ELEVEN
1040 Words
Harry, you see, is a misogynist", explained the gentleman, apparently not in the least annoyed by this unceremonious interruption. "I am not interested in you or in your servant!" snapped Miss Tellaro. "That is what I like in you", he agreed, and sprang lightly up into the curricle, and stepped across her to the box seat. "Now let me show you how to hit me". Miss Tellaro resisted, but he possessed himself of her gloved hand and doubled it into a fist. "Keep your thumb down so, and hit like that. Not at my chin, I think. Aim for the eye, or the nose, if you prefer". Miss Tellaro sat very rigid. "I won't retaliate", he promised. Then, as she still made no movement, he said, "I see I shall have to offer you provocation", and swiftly kisses her. Miss Tellaro's hands clenched into two admirable fists, but she controlled an unladylike impulse, and kept them in her lap. She was both shaken and enraged by the kiss, and hardly knew where to look. No other man than her father or Patrick had ever dared to kiss her. At a guess she supposed the gentleman to have written her down as some country tradesman's daughter from a Queen's square boarding school. Her old fashioned dress was to blame, and no doubt that abominable gig. She wished she did not blush so hotly, and said with as much scorn as she could throw into her voice, "even a dandy might remember the civility due to a gentlewoman. I shall not hit you". "I am disappointed", he said. "There is nothing for it but to do in search of your brother. Stand away, Harry". The tiger sprang back, and ran to scramble up on to his perch again. The curricle moved forward, and in another minute was bowling rapidly along the road toward Florence. "You may set me down at the Vinaio, sir", said Miss Tellaro coldly. "No doubt if my brother has come back from the fight, he will oblige you in the way, I, alas, am not able to do". He laughed. "Hit me, do you mean? All things are possible, Deliciae, though some are - unlikely, let us say". She folded her lips, and for a while did not speak. Her companion maintained a flow of languid conversation until she interrupted him, impelled by curiosity to ask him the question in her mind. "Why did you wish to drive me into Florence?" He glanced down at her rather mockingly. "Just to annoy you, Deliciae. The impulse was irresistible, believe me". She took refuge in silence again, for she could find no adequate words with which to answer him. She had never been spoken to so in her life, she was more than a little inclined to think him mad. Florence came into sight. In a few minutes the curricle drew up outside the Vinaio, and the first thing Miss Tellaro saw was her brother's face above the blind in one of the lower windows. The gentleman descended from the curricle, and held up his hand for her to take. "Do smile!" he said. Miss Tellaro allowed him to set her down, but preserved an icy front. She swept into the inn ahead of him, and nearly collided with Patrick, hurrying out to meet her. "Elizabeth! What the devil?" exclaimed Patrick. "Has there been an accident?" "Elizabeth", repeated the gentleman of the curricle pensively. "I prefer Deliciae". "No", Elizabeth said. "Nothing of the sort. This - gentleman - constrained me to ride in his carriage, that is all". "Constrained you!" Patrick took a hasty step forward. She was sorry to have said so much, and added at once, "do not let us be standing here talking about it! I think he is mad". The gentleman gave his low laugh, and produced a snuff box from one pocket, and held a pinch first to one nostril and then to the other. Patrick advanced upon him, and said stormily, "sir, I shall ask you to explain yourself!" "You forgot to tell him that I kissed you, Deliciae", murmured the gentleman. "What?" shouted Patrick. "For heaven's sake be quiet!" snapped his sister. Patrick ignored her. "You will meet me for this, sir! I hoped I might come upon you again, and I have. And now to find that you have dared to insult my sister. You shall hear from me!" A look of amusement crossed the gentleman's face. "Are you proposing to fight a duel with me?" he inquired. "Where and when you like!" said Patrick. The gentleman raised his eyebrows. "My good boy, that is very heroic, but do you really think that I cross swords with every country nobody who chooses to be offended with me?" "Now, Gabby, Gabby, what are you about?" demanded a voice from the doorway into the coffee room. "Oh, I beg your pardon, ma'am! I beg your pardon!" Lord Garbatela came into the hall with a glass in his hand, and paused, irresolute. Patrick, beyond throwing him a fleeting glance, paid no heed to him. He was searching in his pocket for a card, and this he presently thrust at the gentleman in the greatcoat. "This is my card, sir!" The gentleman took it between finger and thumb, and raised an eyeglass on the end of a gold stick attached to a ribbon round his neck. "Tellaro", he said musingly. "Now where have I heard that name before?" "I do not expect to be known by you, sir", said Patrick, trying to keep his voice steady. "Perhaps I am a nobody, but there is a gentleman who I think - I am sure - will be pleased to act for me, Mr Bolton Fritzwa, of Cork Street!" "Oh, Fritz!" nodded Lord Garbatela. "So you know him, do you?" "Tellaro", repeated the gentleman in the great coat, taking not the smallest notice of Patrick's speech. "It has something of a familiar ring, I think". "Admiral Tellaro", said Lord Garbatela helpfully. "Meet him for ever at Gentleman's". "And if that is not enough, sir, to convince you that I am not unworthy of your sword, I must refer you to Lord Clements, whose ward I am!" announced Patrick.
- Writer
