T was a wonderful drive. Beppo, who acted as chauffeur, was skilful and daring—the unkind would have called him reckless. He took the old, almost worn-out, motor-car where most drivers would have feared to venture, but Lily, physically, was very brave, and once or twice when the Marchese uttered a word of remonstrance she was surprised, and a little amused.
She was still absorbed in what had happened, and in going over and over again every word of her strange talk with the woman who now sat, absolutely silent, by Beppo Polda's side.
Certain passages of the conversation remained far more vividly in Lily's mind than others. Thus, while she hardly gave a thought to the question to which the Marchesa attached such tremendous importance—the question of how Aunt Cosy procured the money which she now and again sent or gave to her son—the English girl kept thinking of what the other woman had said about her, Lily Fairfield, and Beppo.
She felt a good deal disturbed, and at the same time thrilled and moved. Was Beppo really in love with her? Certainly his manner was very, very different when they two, by chance, found themselves alone, even for a few moments. He then either became at once ardent and deferential—or coaxing, affectionate, and delightfully confidential.
This last had been his attitude during the drive he had taken her the day before yesterday, and it was the mood in which she liked him best. When he gazed with burning eyes into her face, the while paying her outrageous compliments, she felt shy, and very ill at ease. At such moments he seemed to be trying an experiment—trying, that is, to rouse in her a feeling her whole being denied him the right to exact. And yet—and yet she did find him an exciting and stimulating companion, and she could not help being glad he was staying on in Monte Carlo....
All at once the motor began to slow down. They were going over the yellow, marshy piece of rough road where they had stopped during the first drive Lily had taken with Beppo and his friends.
The Marchese exclaimed in his careful English: “It is a spring under the earth. Never dry here!”
Once they were safely across the marshy place, Beppo began driving along what was little more than a path cut through a big olive grove, which brought them, far sooner than Lily expected, to the front door of La Solitude.
“There is no short cut around here that I do not know,” the young man said, as he helped her down; and almost at the same moment the Marchesa called out: “I cannot do myself the pleasure of coming in to see the Countess, for a friend is coming to tea. Will you return to dinner to-night, and then accompany us to the Club, Lily?
“I've promised to dine with M. Popeau. But I believe”—she hesitated—“that he is going to take me into the Club.”
“Then we shall meet once again—so? I am glad!”
To Lily's relief, Aunt Cosy made no objection at all to her spending the evening with M. Popeau and Captain Stuart. In fact, she seemed pleased rather than otherwise that the girl should be going to do what must yet seem to Continental ideas a very unconventional thing.
But perhaps because she now knew that her son intended to stay on for a little longer in Monte Carlo, the Countess's manner was extraordinarily effusive. She seemed excited, unlike herself—indeed, her air of contentment, almost of joy, was in curious contrast to Cristina's overcast countenance. The old woman looked nervous, unhappy, and ill at ease; and when fastening tip Lily's pretty evening frock she gave a long, convulsive sigh.
“Is anything the matter, Cristina?”
“No, Mademoiselle. There is nothing more the matter than there has been for a very long time,” was the cryptic answer.
At a quarter to eight M. Popeau called for Lily, and during the rapid drive down into Monte Carlo he observed suddenly:
“The Countess does not look like herself to-night. I wonder what has happened to so excite and please her? Have you any idea of the reason?”
He asked the question in a very peculiar tone, and Lily, surprised, answered: “Beppo is staying on in Monte Carlo. He may even come to La Solitude for a few days. That is quite enough to account for Aunt Cosy's good humour.”
“Are the leaving to-morrow?”
“Yes, and it's because Beppo can't get the room he wants at the Hidalgo Hotel that he is thinking of honouring his mother by paying us a short visit!”
Lily could not help a sarcastic inflection coming into her voice. She liked Beppo very much, but she had no sympathy with his love of luxury, and of having everything “just so” about him. After all, what was good enough for his father and mother—to say nothing of herself—ought to be good enough for him!