CHAPTER XLV.
A few days after the dinner at the Quinta Carr, the Bellamys’ visit to Madeira drew to a close. On the evening before their departure, Arthur volunteered to take Lady Bellamy down to the parade to hear the band play. After they had walked about a while under the shade of the magnolia-trees, which were starred all over with creamy cups of bloom, and sufficiently inspected the gay throng of Portuguese inhabitants and English visitors, made gayer still by the amazingly gorgeous uniforms of the officials, Arthur spied two chairs in a comparatively quiet corner, and suggested that they should sit down.
“Lady Bellamy,” he said, after hesitating a while, “you are a woman of the world, and I believe a friend of my own. I want to ask your advice about something.”
“It is entirely at your service, Mr. Heigham.”
“Well, really it is very awkward——”
“Shall I turn my head so as not to see your blushes?”
“Don’t laugh at me, Lady Bellamy. Of course you will say nothing of this.”
“If you doubt my discretion, Mr. Heigham, do not choose me as a confidante. You are going, unless I am mistaken, to speak to me about Mrs. Carr.”
“Yes, it is about her. But how did you know that? You always seem to be able to read one’s thoughts before one speaks. Do you know, sometimes I think that she has taken a fancy to me, do you see, and I wanted to ask you what you thought about it.”
“Well, supposing that she had, most young men, Mr. Heigham, would not talk of such a thing in a tone befitting a great catastrophe. But, if I am not entering too deeply into particulars, what makes you think so?”