"What gift is that, signore?"
"The gift of listening."
After this the conversation drifted into general subjects, and a little later Herbert Briarfield took his leave.
"The man interests me, fascinates me, and yet I do not like him," he said to himself as he rode home-ward. "I wonder who and what he is? But for that peculiar far-away sound in his voice, he speaks English like an Englishman. Sometimes I thought I detected a suggestion of Oxford in his tones. But then, again, when he spoke German to Trübner, he might have been reared in Berlin or Heidelberg. Again, he seems to know the East perfectly. I want to know more about him, and yet I feel afraid of him. In any case, I'll be at that concert on Friday. I wonder what she will think of him?"
"What do you think of Mr. Briarfield, signore?" asked Herr Trübner when he found himself alone with the stranger.
"I think he is in love with what you call the guardian angel of this place."
"I never thought of that," said the German. "What made you think of it?"
"I kept my eyes open and I listened, that is all."
"It may be as you say," said the German reflectively. "Well, I should say from what I have heard, it would be a good match. He is a fine specimen of the English gentleman. I am told that he is well-off and very ambitious."
"And in what way does his ambition express itself?"