He fingered his snowy stock, and bent upon her eyes of glowing adoration. "Dear Lady O'Moy," his tenor voice was soft and soothing as a caress, "I sigh to think that one so adorable, so entirely made for life's sunshine and gladness, should have cause for a moment's uneasiness, perhaps for secret grief, at the thought of the peril of her brother."
Her glance clouded under this reminder. Then she pouted and made a little gesture of impatience. "**** is not in peril," she answered.
"He is foolish to remain so long in hiding, and of course he will have to face unpleasantness when he is found. But to say that he is in peril is . . . just nonsense. Terence said nothing of peril.
He agreed with me that **** will probably be sent home. Surely you don't think - "
"No, no." He looked down, studying his hessians for a moment, then his dark eyes returned to meet her own. "I shall see to it that he is in no danger. You may depend upon me, who ask but the happy chance to serve you. Should there be any trouble, let me know at once, and I will see to it that all is well. Your brother must not suffer, since he is your brother. He is very blessed and enviable in that."
She stared at him, her brows knitting. "But I don't understand."
"Is it not plain? Whatever happens, you must not suffer, Lady O'Moy.
No man of feeling, and I least of any, could endure it. And since if your brother were to suffer that must bring suffering to you, you may count upon me to shield him."
"You are very good, Count. But shield him from what?"
"From whatever may threaten. The Portuguese Government may demand in self-protection, to appease the clamour of the people stupidly outraged by this affair, that an example shall be made of the offender."
"Oh, but how could they? With what reason?" She displayed a vague alarm, and a less vague impatience of such hypotheses.
He shrugged. "The people are like that - a fierce, vengeful god to whom appeasing sacrifices must be offered from time to time. If the people demand a scapegoat, governments usually provide one. But be comforted." In his eagerness of reassurance he caught her delicate mittened hand in his own, and her anxiety rendering her heedless, she allowed it to lie there gently imprisoned. "Be comforted. I shall be here to guard him. There is much that I can do and you may depend upon me to do it - for your sake, dear lady. The Government will listen to me. I would not have you imagine me capable of boasting. I have influence with the Government, that is all; and I give you my word that so far as the Portuguese Government is concerned your brother shall take no harm."
She looked at him for a long moment with moist eyes, moved and flattered by his earnestness and intensity of homage. "I take this very kindly in you, sir. I have no thanks that are worthy," she said, her voice trembling a little. "I have no means of repaying you. You have made me very happy, Count."
He bent low over the frail hand he was holding.
"Your assurance that I have made you happy repays me very fully, since your happiness is my tenderest concern. Believe me, dear lady, you may ever count Jeronymo de Samoval your most devoted and obedient slave."
He bore the hand to his lips and held it to them for a long moment, whilst with heightened colour and eyes that sparkled, more, be it confessed, from excitement than from gratitude, she stood passively considering his bowed dark head.
As he came erect again a movement under the archway caught his eye, and turning he found himself confronting Sir Terence and Miss Armytage, who were approaching. If it vexed him to have been caught by a husband notoriously jealous in an attitude not altogether uncompromising, Samoval betrayed no sign of it.
With smooth self-possession he hailed O'Moy:
"General, you come in time to enable me to take my leave of you.
I was on the point of going."
"So I perceived," said O'Moy tartly. He had almost said: "So I had hoped."
His frosty manner would have imposed constraint upon any man less master of himself than Samoval. But the Count ignored it, and ignoring it delayed a moment to exchange amiabilities politely with Miss Armytage, before taking at last an unhurried and unperturbed departure.
But no sooner was he gone than O'Moy expressed himself full frankly to his wife.
"I think Samoval is becoming too attentive and too assiduous."
"He is a dear," said Lady O'Moy.
"That is what I mean," replied Sir Terence grimly.
"He has undertaken that if there should be any trouble with the Portuguese Government about ****'s silly affair he will put it right."
"Oh!" said O'Moy, "that was it?" And out of his tender consideration for her said no more.
But Sylvia Armytage, knowing what she knew from Captain Tremayne, was not content to leave the matter there. She reverted to it presently as she was going indoors alone with her cousin.
"Una," she said gently, "I should not place too much faith in Count Samoval and his promises."
"What do you mean?" Lady O'Moy was never very tolerant of advice, especially from an inexperienced young girl.
"I do not altogether trust him. Nor does Terence."
"Pooh! Terence mistrusts every man who looks at me. My dear, never marry a jealous man," she added with her inevitable inconsequence.
"He is the last man - the Count, I mean - to whom, in your place, I should go for assistance if there is trouble about ****." She was thinking of what Tremayne had told her of the attitude of the Portuguese Government, and her clear-sighted mind perceived an obvious peril in permitting Count Samoval to become aware of ****'s whereabouts should they ever be discovered.
"What nonsense, Sylvia! You conceive the oddest and most foolish notions sometimes. But of course you have no experience of the world." And beyond that she refused to discuss the matter, nor did the wise Sylvia insist.
