CHAPTER XXIII.
Punctually at eight o’clock that evening, Baron Levy welcomed the new ally he had secured. The pair dined en tete a tete, discussing general matters till the servants left them to their wine. Then said the baron, rising and stirring the fire—then said the baron, briefly and significantly,
“Well!”
“As regards the property you spoke of,” answered Randal, “I am willing to purchase it on the terms you name. The only point that perplexes me is how to account to Audley Egerton, to my parents, to the world, for the power of purchasing it.”
“True,” said the baron, without even a smile at the ingenious and truly Greek manner in which Randal had contrived to denote his meaning, and conceal the ugliness of it—“true, we must think of that. If we could manage to conceal the real name of the purchaser for a year or so, it might be easy,—you may be supposed to have speculated in the Funds; or Egerton may die, and people may believe that he had secured to you something handsome from the ruins of his fortune.”
“Little chance of Egerton’s dying.”
“Humph!” said the baron. “However, this is a mere detail, reserved for consideration. You can now tell us where the young lady is?”
“Certainly. I could not this morning,—I can now. I will go with you to the count. Meanwhile, I have seen Madame di Negra; she will accept Frank Hazeldean if he will but offer himself at once.”
“Will he not?”