She took no part in the conversation for some time. It was very lively. Mr. Randolph was full of anecdote and information, and enjoyed scintillating. He frequently referred to Nina, as if proud of her cleverness and anxious to exhibit it; but the guest noticed that he never addressed a word—nor a glance—to his wife.
Suddenly Thorpe’s eyes rested on a small dark painting in oils, the head of an old man.
“That is rather good,” he said, “and a very interesting face.”
“You have probably never heard of the artist, unless you have read the life of his sister. I was so fond of the man that I resent his rescue from oblivion by the fame of a woman. His name was Branwell Brontë, and that is a portrait of my grandfather.”
“If Branwell ’ad a-conducted hisself,” said a heavy voice opposite, “’ee’d a-been the wonder of the family. Mony a time a ’ve seen ’im coom into tha Lord Rodney Inn, ’is sharp little face as red as tha scoollery maid’s ’ands, and rockin’ from one side of tha ’all to tha hother, and sit doon at tha table, and make a caricachure of ivvery mon thot coom in. And once when ’ee was station-master at Luddondon Foote a ’ve ’eard as ’ow a mon coom runnin’ oop just as tha train went oot, and said as ’ow ’ee was horful anxious to know if a certain mon went hoff. ’Ee tried describin’ ’im, and couldn’t, so Branwell drew pictures of all the persons as ’ad left, and ’ee recognised the one as ’ee wanted.”
There was a moment’s silence, so painful that Thorpe felt his nerves jumping and the colour rising to his face. He recalled his promise, and looked meditatively at the strange concoction which had been placed before him as Mrs. Randolph finished. But his thought was arbitrary. An ignorant woman of the people, possibly an ex-servant, who could only play the gentlewoman through a half-dozen rehearsed sentences, and forget the rôle completely at times! He had not expected to find the skeleton so soon.
“That is carne con agi, a Chile dish,” said Mr. Randolph, suavely. “I’m very fond of Spanish cooking, myself, and you had better begin your education in it at once: you will get a good deal out here.”
“I am jolly glad to hear it. I’m rather keen on new dishes.” He glanced up. Mr. Randolph was yellow. The lines in his face had deepened. Thorpe dared not look at Nina.