Quite a style of conversation of the time of George III., was it not? but all young men become romantic at times, and Ronald, brave lad that he was, meant all he said, being as much in earnest as any periwigged beau of the eighteenth century, though he carried a cane instead of a sword.
The Marchese Matteo Vassalla jumped into a hansom, and ordered the cabman to drive to the Langham Hotel, as he was anxious to see Carmela, and find out all that had taken place between her and Monteith. It was necessary for him to do this, as he was anxious to win her for his wife, and the least slip on his part might prove fatal to success.
He was mad with rage when he entered the cab, but by the time it arrived at the Langham was quite calm and self-possessed, for he knew he would need to have all his wits about him in the coming interview. He dismissed his cab, and went up to the drawing-room, where he found no one. Ringing the bell he asked after Carmela, and was informed that she had gone to lie down; but, determined to see her, he sent up a message that he wanted her immediately on important business, and then calmly sat down to think over his line of action.
The waiter soon returned with a message that Miss Cotoner would be down shortly, and almost immediately, after he retired, Carmela appeared, looking white and wan in her long, white dress, with her dark hair hastily fastened in a dishevelled knot at the back of her head. She came quickly into the room, and would have spoken, but Vassalla gave her no time.
"My cousin," he said, rapidly, in French; "I congratulate you on the success of your interview this morning."
"What do you mean?" asked Carmela, haughtily.
"Simply this," retorted the Marchese, quietly, "that I have seen Monteith, and he told me to my face that you gave me the lie in your conversation with him."
"I did," she retorted, defiantly; "my sister was on board, and you had no right to say otherwise."
"Bah! You cannot see an inch before your nose," retorted Vassalla, taking out his pocket-book: "read this, and then see what your truth-telling tongue has done."
He handed her Mrs. Verschoyle's letter, which she read eagerly, and, having finished, gave it back to the Marchese, with a cold smile.