“Face and temper yourself!” from Mr Sam Wright, which retort, though merely made in the way of casual repartee, was, had the assembled company only known it, the full explanation of the scene so astounding them.
But Pinto’s suspicions made a last leap at Captain Raymond Braithwaite. “Take her”—flourishing with both arms in Zoe’s direction. “She is ungrateful, unloyal. True affection is not to be found in her nature. She lies and thieves; she is untidy in her clothing; she has betrayed me and will betray you. Take her—perhaps your temper like a Patagonian savage will keep her in order. Take her and beat her if you please. Who am I to have a claim?...” He recapitulated the entire list of Zoe’s crimes, linked to the benefits his easy-going generosity had showered upon her; shed tears at the recollection of his own innocent confiding trust and little tender ways; surpassed himself in an ebullition of Portuguese and English blended into one final expanding monstrous, wall-cracking, hair-stiffening execration, anathema, and blight——
Antonia stepped forward, and laid her hand on his arm.
“You’re not behaving at all nicely, and we’re tired of you,” she said gently but distinctly.
Pinto, checked in his onrush of epithet, rolled round at her a pair of livid, yellow eyeballs; spluttered; made a few inarticulate sounds in his throat—and departed.
No one could deny that his visit, though short, had been full of lively colour.
“Ma foi!” said the Belgian poilu, still gaping stupidly after his steak.
Richard burst into a shout of laughter, and went on laughing boyishly, irresistibly. It was infectious ... presently Sam Wright joined in, and Captain Braithwaite, and Antonia, and even the Belgian. Zoe, on the verge of tears, was the last to succumb.... “At least, we’ve got some wine now,” she gurgled, divided between sobs and hysterical mirth. “And we’d better drink it—it’s g-good wine and so cheap! I’m glad I remembered just in time to nip it.” She darted away for glasses—“But honestly, I haven’t the faintest idea what Pinto was so cross and unkind about, have any of you?”
“He did seem a bit annoyed: what?” guffawed Captain Braithwaite. “Here’s to his good recovery!” They all drank Pinto’s health in excellent Chianti.... A bell tinkled from below.
“Oh dear! he must have jammed the downstairs front door in going out, and now people can’t push it open. I do think he ought to control himself a little bit better than that, don’t you? I mean, it’s so horrid when one has visitors.” The bell tinkled again impatiently. “Will one of you go down?”