The latter interpreted perfectly well the gaze that was riveted upon him, without being in the least flattered by it. He felt, perhaps, the same sort of satisfaction that one experiences when, fighting for the odd trick, the first card in our hand is a heavy trump. Dick’s thorough and undivided allegiance once secured, was a good card in the game he was playing at the moment. Whatever his thoughts might have been, his face told no tales. He had been flooring glass for glass with his guest till the liquor began to work its way into the cracks even of such a seasoned vessel; but, for any outward or visible sign in feature, speech, or manner, he might have been assisting at a teetotaller’s soirée.
Very often—late on guest-nights, or other tournaments of deep drinking, where Trojan and Tyrian met to do battle for the credit of their respective corps—the calm, rigid face, never flushing beyond a clear swarthy brown, and the cold, bright, inevitable eyes, had stricken terror into the hearts of bacchanalian Heavies, and given consolation, if not confidence, to the Hussars, who were failing fast: these knew that though their own brains might be reeling and their legs rebelliously independent, their single champion was invincible. As the last of the Enōmotæ went down, he saw Othryades standing steadfastly, with never a trace of wound or weakness, still able and willing to write ΝΙΚΗ on his shield.
When our poor Dick was once thoroughly impressed, for the first time, with awe or admiration, either for man or woman, he generally fell into a species of trance, from which it was exceedingly difficult to bring him round. He would have sat there, staring stupidly, till morning, with perfect satisfaction to himself, if Molyneux had not attacked him with a direct question, “How long do you think of staying at Dorade? And have you made any plans afterward?”
Le mouton qui rêvait roused himself with an effort, and searched the bottom of his empty glass narrowly for a reply. Eventually he succeeded in finding one:
“Cecil talks about two months; then we are to go on by Nice, Genoa, Florence, Rome, and Naples, and so come back by—Italy.” He had got up the first names by rote, and run them off glibly enough, but was evidently at fault about the last one. I fancy he had some vague idea of Austrian troops being quartered in these regions, and looked upon Hesperia in the light of an obscure state or moderate-sized town somewhere in the north of Europe.
Harry was balked in his inclination to laugh; the rising smile was checked upon his lip, just in time, by a glance from his chief, severely authoritative.
“Italy?” the latter said, without a muscle moving; “well, I shouldn’t advise you to stay long there. It’s rather a small place, and very stupid; no society whatever. The others will amuse you, as you have never seen them.”
He rose as he spoke the last words. Perhaps he thought he had done that night “enough for profit and more than enough for glory.” The Cool Captain seldom suffered himself to be bored without an adequate object very clearly in view.
“Hal, I am going to turn you out. It is far too late for you to be sitting up, and we have a good deal to do to-morrow.”
Molyneux did not quite comprehend what extraordinary labors were before any of them, but he rose without making an objection, and Tresilyan prepared to accompany him. Dick considered that individually he had been remarkably brilliant, and had left a favorable impression behind him. But all this newly-acquired confidence, and much strong drink were not sufficient to embolden him to risk, as yet, a tête-à-tête with Royston Keene.