By the rest he was regarded as the most charming of men. The women secretly—some of them openly—adored him for his good looks, which were remarkable even in that land of handsome faces, and for the exquisite voice, which was always at their service. The men voted him a “good fellow,” and were warm in his praises. The reception from which he was absent always seemed lacking in its accustomed brightness, and no dance or outdoor excursion was complete without Mr. Percy Levant.
Perhaps the air of mystery which surrounded him increased the interest he awakened. Nobody knew anything about him, except that he was in Florence to study music, and, in some vague, unexplained way, to collect materials for a magnificent and unique music-room which Lady Despard intended building in one of her houses, and at some unfixed time in the dim future.
Of himself, and his own affairs and past history, he was as silent as Doris was of hers; and people who were at first inclined to be curious accepted his want of a past and were content to take him for what he was—a light-hearted waif floating like a bubble on the surface of society.
To the superficial frequenters of the Villa Rimini he did not seem to have a care and scarcely an object in life, excepting it were to play and sing at all times and seasons, whenever Lady Despard requested him.
But Doris was something more than a superficial observer, and often when, in the early morning or in the delicious gloaming, she was wandering dreamily through the flower-scented grounds, she would come across him pacing moodily beneath the trees, or lying on a bank, with his head resting on his hands, and his handsome face darkened by an expression which would have startled his many friends who thought they knew him quite intimately.
At such times he would spring up, dispelling his moodiness instantly, and resume his usual manner; but the impression he had made remained with Doris.
And, having seen him off his guard, as it were, she found herself, at odd times, thinking of him. He seemed as alone in the midst of the pleasure-seeking crowd as herself. From thinking of him in an indifferent, casual kind of way, she grew, all unconsciously, to entertain a vague sort of sympathy for him, which she would never have been capable of if he had lavished compliments upon her, as the rest did. She felt convinced that some shadow lay in his past, and that the ready jest and the fluent laugh only hid a wound which he was too proud to permit the world to gape at.
This was the first phase of their relation; the second began during the second week of their Florentine life. She became conscious that his presence at the villa contributed not only to the enjoyment of Lady Despard and the rest, but to hers!
In an indescribable way he seemed to know exactly what was wanted at any given moment, and to supply it, and his thoughtfulness, strangely enough, always appeared to save trouble to Doris.
From the first day of her coming to Lady Despard, she had undertaken the arrangement of the flowers in the various rooms, and she continued to do so in Florence as in London. The head gardener was accustomed to send up huge baskets of flowers each morning, which Doris would set out and arrange in the various vases and bowls. It was a long task, and one morning he had entered the salon and found her in the midst of it, looking rather pale and tired, for the room was hot and close with the almost overpowering perfume.