“But,” said Eve, somewhat mystified, “the Val d’Erraha belongs to you, and you must know it. I have no title-deeds--I have nothing.”
“Except possession, which is nine points of the law. Will you take tea, and cream? I do not know how many points the law has, but one would naturally conclude that nine is a large proportion of the whole.”
While he spoke he was pouring out the tea. He handed a cup to her with a grave smile, as if the matter under discussion were one of a small and passing importance.
“I suppose,” he added, “you have learnt to love the Casa d’Erraha. It is a place--a place one might easily become attached to. Do you know”--he turned his back to her, busying himself with the silver teapot--“Lloseta?” he added jerkily.
“Yes. My father and I used to go there very often.”
“Ah--” He waited--handing Captain Bontnor a cup of tea in silence. But Eve was not thinking of Lloseta; she was thinking of the Casa d’Erraha.
“My father did not speak to me of his affairs,” she said. “He was naturally rather reserved, and--and it was very sudden.”
“Yes. So I learnt. That indeed is my excuse for intruding myself upon your notice at this time. I surmised that my poor friend’s affairs had been left in some confusion. He was too thorough a gentleman to be competent in affairs. I thought that perhaps my small influence and my diminutive knowledge of Majorcan law--the Roman law, in point of fact--might be of some use to you.”
“Thank you,” she answered; “I think we settled everything before we left the island, although we did not see Señor Peña, your lawyer. I--the Casa d’Erraha belongs to you!” she added, suddenly descending to feminine reiteration.
“Prove it,” said the Count quietly.