GENERAL KERVICK was by habit a punctual man, and Thorpe found him hovering, carefully gloved and fur-coated, in the neighbourhood of the luncheon-room when he arrived.
It indeed still lacked a few minutes of the appointed hour when they thus met and went in together. They were fortunate enough to find a small table out on the balcony, sufficiently removed from any other to give privacy to their conversation.
By tacit agreement, the General ordered the luncheon, speaking French to the waiter throughout. Divested of his imposing great-coat, he was seen to be a gentleman of meagre flesh as well as of small stature. He had the Roman nose, narrow forehead, bushing brows, and sharply-cut mouth and chin of a soldier grown old in the contemplation of portraits of the Duke of Wellington. His face and neck were of a dull reddish tint, which seemed at first sight uniformly distributed: one saw afterward that it approached pallor at the veined temples, and ripened into purple in minute patches on the cheeks and the tip of the pointed nose.
Against this flushed skin, the closely-cropped hair and small, neatly-waxed moustache were very white indeed.
It was a thin, lined, care-worn face, withal, which in repose, and particularly in profile, produced an effect of dignified and philosophical melancholy. The General's over-prominent light blue eyes upon occasion marred this effect, however, by glances of a bold, harsh character, which seemed to disclose unpleasant depths below the correct surface.
His manner with the waiters was abrupt and sharp, but undoubtedly they served him very well--much better, in truth, than Thorpe had ever seen them serve anybody before.
Thorpe observed his guest a good deal during the repast, and formed numerous conclusions about him. He ate with palpable relish of every dish, and he emptied his glass as promptly as his host could fill it. There was hardly a word of explanation as to the purpose of their meeting, until the coffee was brought, and they pushed back their chairs, crossed their legs, and lighted cigars.
"I was lucky to catch you with my wire, at such short notice,"Thorpe said then. "I sent two, you know--to your chambers and your club. Which of them found you?""Chambers," said the General. "I rarely dress till luncheon time. I read in bed. There's really nothing else to do. Idleness is the curse of my life.""I've been wondering if you'd like a little occupation--of a well-paid sort," said Thorpe slowly. He realized that it was high time to invent some pretext for his hurried summons of the General.
"My dear sir," responded the other, "I should like anything that had money in it. And I should very much like occupation, too--if it were, of course, something that was--was suitable to me.""Yes," said Thorpe, meditatively. "I've something in my mind--not at all definite yet--in fact, I don't think Ican even outline it to you yet. But I'm sure it will suit you--that is, if I decide to go on with it--and there ought to be seven or eight hundred a year for you in it--for life, mind you."The General's gaze, fastened strenuously upon Thorpe, shook a little. "That will suit me very well," he declared, with feeling. "Whatever I can do for it"--he let the sentence end itself with a significant gesture.
"I thought so, "commented the other, trifling with the spoon in his cup. "But I want you to be open with me.
I'm interested in you, and I want to be of use to you.
All that I've said, I can do for you. But first, I'm curious to know everything that you can tell me about your circumstances. I'm right in assuming, I suppose, that you're--that you're not any too well-fixed."The General helped himself to another little glass of brandy.
His mood seemed to absorb the spirit of the liqueur.
"Fixed!" he repeated with a peevish snap in his tone.
"I'm not 'fixed' at all, as you call it. Good God, sir! They no more care what becomes of me than they do about their old gloves. I gave them name and breeding and position--and everything--and they round on me like--like cuckoos."His pale, bulging eyes lifted their passionless veil for an instant as he spoke, and flashed with the predatory fierceness of a hawk.
Intuition helped Thorpe to guess whom "they" might mean.
The temper visibly rising in the old man's mind was what he had hoped for. He proceeded with an informed caution.
"Don't be annoyed if I touch upon family matters," he said.
"It's a part of what I must know, in order to help you.
I believe you're a widower, aren't you, General?"The other, after a quick upward glance, shook his head resentfully. "Mrs. Kervick lives in Italy with HERson-in-law--and her daughter. He is a man of property--and also, apparently, a man of remarkable credulity and patience." He paused, to scan his companion's face.
"They divide him between them," he said then, from clenched teeth--"and I--mind you--I made the match! He was a young fellow that I found--and I brought him home and introduced him--and I haven't so much as an Italian postage-stamp to show for it. But what interest can you possibly take in all this?" The unamiable glance of his eyes was on the instant surcharged with suspicion.
"How many daughters have you?" Thorpe ventured the enquiry with inward doubts as to its sagacity.
"Three," answered the General, briefly. It was evident that he was also busy thinking.
"I ask because I met one of them in the country over Sunday,"Thorpe decided to explain.
The old soldier's eyes asked many questions in the moment of silence. "Which one--Edith?--that is, Lady Cressage?"he enquired. "Of course--it would have been her."Thorpe nodded. "She made a tremendous impression upon me,"he observed, watching the father with intentness as he let the slow words fall.
"Well she might, "the other replied, simply. "She's supposed to be the most beautiful woman in England.""Well--I guess she is," Thorpe assented, while the two men eyed each other.
"Is the third sister unmarried?" it occurred to him to ask.
