Whenever Mrs. Baxter could not understand young Crowberry's remarks she bestowed upon him a beaming smile. Antonio, whose blood had run cold, breathed again as the smile appeared; but he felt some apology was needed for such perilous jesting at his table. In a low voice he said to Isabel, who was on his right:
"As that young man's old tutor, I fear he hardly does me credit."
"As Mrs. Baxter's old pupil," Isabel answered, "I'm sure she doesn't mind."
This time their eyes met more guardedly; but there was still much in the lady's glance which the monk could not fathom. It was as though their acquaintanceship already had a past, and was to have a future; as though they had often sat side by side before, eating and drinking or talking together; as though they were bearing themselves formally before fellow-guests who could not be allowed to suspect their good comradeship; as though they had a thousand confidences whereof to disburden themselves so soon as they should be alone. Not that Antonio made any such complete analysis as this while he was ladling out the soup from the green bowl. He was conscious of little more than a fine pleasure in the presence of this beautiful English girl who was entering so willingly and naturally into his rough life.
Everybody praised the cream of cauliflowers. In default of soup-plates, it was ladled into small round, gaily-painted dishes, about four inches deep. A dozen of them had cost Antonio the equivalent of an English shilling at the fair of Santa Iria a year before. All the dishes differed in pattern and color. Young Crowberry was the first to eat his last spoonful of soup; and, having done so, he discovered at the bottom of his dish a violet leopard, with green spots, climbing a pink tree. He shoved it towards Mrs. Baxter.
"Alas, madam," he said. "The pity of it. How sad that the industrious artist whose work I am contemplating should have lacked those blessings of education which you, ma'am, are so signally qualified to impart! I protest that neither this cærulean quadruped nor the blushing vegetable to whose apex he aspires are to be found figured on any of the numerous pages which the late spendthrift Goldsmith devoted to the description of Animated Nature. I protest—"
So did Crowberry père, who had been listening to some eager talk of Sir Percy's. He gave Crowberry fils a kick under the narrow table, and once more lent Sir Percy his right ear.
"Mine," said Isabel to Antonio, "is a blue bird, with an orange-colored tail. I should love to eat soup every night out of this nest of his."
"It is your own," said Antonio. "I will send it up to-morrow."
Not knowing the Portuguese etiquette which prescribed that Antonio should make the offer and that she should decline it, Isabel simply spoke what was in her heart.