[CHAPTER XXXV.]
A SLANDERER.
The others are seated at the breakfast-table when Treurenberg enters the dining-room, all except Fainacky, who, true to his self-imposed task, is still busy with the decorations of the garden-room. That enterprising maître de plaisir has a deal to do, since there is to be a rehearsal, as it were, in the evening of the morrow's festivities. Various guests from far and near are expected to admire and to enhance this prelude of coming glories.
A seat beside Selina is empty. Lato goes directly towards it. Nothing about him betrays his inward agitation or the sleeplessness of the past night. Rather pale, but refreshed by a long walk, and dressed with exquisite care, he looks so distinguished and handsome in his light summer array, that Selina is struck by his appearance. He has a rose in his hand, and as, bending over his wife, he places it among her curls, and then kisses her hand by way of morning greeting, she receives him quite graciously. She is inclined to be proud to-day of her aristocratic possession, which she is shortly to have an opportunity of displaying before so many less-favoured friends. Half returning the pressure of his hand, she says, "To what do I owe these conjugal attentions?"
"The anniversary of our betrothal, Selina," he says, in the half-jesting tone in which married people of a certain social standing are wont to allude before witnesses to matters of sentiment, and then he takes his seat beside her.
"True, our anniversary!" she rejoins, in the same tone, evidently flattered. "And you remembered it? As a reward, Lato, I will butter your toast for you."
Here the Pole comes tripping into the room. "Changement de décoration. You have taken my place to-day, Treurenberg," he says, not without irritation. "Since when have modern couples been in the habit of sitting beside each other?"
"It is permitted now and then en famille," Selina informs him, placing before Lato the toast she has just prepared for him. She glances at Fainacky, and instantly averts her eyes. For the first time it occurs to her to compare this affected trifler with her husband, and the comparison is sadly to Fainacky's disadvantage. The petty elegancies of his dress and air strike her as ridiculous. He divines something of this, and it enrages him. He cares not the slightest for Selina, but, since their late encounter in the park, he has most cordially hated Lato, whom he did not like before. The friendly demeanour of the pair towards each other this morning vexes him intensely; he sees that his attempt to cast suspicion upon Lato has failed with Selina; nay, it has apparently only fanned the flame of a desire to attract her husband. It irritates him; he would be devoured by envy should a complete reconciliation between the two be established, and he be obliged to look on while Lato again entered into the full enjoyment of his wife's millions. He takes the only vacant place, and looks about him for somewhat wherewith to interrupt this mood upon the part of the pair. Finally his glance rests upon Olga, who sits opposite him, crumbling a piece of biscuit on her plate.
"No appetite yet, Fräulein Olga?" he asks.
Olga starts slightly, and lifts her teacup to her lips.