“I had then no intention of entering the Italian service,” was his reply. “The offer has come to me quite spontaneously.”
Morgan-Mason was silent, twisting his glass before him and thinking deeply. The name Borselli recalled something—an ugly affair that he would have fain forgotten.
“I thought you had secured an appointment in one of the English Government offices,” he said at last, with a sudden change of tactics. “Why go abroad? Why not remain with me? I’ll give you an increase of fifty pounds a year. You know my ways, and I hate strangers about me.”
“I much regret that I cannot accept your offer,” replied George. “I have already accepted the appointment, which is at a salary very considerably in advance of that you have been paying me.”
“But I’ll pay you the same as they offer. You are better off in England. How much do they intend to give you?”
“I am too fond of Italy to refuse a chance of going out there,” Macbean replied. “I spent some years in Pisa in my youth, and have always longed to return and live in the warmth and sunshine.”
A brief silence fell.
Presently, after reflection, the Member of Parliament exclaimed, in a tone more pleasant than he had ever used before—
“Let me speak candidly, Macbean. I would first ask you to forget the words I uttered a few moments ago. I am full of business, you know, and am often out of temper with everything. I was out of temper just now. Well, you want to leave me and go to Italy, while I desire you to remain. Tell me plainly what salary you will accept and continue in my service.”
“I am as perfectly frank as you are,” George replied. “No inducement you could offer would keep me in England.”