He knew that by this early return Farrar was missing an important day of the race-meeting he had been attending, but did not think it necessary to remark upon the fact.
“Yes,” replied Hilda. “He does not like to leave his mother for many days together.” The acutest ears could have detected no lowering of the voice, no tenderness of thought. She was simply stating a fact; but she might have been speaking of Signor Bruno, so cool and unembarrassed was her tone.
“I am glad he is back,” said Christian thoughtlessly. It was a mere stop-gap. The silence was awkward, but he possessed tact enough to have broken it by some better means. Instantly he recognised his mistake, and for a moment he felt as if he were stumbling blindfold through an unknown country. He experienced a sudden sense of vacuity as if his mind were a blank and all words futile. It was now Stanley's turn to break the silence, and unconsciously he did it very well.
“I wonder,” he said speculatively, “whether he has brought any chocolate creams?”
Hilda laughed, and the smile was still hovering in her eyes when she greeted the two men. Stanley ran on into the house to open a parcel which Farrar told him was awaiting inspection. It was only natural that Hilda should walk on with the young squire, leaving Bruno and Christian together. The old man lingered obviously, and his companion took the hint readily enough, anticipating some enjoyment.
“To you, Mr. Vellacott,” said the Italian, with senile geniality, “to you whose life is spent in London this must be very charming, very peaceful, and—very disorganising, I may perhaps add.”
Christian looked at his companion with grave attention.
“It is very enjoyable,” he replied simply.
Signor Bruno mentally trimmed his sails, and started off on another tack.
“Our young friends,” he said, indicating with a wave of his expressive hand Hilda and Farrar, “are admirably suited to each other. Both young, both handsome, and both essentially English.”