Sir Dudley's manner to his charming companion, had been partly that of a kindly teacher, and comrade; tinged with an infusion of chivalrous reverence.
Oh, how different to Teddy and Nicky, who never hurried to open a door, or stand up, when she entered the room. Once or twice Nancy had asked herself, if she was not growing to like this charming friend, too well? After all; he was no relation. Simple Nancy! And she could not forget, that when he had gone to Milan for two or three days, she had missed him even more than his godmother; and once or twice, when, looking up suddenly, she had met his eyes, she found herself blushing to her hair.
That he liked and admired her,—Nancy felt instinctively, and a chilly little inward voice asked, if she was going to what is called "fall in love?" She dismissed the idea with horror. Sir Dudley was married, and had a wife living; she too was married, and had a husband, somewhere—incredible as it seemed, even to her own thoughts. One night, she took herself solemnly to task—sitting at her bedroom window, looking down at the stars, reflected in the lake, she held an inquiry. Dudley had often given her flowers; he had lately assumed an attitude of exclusive protection and possession; once it had seemed to her,—though it might have been imagination,—that he had pressed her hand, as she alighted from the motor-boat. There must be no more of that. What would her father have thought of his Nancy, if she gave her heart to a married man?
Mrs. De Wolfe had recovered from her chill, and resumed her responsibilities, but she no longer went on expeditions and picnics,—contenting herself with going across to Bellaggio, to call on friends, or to prowl about among the antiquity shops; whilst her companion sketched in the villa gardens, or endeavoured to immortalize the tall cypresses, above San Giovanni.
With the exception of one or two eloquent glances, and an involuntary hand-pressure, Dudley's manner to his godmother's beautiful companion, was admirably guarded. With the fear of his old friend's displeasure before his eyes, it had been a case of what he mentally termed "paws off," but how could any man under eighty years of age, withstand such an exquisite creature? So simple and transparently innocent; so warm-hearted and intelligent, and beyond and above all, what a lovely vision of glorious youth! It was this, that enthralled the blasé dilettante.
He had played the part of genial comrade,—for he knew instinctively the sort of girl he had to deal with; how easy to alienate, and scare! She had been informed that he was married, and her Irish spirit and Irish chastity, were inscribed upon her exquisite lips. He and Nancy had many talks, and interesting discussions, as they took their daily stroll along the romantic thoroughfare, which leads from Cadenabbia through and beyond Tremezzo. Mrs. De Wolfe frequently accompanied them, and then, when half way, a half-hearted chaperon, sat down on a low wall to rest, and there await their return.
Nancy, who always enjoyed the sound of her own voice, and an appreciative listener, was neither shy, nor self-conscious; at a very early period of their acquaintance, and with consummate ease, the subtle man of the world, had made himself master of her simple history. He enjoyed listening to her vivid descriptions of the Indian hills, and to confidences as fresh, and pure as the dew of the dawn. He heard all about her school-days, her father's money troubles, and his splendid character. She spoke of the Corner boys, and Sir Dudley's old friend, Mrs. Ffinch. Once and once only had she touched on the tragedy of her bereavement,—when with averted face, and broken voice, she related particulars of Travers' death.
"And what became of the fellow who missed the panther?" inquired Villars, after a pause.
"I don't know; he is somewhere in India," she replied, almost under her breath.