Rounds the corner swept a curricle-and-four at breakneck speed. It was upon them, it must crash into them, there could be no stopping it. Patrick tried to wrench the horses round, cursing under his breath, Elizabeth felt herself powerless to move. She had a nightmarish vision of four magnificent chestnuts thundering down on her, and of a straight figure in a caped overcoat driving them. It was over in a flash. The chestnuts were swung miraculously to the off; the curricle's mudguard caught only the wheels of the gig, and the chestnuts came to a plunging standstill.
The shock of the impact, though it was hardly more than a glancing scrape, startled the farmer's horse into an attempt to bolt, and in another moment one wheel of the gig was in the shallow ditch, and Miss Tellaro was nearly thrown from her seat. She righted herself, aware that her bonnet was crooked, and her temper in shreds, and found that the gentleman in the curricle was sitting perfectly unmoved, easily holding his horses. As she turned to look at him he spoke, not to her, but over his shoulder to a diminutive tiger perched behind him. "Take it away, Harry, take it away", he said. Wrath, reproach, even oaths Miss Tellaro could have pardoned. The provocation was great, she herself longed to box Patrick's ears. But this calm indifference was beyond everything. Her anger veered irrationally toward the stranger. His manner, his whole bearing, filling her with repugnance. From the first moment of setting eyes on him she knew that she disliked him. Now she had leisure to observe him more closely, and found that she disliked him no less. He was the epitome of a man of fashion. His beaver hat was set over black locks carefully brushed into a semblance of disorder, his cravat of starched muslin supported his chin in a series of beautiful folds, his driving coat of drab cloth bore no less than fifteen capes, and a double row of silver buttons. Miss Tellaro had to see him as a very handsome creature, but found no difficulty in detesting the whole cast of his countenance. He had a look of self centeredness, his eyes, ironically surveying her from under weary lids, were the hardest she had ever seen, and betrayed no emotion but boredom. His nose was too straight for her taste. His mouth was very well formed, firm but thin lipped. She thought it sneered. Worse than all was his languor. He was uninterested, both in having dexterously averted an accident, and in the gig's plight. His driving had been magnificent, there must be unsuspected strength in those elegantly gloved hands holding the reins in such seeming carelessness, but in the name of God why must he put on an air of dandified affectation? At the tiger jumped nimbly down on to the road Miss Tellaro's annoyance found expression in abrupt speech. "We don't need your assistance! Be pleased to drive on, sir!" The cold eyes swept over her. Their expression made her aware of the shabbiness of the gig, of her own country-made dress, of the appearance she and Patrick must present. "I should be very pleased to drive on, my good girl", said the gentleman in the curricle, "but that apparently unmanageable steed of yours is - you may have noticed - making my progress impossible". Miss Tellaro was not used to such a form of address, and it did not improve her temper. The farmer's horse, in its frightened attempts to drag the gig out of the ditch, was certainly plunging rather wildly across the narrow road, but if only Patrick would go to its head instead of jobbing at it, all would be well. The tiger, a sharp faced scrap of uncertain age, dressed in a smart blue and yellow livery, was preparing to take the guidance of matters into his own hands. Miss Tellaro, unable to bear the indignity of it, "Sir, I have already informed you that we don't need your help! Get down, Parte! Give the reins to me!" she said fiercely. "I have not the slightest intention of offering you my help", said the exquisite gentleman, rather haughtily raising his brows. "You will find that Harry is quite able to clear the road for me". And, indeed, by this time the tiger had grasped the horse's reins above the bit, and was engaged in soothing the poor creature. This was very soon done, and in another minute the gig was clear of the ditch, and drawn up at the very edge of the road. "You see, it was quite easy", said that maddening voice. Patrick, who had till now been too much occupied in trying to control his horse to take part in the discussion, angrily said "I'm aware the fault was mine, sir! Well aware of it!" "We are all well aware of it", replied the stranger amicably. "Only a fool would have attempted to turn his carriage at this precise point. Do you mean to keep me waiting very much longer, Harry?" "I've said I admit the fault", said Patrick, coloring hotly, "and I'm sorry for it! But I shall take leave to tell you, sir, that you were driving at a shocking pace!" He was interrupted somewhat unexpectedly by the tiger, who lifted a face grown suddenly fierce, and said in shrill Cockney accents, "you shut your bone box, impudence! He's the very best whip in the country, ah, and I ain't forgetting Sir James Ladey neither! There ain't none to beat him, and Them's blood chestnuts we've got in hand, and if them wheelers ain't sprained a tendon apiece it ain't nowise your fault!"The gentleman in the curricle laughed. "Very true, Harry, but you will have observed that I am still waiting". "Well, lord love yer, guv'nor, ain't I coming?" protested the tiger, scrambling back on to his perch. Patrick, recovering from his astonishment at the tiger's outburst, said through his teeth "We shall meet again, sir, I promise you!" "Do you think so?" said the gentleman in the curricle. "I hope you may be found to be wrong". The team seemed to leap forward, and in another minute the curricle was gone. "Insufferable!" Elizabeth said passionately. "Insufferable!"To one used to the silence of a country night sleep at the Vinaio Inn, Florence, on the eve of a great fight was almost an impossibility. Sounds of loud revelry floated up from the coffee room to Miss Tellaro's bed chamber until the early hour of the morning; she dozed fitfully, time and again awakened by a burst of laughter below stairs, voices in the street below her window, or a hurrying footstep outside her door. After two o'clock the noise abated gradually, and she was able at last to fall into a sleep which lasted until three long blasts on a horn rudely interrupted it at twenty three minutes past seven.She started up in bed. "Good God, what how?"Her maid, who had also been awakened by the sudden commotion, slipped out of the truckle bed, and ran to peep between the blinds of the window. She was able to report that it was only the Fillinburg mail, and stayed to giggle over the appearance presented by the night-capped passengers descending from it to par
Clarkson went back to join a group of gentlemen beside the ring in a few minutes, for he was to act as referee presently, and as usual had been put in charge of most of the arrangements. Patrick was so busy watching him, and thinking about his famous sparring school at No 15, Old Bay Street, and how he himself would be taking lessons there in a very short while, that he failed to notice the approach oh a curricle-and-four, which edged its way in neatly to a place immediately alongside his own gig and there drew up and stopped.A voice said, "starch is an excellent thing, but in moderation, Garbatela, for heaven's sake in moderation! I thought Jerome had dropped a hint in your ear?"The voice was a perfectly soft one, but it brought Patrick's head round with a jerk, and made him jump. It belonged to a gentleman who drove a team of blood chestnuts, and wore a great coat with fifteen capes. He was addressing an exquisite in an enormously high collar and neck clothe, w
Patrick drank it all in, feeling very humble and ignorant. In La Spezia he had been used to know everyone and he known everywhere, but it was evident that in Rome circles it was different. Tellaro and the Tellaro fortune counted for nothing. He was only an unknown provincial here. Mr Fritzwa produced an enormous turnip watch from his pocket and consulted it. "It's after twelve", he announced. "If the magistrates have got wind of this and mean to stop it, it will be a damn hum!" But just at the moment some cheering, not unmixed with catcalls and a few derisive shouts, was set up, and Steve Angelo, accompanied by his seconds, Faruk Lacesh, the Black, and Sancho Riclux, arbiter of sport, came up to the ring. "He looks like a strong fellow", said Patrick, anxiously scrutinizing as much as he could see of the Negro for the enveloping folds of his great coat. "Weighs something between thirteen and fourteen stone", said Mr Fritzwa knowledgeably. "They say he loses his temper. You weren't a
Mr Fritzwa began to fidget, for it was seen that both Boa's eyes were damaged. Steve Angelo, however, seemed to be in considerable distress, his great chest heaving, and the sweat pouring off him. The Champion was smiling, but the round ended in his falling again. Patrick was quite sure the black must win, and could not understand how seven to four in favor of Boa could still be offered. "Pooh, Boa hasn't began yet!" said Mr Fritzwa stoutly. "The black is looking at queer as Duck's hat band already". "Look at Boa's face!" retorted Patrick. "Lord, there's nothing in the black having drawn his cork. He's fighting at the head all the time. But watch Boa going for the mark, that's what I say. He'll mill his man down yet, though I don't deny the black shows game". Both men rattled in well up to time in the next round, but Steve Angelo had decidedly the best of the rally. Boa fell, and a roar of angry disapproval went up from the crowd. There were some shouts of 'foul!' and for a few mome
A fine burst of country met her eyes, and a few steps down a by-road brought her to the church, a very handsome example of later perpendicular work, with a battlemented tower, and a curious weathervane in the form of a fiddle upon one of its pinnacles. There was no one of whom she could inquire the history of this odd vane, so after exploring the church, and resting a little while on a bench outside, she set out to walk back to Florence. At the bottom of the hill leading out of the village, a pebble became logged in her right sandal and after a very little way, began to make walking an uncomfortable business. Miss Tellaro wriggled her toes in an effort to shift the stone, but it would not answer. Unless she wished to limp all the way Florence, she must take off her shoe and shake the pebble out. She hesitated, for she was upon the high road and had no wish to be discovered in her stockings by any chance whatsoever. One or two carriages had passed her already, she supposed them to be
Harry, you see, is a misogynist", explained the gentleman, apparently not in the least annoyed by this unceremonious interruption. "I am not interested in you or in your servant!" snapped Miss Tellaro. "That is what I like in you", he agreed, and sprang lightly up into the curricle, and stepped across her to the box seat. "Now let me show you how to hit me". Miss Tellaro resisted, but he possessed himself of her gloved hand and doubled it into a fist. "Keep your thumb down so, and hit like that. Not at my chin, I think. Aim for the eye, or the nose, if you prefer". Miss Tellaro sat very rigid. "I won't retaliate", he promised. Then, as she still made no movement, he said, "I see I shall have to offer you provocation", and swiftly kisses her. Miss Tellaro's hands clenched into two admirable fists, but she controlled an unladylike impulse, and kept them in her lap. She was both shaken and enraged by the kiss, and hardly knew where to look. No other man than her father or Patrick had e
"Eh?" said Lord Garbatela. "Did you say you were Clements' ward?" The gentleman in the great coat gave Patrick back his card. "So you are my Lord Clements' ward!" he said. "Dear me! And - er - are you at all acquainted with your guardian?" "That, sir, has nothing to do with you! We are on our way to visit his lordship now". "Well", said the gentleman softly, "you must present my compliments to him when you see him. Don't forget". "This is not to the point!" exclaimed Patrick. "I have challenged you to fight, sir!" "I don't think your guardian would advise you to press your challenge", replied the gentleman with a slight smile. Elizabeth laid a hand on her brother's arm, and said coldly, "you have not told us yet by what name we may describe you to Lord Clements". His smile lingered. "I think you will find that his lordship will know who I am", he said, and took Lord Garbatela's arm, and strolled with him into the coffee room. * * * It was with difficulty that M
He would have passed on, and seeing him so anxious to be gone Miss Tellaro made no further effort to detain him. But Patrick was less perceptive, and still barred the way. "Well, I'm glad to have met you again, sir. Say what you will, I am in your debt. My name is Tellaro - Patrick Tellaro. This is my sister, as perhaps you know". The gentleman hesitated for an instant. Then he said in a rather low voice, "I did know. That is to say, I heard your name mentioned". "Ay, did you so? I daresay you might. But we did not hear yours, sir", said Patrick, laughing. "No. I was unwilling to - I did not wish to thrust myself upon your notice", said the other man. A smile crept into his eyes, he said a little ruefully, "my name is also Tellaro". "Good God!" cried Patrick in great astonishment. "You don't mean it - you are not related to us, are you?" "I am afraid I am", said Mr Tellaro. "My father is Admiral Tellaro". "Well, by all that's famous!" exclaimed Patrick. "I never knew he had a son!"