The visconte smiled and gestured. “I suppose you don’t dance, Mr. Donnington,” he said, “I have heard that many Englishmen do not.”
“Indeed he does, Affonso,” declared his wife quickly. “I remember that well in Paris. He and Miralda often danced together. And now, sit down here in Miralda’s place till she comes back and let us have a chat about Paris,” she added to me.
But the old visconte had not quite done with me. Drawing me aside—“I want you to feel that I shall do all in my power, Mr. Donnington,” he began.
I knew what was coming so I anticipated him. “I am sure of that, and I have been given to understand that you can do more for me than any one else in Portugal. And of course you’ll understand that those who assist me in the early stages will naturally share in the after advantages and gains. I make a strong point of that.”
“Of course that was not in my mind at all,” he protested.
“Naturally. But I should insist upon it,” I said gravely.
“I suppose it will be a very big thing?”
“Millions in it, visconte. Millions;” and I threw out my hands as if half the riches of the earth would soon be in their grasp. “And of course I know that without you I should be powerless.”
He appreciated this thoroughly and went off on excellent terms with himself and with a high opinion of me as a potential source of wealth, while I sat down by the viscontesse to explain why four months had passed since we met.
But these miserable concessions gave me no peace. I was only beginning my explanation when up came the marquis and dragged me off for the first of another batch of introductions, followed by a long conference in another room with him and Volheno who had meanwhile arrived. And just as the marquis took my arm to lead me away, and thus prevented my escape, Miralda returned from the dance.