The maid withdrew, and when the door had closed, Malvano, his elbows on the table, his cold gaze fixed upon his guest, suddenly asked in a low, intense voice, “Arnoldo, in this affair we must have no secrets from each other. Tell me the truth. Do you love Vittorina?” The foppish young man started slightly, but quickly recovering himself, answered—
“Of course not. What absurd fancy causes you to suggest that?”
“Well—she is very pretty, you know,” the Doctor observed ambiguously.
The young man looked sharply at his host. “You mean,” he said, “that I might make love to her, and thus prevent her from troubling us, eh?”
The other nodded in the affirmative, adding, “You might even marry her.”
At that instant the maid entered, bearing a telegram which a lad on a cycle had brought from Uppingham for the Doctor’s guest. The latter opened it, glanced at its few faintly-written words, then frowned and placed it in his pocket without comment.
“Bad news?” inquired Malvano. “You look a bit scared.”
“Not at all; not at all,” he laughed. “Merely a little affair of the heart, that’s all;” and he laughed in a happy, self-satisfied way. Arnoldo was fond of the society of the fair sex, therefore the Doctor, shrewd and quick of observation, was fully satisfied that the message was from one or other of his many feminine acquaintances.
“Well, induce Vittorina to believe that you love her, and all will be plain sailing,” he said. “You are just the sort of fellow who can fascinate a woman and compel her to act precisely as you wish. Exert on her all the powers you possess.”
“I’m afraid it will be useless,” his companion answered in a dry, hopeless tone.