“At all events,” thought Sant’ Ilario, “the boy’s new hobby will take him to places where he is not likely to meet that woman.”

And with this discourteous reflection upon Madame d’Aranjuez he consoled himself.  He did not think it necessary to tell Corona of Orsino’s intentions, simply because he did not believe that they would lead to anything serious, and there was no use in disturbing her unnecessarily with visions of future annoyance.  If Orsino chose to speak of it to her, he was at liberty to do so.

CHAPTER X.

Orsino went directly to San Giacinto’s house, and found him in the room which he used for working and in which he received the many persons whom he was often obliged to see on business.  The giant was alone and was seated behind a broad polished table, occupied in writing.  Orsino was struck by the extremely orderly arrangement of everything he saw.  Papers were tied together in bundles of exactly like shape, which lay in two lines of mathematical precision.  The big inkstand was just in the middle of the rows and a paper-cutter, a pen-rack and an erasing knife lay side by side in front of it.  The walls were lined with low book-cases of a heavy and severe type, filled principally with documents neatly filed in volumes and marked on the back in San Giacinto’s clear handwriting.  The only object of beauty in the room was a full-length portrait of Flavia by a great artist, which hung above the fireplace.  The rigid symmetry of everything was made imposing by the size of the objects—­the table was larger than ordinary tables, the easy-chairs were deeper, broader and lower than common, the inkstand was bigger, even the penholder in San Giacinto’s fingers was longer and thicker than any Orsino had ever seen.  And yet the latter felt that there was no affectation about all this.  The man to whom these things belonged and who used them daily was himself created on a scale larger than other men.

Though he was older than Sant’ Ilario and was, in fact, not far from sixty years of age San Giacinto might easily have passed for less than fifty.  There was hardly a grey thread in his short, thick, black hair, and he was still as lean and strong, and almost as active, as he had been thirty years earlier.  The large features were perhaps a little more bony and the eyes somewhat deeper than they had been, but these changes lent an air of dignity rather than of age to the face.

He rose to meet Orsino and then made him sit down beside the table.  The young man suddenly felt an unaccountable sense of inferiority and hesitated as to how he should begin.

“I suppose you want to consult me about something,” said San Giacinto quietly.

“Yes.  I want to ask your advice, if you will give it to me—­about a matter of business.”

“Willingly.  What is it?”