“I hope it will be all right,” I went on, rather heavily.  “Look here, that pretty little fairy would like to know you.  She’s the Contessa di Ravello.  Come along and be introduced.”

The Boy flung up his head, his blue eyes flashing.  “Why am I to be dragged at her chariot wheels?” he demanded.

“Oh, rot, my child.  Don’t put on airs.  Men twice your age would snatch at such a chance.”

“I can’t tell what I may be capable of when I’m twice my age.  It’s difficult enough to know myself now.  But I know——­”

“Come on, do, like the dear Little Old Pal you really are,” I cut in.  “You don’t want to put me in a false position, do you?  Besides, I’d like particularly to get your opinion on the Contessa.  I may have to ask your advice about something connected with her, later.”

This fetched him, though with not too good a grace.  “You don’t know my name,” he said, with a return of impishness, as we walked together towards the Contessa.

“I think that you have the advantage of me in that way, now.”

“If you call it an advantage.  I had a presentiment you weren’t plain mister, so I’m not surprised.  You may tell your Countess that my name is Laurence.”

“Christian name or ‘Pagan’ name?”

“Make the Christian name Roy.”

In another moment I was introducing Mr. Roy Laurence to the Contessa di Ravello; and as they stood eyeing each other, the fairy Gaeta pulsing with coquetry through all her hot-blooded Italian veins, the Boy aloof and critical, I was struck with the picture that the two figures made.

The Boy had three or four inches more of height than the Contessa, and looked almost tall beside her, though I had thought of him as small.  Her round, dimpled face seemed no older than his oval brown one, in this moment of his gravity, and the haughty air of a young prince which he wore now, consciously or unconsciously, had a certain provoking charm for a spoiled beauty used to conquest.  The big blue stars which lit his face expressed a resolve not to yield to any blandishment, and this no doubt piqued Gaeta, before whom all the boys and youths at Davos had gone down like grass before the scythe.  Helen Blantock came after she had left the place, otherwise she might have had to fight for her rights as queen; but as it was, she had been without rivals and probably had known few dangerous ones elsewhere.  Never had I seen her take as much real pains to be charming to a grown man, as she took with this silent boy, during the few moments that her friends spent in wrestling with the landlord.  What lamps she lit in the windows of her eyes, suddenly raising their curtains on dazzling glances!  What rosy flags she hung out in his honour, on dimpled cheeks; what rich display of pearls and coral her cupid-mouth gave him! but all in vain, so far as any change in his cold young face showed.  I had seen it warm for a gleam of light on the wing of a swooping bird, or an effect of cloud-shadow on a mountain, as it would not warm for this galaxy of bewitchments, and his quiet civility was but a sharper pin-prick, I should fancy, to a woman’s vanity.