bracken he will take you to the smoking-room."
"Oh, thanks," gasped Spruce, who did not wish to remain in the company of the violinist, whom he privately termed a bounder; "but I am going to my room to write letters."
"Fancy staying in to write letters on this beautiful day. Mr. Bracken will be wiser, I am sure, and take a walk."
"You've hit it," said Mr. Bracken, taking out a well-worn briar pipe. "I'm off for a breather." And he escorted Zara out of the room without noticing Spruce, to whom he had taken a dislike.
Madame Alpenny half arose when she saw the two departing in company, but sat down again with a frown. In a few minutes she walked to the window and drew a sigh of relief on seeing Bracken standing on the pavement lighting his pipe. Spruce guessed by this by-play that she did not approve of the violinist being with her daughter, and became more certain than ever that the romance he had conjectured existed. Zara had got rid of Bracken, it was evident, so as not to leave him in the company of her mother. Hence her mention that the violinist would show Spruce the smoking-room, and her suggestion of a walk for Bracken when the new guest refused the offer of tobacco. However, Madame now seeing that the two were parted, returned to her seat satisfied, and resumed her talk about Mr. Hench.
"You must tell me of your old schoolfellow," she said graciously; "he is a young man I greatly admire. I study his character."
"An admirable character," said Mrs. Tesk loftily.
"I cannot help you, Madame, as I haven't seen Hench for years," said Spruce.
"Ah indeed! You will find him very mysterious!" And she nodded significantly.
CHAPTER II
OLD