‘If that is the case I shall be only too glad to be driven. I am indolent enough for anything.’
‘I am glad to hear it,’ replied Nita, taking the ribbons. Very soon they were driving at a pleasant speed through the lanes leading towards Clyderhow, whose ancient castle, on a mound, confronted them for a great part of the distance.
‘What does Mr. Bolton mean, when he speaks of “his Italian”?’ asked Jerome, reflectively.
Nita laughed as she flicked the roans lightly.
‘Of course you would not understand,’ she answered. ‘Italian is papa’s favourite weakness. Did you ever see anyone so unlike Italy as he is? Poor old dear! He always used to read in the afternoons, and one day he was perusing a little book aloud to me, and I was sewing. There came some allusion to “the fiery domes and cupolas of the city of Dis.” He asked me what it meant, and I told him about the “Inferno.” He said: “That’s very fine—those fiery domes and cupolas. I must know some more about it.” With which he took to studying Italian, and is now devoted to it. It is very seldom that he fails to give a few hours each day to it. He is translating the “Inferno,” in his rough, plodding way. I am glad he finds something to amuse himself with, for he has had a sad life.’
‘Sad? He has been unusually successful, has he not?’
‘Oh, in money-matters, yes. But my mother died just when he hoped to give her everything she desired—and more. And he was—he was very fond of her.’
‘I see! I might have understood that,’ replied Jerome; and then, after a pause, ‘Mr. Bolton has been making very kind offers to me.’
‘Has he? What manner of offers?’
He told her.