He stepped over to a table and fumbled with a pile of letters. But his eyes did not follow his hands. They traveled over his guest, over his tanned face, over his broad shoulders, and as he looked, he spoke on: he regretted the Duke's long tramp across the mountains; the closed lodge at the harbor; the negligence of Caroline. He deplored the great inconveniences which the Duke had undergone.
"The Marchesa Soderrelli said that you were coming to Canada," he continued, "and I endeavored to locate you there, but I fear that I did not sufficiently persist in my effort, because the Marchesa assured rue that you would certainly let us know when you arrived on the Pacific Coast. You see, I trusted to the wisdom of the Marchesa."
Then he laughed in his big voice. "Ah," he said, "there is a woman! A remarkable woman. Did you know her before your coming to the bay of Oban?"
"I had that honor," replied the Duke.
"She said in Biarritz that you would likely be there. Your fame was going about just then in Biarritz."
"Rumor," the Duke answered, "has, I believe, dealt kindly with me."
The old man laughed again.
"With me," he said, "it is always the other way about."
He followed the remark with a few words of explanation. The Duke must manage to amuse himself until the others arrived. He would find books, horses, if he cared to ride, and excellent shooting in the river bottoms.
After luncheon Cyrus Childers rode with his guest over the cultivated portion of the estate, through the meadows, the pasture fields, the orchards, and everywhere the duke found only Japanese at work. He remarked on this: