"I am very, very sorry Miss--Miss Nette," he began, his voice fairly trembling with irritation, "but a most absurd and disgusting complication has arisen. This French fellow swears he has been bitten, and they think he is accusing you of hissing at the snake. I don't think he is really such a cad as all that, but he is practically hysterical, and now I don't believe he knows what he is saying. There is certainly some mark on his wrist and one of the men says that he saw the snake's head touch him, and they have filled him so thoroughly with whisky that he really is not responsible for what he says. I think,"--he marvelled at her lack of fright or emotion of any kind--"indeed, I am sure, that they have merely misunderstood his broken French, but these people are so idiotically obstinate, you know. They've sent for a doctor, 32 and they insist that they hold--me responsible, and that if we don't stay here quietly they'll--in short, I don't see what to do. I'm dreadfully sorry."
He paused, ready for reproaches, for tears, for rebellion. But none of these was apparent.
"How silly!" said Nette carelessly, glancing a moment at the group of men.
Antony felt slightly relieved, but only slightly.
"I'm afraid that it can be made quite disagreeable, however," he explained gently, "though it is silly. The fellow deserved to be bitten--if he is, which I'm not at all certain of," he interjected hastily, "and it's none of our business and all his fault; but I've tried everything--bribing and bullying--and we seem to be caught here. I regret it so much--as soon as we can get to my uncle, it will be all right, of course, but nobody here will take a message for me and--and I think perhaps it will make less publicity and fuss, you know, if we go quietly with--with whoever they ask us to and . . ."
He ground his teeth--if only he had been alone! He saw himself the butt of the whole college, nick-named for eternity, blamed by his uncle, that bulwark of convention, self-disgraced by reason of 33 utter, crude failure in this, the greatest social crisis of his life. It was maddening, humiliating--and this thick-skinned, feather-headed girl by his side seemed absolutely indifferent to her (to say the least) embarrassing situation. Stealing a glance at her he perceived that she was still smiling. Nay, more, she now directed the smile straight at him, and though its warm brightness cheered him irrationally for a moment, it was for a moment only, and the gloom of their plight shut round him again as he caught the eye of the leader of the hostile group beyond.
Suddenly he felt a tug at his coat, turned to see the gleaming red head of the author of all his woes, and seized him by the arm with a confused idea of vengeance.
"The doctor's coming, mister, he's nearly got here!" panted this unconscious instrument of Fate, "and I'll bet that foreign man dies! I'll bet he does! He got a terrible bite! Did you see it?"
Antony throttled the boy hastily and looked apprehensively at his companion; he had hoped to spare her this. To his surprise she turned to the child and laughed lightly. 34
"Oh, dear, no!" she said, "he won't die, little boy. Chauffeurs don't die--they explode!"