CHAPTER LVII. AT THE INN AT CATTARO.
When L'Estrange had carried off Jack Bramleigh to the inn, and had seen him engaged with an excellent breakfast, he despatched a messenger to the villa to say that he was not to be expected home by dinner time, but would be back to tea “with a friend,” for whom he begged Gusty Bramleigh's room might be prepared.
I shall not delay to chronicle all the doubt, the discussion, and the guessing that the note occasioned; the mere fact that George had ventured to issue an order of this kind without first consulting Julia investing the step with a degree of mysteriousness perfectly inscrutable. I turn, however, to Cattaro, where L'Estrange and Jack sat together, each so eager to hear the other's tidings as to be almost too impatient to dwell upon himself.
To account for their presence in this remote spot, George, as briefly as he could, sketched the course of events at Castello, not failing to lay due stress on the noble and courageous spirit with which Augustus and Nelly had met misfortune. “All is not lost yet,” said L'Estrange; “far from it; but even if the worst should come, I do not know of two people in the world who will show a stouter front to adversity.”
“And your sister, where is she?” said Jack, in a voice scarce above a whisper.
“Here,—at the villa.”
“Not married?”
“No. I believe she has changed less than any of us. She is just what you remember her.”
It was not often that L'Estrange attempted anything like adroitness in expression; but he did so here, and saw, in the heightened color and sparkling eye of the other, how thoroughly his speech had succeeded.