“You will find him a very good fellow—a splendid animal, with a fair intelligence,” said Sefton, writing an address. “And now I hope you have forgiven me for bringing an unpleasant train of circumstances under your notice. You must remember that the facts in question came to my knowledge solely from my wish to oblige Miss Marchant. It would not have been fair to you to leave you in ignorance of what so nearly concerned your future wife.”
“Certainly not; but it would have been kinder, or wiser, on your part to have kept this knowledge from my mother.”
“Mrs. Vansittart had won my warmest regard by her kindness to the son of an old friend. I felt my first duty was to her.”
“That was unwise; and your unwisdom has caused much pain. However, I thank you for having spared Miss Marchant the knowledge that would make her miserable. I may rely upon you to keep the secret always—may I not?” asked Vansittart, earnestly.
“Always. You have my promise.”
“Thank you. That sets my mind at rest. I know how to deal with my mother’s prejudices; and I know that her affection for Eve will overcome those prejudices—in good time.”
Ferrari called at Charles Street at eleven o’clock next morning, in accordance with Vansittart’s request. As the clock struck the hour a tall, good-looking man, with reddish-brown hair, reddish-brown eyes, and a cheerful, self-satisfied smile, was ushered into Vansittart’s study.
“You are punctual, Signor Ferrari. Sit down, please, and come to business at once. Mr. Sefton tells me that you are the most business-like of men, as well as the best of fellows.”
“Mr. Sefton have know me many years, sir. I have had the honour to nurse the of him father in his last illness. Ten years ago we was at Venice, at the Grand Hotel—Mr. Sefton’s father threw himself out of the window in a paroxis of pain—I pick him out of the canal at risk of to drown. The son does not forget what Ferrari did for the father.”