“Then what are we to do?” pleaded Vennie, looking anxiously into the diplomatist’s face.
Mr. Taxater rested his chin upon the handle of his cane and made no reply.
At this moment the gate clicked behind them, and Luke Andersen appeared. He glanced hastily towards the porch; but his brother was absorbed in his work and apparently had heard nothing. Stepping softly along the edge of the path he approached the two friends. He looked very anxious and troubled.
Raising his hat to Vennie, he made a gesture with his hand in his brother’s direction. “Have you seen him?” he enquired. “Has he talked to you?”
The theologian nodded.
“Oh, I think all this is dreadful!” whispered Vennie. “I’m more distressed than I can tell you. I’m afraid he’s very, very ill. And he keeps talking about Miss Traffio. Surely something can be done, Mr. Andersen, to stop that marriage before it’s too late?”
Luke turned upon her with an expression completely different from any she had ever seen him wear before. He seemed to have suddenly grown much older. His mouth was drawn, and a little open; and his cheeks were pale and indented by deep lines.
“I would give my soul,” he said with intense emphasis, “to have this thing otherwise. I have already been to Lacrima—to Miss Traffio, I mean—but she will do nothing. She is mad, too, I think. I hoped to get her to marry my brother, off-hand, anyhow; and leave the place with him. But she won’t hear of it. I can’t understand her! It almost seems as if she wanted to marry that clown. But she can’t really; it’s impossible. I’m afraid that fool Quincunx is at the bottom of it.”
“Something must be done! Something must be done!” wailed Vennie.
“Sustinuit anima mea in verbo ejus!” muttered Mr. Taxater. “Speravit anima mea in Domino.”