“Glad you haven’t missed the day altogether, sir,” Wilfrid greeted his father in an offhand way.

“Ah, my boy!” went the old man, returning him what was meant for a bluff nod.

Lady Charlotte gave Wilfrid an open look.  It meant:  “If you can act like that, and know as much as I know, you are worth more than I reckoned.”  He talked evenly and simply, and appeared on the surface as composed as any of the guests present.  Nor was he visibly disturbed when Mrs. Chump, catching his eye, addressed him aloud:—­

“Ye’d have been more grateful to me to have brought little Belloni as well now, I know, Mr. Wilfrid.  But I was just obliged to leave her at the hotel; for Pole can’t endure her.  He ’bomunates the sight of ’r.  If ye aver saw a dog burnt by the fire, Pole’s second to ’m, if onnly ye speak that garl’s name.”

The head of a strange musician, belonging to the band stationed outside, was thrust through one of the window apertures.  Mr. Pericles beckoned him imperiously to retire, and perform.  He objected, and an altercation in bad English diverted the company.  It was changed to Italian.  “Mia figlia,” seized Wilfrid’s ear.  Mr. Pericles bellowed, “Allegro.”  Two minutes after Braintop felt a touch on his shoulder; and Wilfrid, speaking in a tone of friend to friend, begged him to go to town by the last train and remove Miss Belloni to an hotel, which he named.  “Certainly,” said Braintop; “but if I meet her father..?” Wilfrid summoned champagne for him; whereupon Mrs. Chump cried out, “Ye’re kind to wait upon the young man, Mr. Wilfrid; and that Mr. Braintop’s an invalu’ble young man.  And what do ye want with the hotel, when we’ve left it, Mr. Paricles?”

The Greek raised his head from Mr. Pole, shrugging at her openly.  He and Wilfrid then measured eyes a moment.  “Some champagne togezer?” said Mr. Pericles.  “With all my heart,” was the reply; and their glasses were filled, and they bowed, and drank.  Wilfrid took his seat, drew forth his pocket-book; and while talking affably to Lady Charlotte beside him, and affecting once or twice to ponder over her remarks, or to meditate a fitting answer, wrote on a slip of paper under the table:—­

     “Mine! my angel!  You will see me to-morrow.

“Yourlover.”

This, being inserted in an envelope, with zig-zag letters of address to form Emilia’s name, he contrived to pass to Braintop’s hands, and resumed his conversation with Lady Charlotte, who said, when there was nothing left to discover, “But what is it you concoct down there?” “I!” cried Wilfrid, lifting his hands, and so betraying himself after the fashion of the very innocent.  She despised any reading of acts not on the surface, and nodded to the explanation he gave—­to wit:  “By the way, do you mean—­have you noticed my habit of touching my fingers’ ends as I talk?  I count them backwards and forwards.”

“Shows nervousness,” said Lady Charlotte; “you are a boy!”