"Quite happy—I'm sure," said the earl. "He's prompt, isn't he?"
"Yes," said Lady Nora, "he's always prompt. He doesn't lose shirt-studs, and he never dawdles."
"Ah!" said the earl.
"Here he comes!" exclaimed Lady Nora, and she began to wave her handkerchief.
The earl turned and saw, coming from the corner by the clock-tower, a man. He had the shoulders of Hercules, the waist of Apollo, the legs of Mercury. When he came closer, hat in hand, the earl saw that he had curling chestnut locks, a beard that caressed his chin, brown eyes, and white teeth, for he was smiling.
"Nora," he cried, as he came within distance, "your friend the cardinal is a good one. He puts on no side. He had me up on the balcony, opened your letter, took out the check, and read the letter before even he looked at the stamped paper. When a man gets a check in a letter and reads the letter before he looks at the check, he shows breedin'."
"The Earl of Vauxhall," said Lady Nora, "I present Mr. Phelim Blake."
The two men nodded; the earl, guardedly; Phelim, with a smile.
"I think, my lord," said Phelim, "that you are not in Venice for her antiquities. No more am I. I arrived this mornin' and I've been all over the place already. I was just thinkin' that time might hang. Twice a day I've to go out to the yacht to propose to Nora. Durin' the intervals we might have a crack at piquet."
The earl was embarrassed. He was not accustomed to such frankness. He was embarrassed also by the six feet three of Phelim. He himself was only six feet.