“Oh—respectable,” said Susannah behind him. “You told him I was respectable? That was very kind of you—I’m sure.” And then the Eternal Feminine came out with a sob. “You horrid man! You perfectly horrid man! You’re just——”
She flounced out of the room.
VI
The Elder stood at the gate of the villino. It was a post familiar enough to him, and the particular object upon which his eyes rested was scarcely less so. But the juxtaposition was unusual. For the panel before him was embellished by that replica of Benvenuto’s knocker, to which reference has already so frequently been made. What manner of omen could it be? He studied the knocker. He studied the door. And finally it occurred to him to apply the one with some vehemence to the other.
In response to this overture a flip-flap of slippers clattered across the flagging within, and the door was opened by Gilda in person. Again the Elder wondered. For hitherto the door, obeying some secret impulse, had betrayed no hint of human agency. The maid, however, left him no time to parley:
“O signor marchese! The ladies have gone to America. Did he forget?”
“Diavolo!” ejaculated that personage.
“Yes, about a quarter of an hour ago. They said they told him they were going, but in case he forgot and came again—the marchese has made such a habit!—to let him know they were leaving by the Genoa train, at eleven. There is still time.”
The Elder looked at his watch.
“Is there still time?” he uttered slowly. He stared at the sea god who so splendidly brandished in his own image the trident before his eyes.