She led him into a pleasant room hung with portraits of her own and her husband’s families. She took her seat in a great brocaded chair that was like a throne. Hi was only a boy, but he was impressed by her bearing. She gave him the impression of being a work of art held together by nothing but will, and a sense of style.
Hi closed the door at her bidding. Rosa was gone.
“It is thirty years, Highworth,” she said, “since your father in this room brought news to my husband and myself that our fortunes were secured in the days of the copper crisis. My husband promised then that this house should be a home to any of your race. There to your right you will see a drawing of your father as he was then. It is a pleasure to me to see you stand where your father stood.”
She rang a little bell which stood on a table beside her; the negro with the ebony cane appeared. “This is my old retainer, Pablo,” she said, “faithful as one of the old age. Pablo,” she said, “this is Mr. Highworth, whose father you will remember. In all ways and at all times you are to consider him as one of this household.”
After Pablo had gone she turned again to Hi.
“This is talking beneath the surface,” she said, “which the English do not do. Now tell me. What are your plans for your life in this country? Your father says that you have letters and that we are not to help you till we see that you have helped yourself.”
“I have only just landed,” Hi said. “I have letters to Mr. Weycock and Mr. Winter.”
“To Mr. Mordred Weycock?” she asked.
“No, his nephew.”
“Did either Mr. Winter or Mr. Weycock tell you of troubles impending in this country.”