When Carlotta entered, he rose and looked at her—–­oh, so wistfully.

“This, Carlotta,” said I, “is a friend of mine, who would like to make your acquaintance.”

She advanced shyly and held out a timid hand.  Obviously she was on her best behaviour.  I thanked heaven she had tried her unsuccessful experiment of powder and paint on my vile body and not on that of a stranger.

“Do you—­do you like England?” asked the old man.

“Oh, very—­very much.  Every one is so kind to me.  It is a nice place.”

“It is the best place in the world to be young in,” said he.

“Is it?” said Carlotta, with the simplicity of a baby.

“The very best.”

“But is it not good to be old in?”

“No country is good for that.”

The old man sighed and took his leave.  I accompanied him to the front door.

“I don’t know what to say, Sir Marcus.  She moves me strangely.  I never expected such sweet innocence.  For my boy’s sake, I would take her in—­but his mother knows nothing about it—­save that the boy is dead.  It would kill her.”

The tears rolled down the old man’s cheeks.  I grasped him by the hand.

“She shall come to no manner of harm beneath my roof,” said I.

Carlotta was waiting for me in the drawing-room.  She looked at me in a perplexed, pitiful way.

“Seer Marcous?”

“Yes?”

“Am I to marry him?”

“Marry whom?”

“That old gentleman.  I must, if you tell me.  But I do not want to marry him.”

It took me a minute or two to arrive at her oriental point of view.  No woman could be shown off to a man except in the light of a possible bride.  I think it sometimes good to administer a shock to Carlotta, by way of treatment.

“Do you know who that old gentleman was?” said I.

“No.”

“It was Harry’s father.”

“Oh!” she said, with a grimace.  “I am sorry I was so nice to him.”

What the deuce am I to do with her?

I lectured her for a quarter of an hour on the ethics of the situation.  I think I only succeeded in giving her the impression that I was in a bad temper.  So much did I sympathise with Harry that I forbore to acquaint her with the fact that he was a married man when he enticed her away from Alexandretta.

CHAPTER VI

June 1st

Sebastian Pasquale dined with me this evening.  Antoinette, forgetful of idolatrous practices, devoted the concentration of her being to the mysteries of her true religion.  The excellence of the result affected Pasquale so strongly that with his customary disregard of convention he insisted on Antoinette being summoned to receive his congratulations.  He rose, made her a bow as if she were a Marquise of pre-revolutionary days.

“It is a meal,” said he, bunching up his fingers to his mouth and kissing them open, “that one should have taken not sitting, but kneeling.”