The captain was not listening; he was looking at the modest lodging-house sideboard.
“I was wondering,” he explained, with a transparent simplicity which was perhaps as good as that which is called good breeding, “whether you would take a glass of sherry wine.”
“I should like nothing better,” said the Count. “It will give me pleasure to take a glass of wine with you.”
Quietly, imperceptibly, De Lloseta set Captain Bontnor at his ease, and at the same time he mastered him. They spoke of indifferent topics--topics which, however, were well within the captain’s knowledge of the world. Then suddenly the Count laid aside the social mask which he wore with such consummate ease.
“I came down to Somarsh,” he said, “because I am deeply distressed at your reverse of fortune. I came to see you, captain, because when I had the pleasure of meeting you at Barcelona I saw you to be a just man, and one to whom one could speak openly. I am a rich man--you understand. Need I say more?”
Captain Bontnor blinked uncertainly.
“No,” he answered, “I’m thinkin’ it isn’t necessary.”
“Not between men of the world,” urged Cipriani de Lloseta. “It is not for your sake. I would not insult you in such a way. It is for Eve. For a woman’s sake a man may easily sacrifice his pride.”
The captain nodded and glanced at the clock. He had not fully realised until that moment how dependent he was upon his niece.
“You know,” continued the Count, following up his advantage, “all the somewhat peculiar circumstances of the case. Do you think there is any chance of Eve’s reconsidering her decision?”