One heard a tattoo of scampering paws, a sibilance of swift breathing;
and a cold wet nose, followed by a warm furry head, was thrust from
behind under Lucilla's hand.
Startled, she gave an inevitable little feminine cry, and half turned
round--to recognise her late admirer. “Hello, old fellow--is this you?”
she greeted him, patting his shoulder, stroking his silky ears. “You
take one rather by surprise, you know. Yes, you are a very beautiful,
nice, friendly collie, all the same; and I never saw so handsome a coat,
or so splendid a tail, or such soulful poetic eyes. I am very glad to
renew your acquaintance.” Balzatore waved his splendid tail as if it
were a banner; rubbed his jowl against Lucilla's knee; caracoled and
pranced before her, to display his graces; cocked his head, and blinked
with self-satisfaction; sat down on his haunches, and, tongue lolling
from his black muzzle, panted exultantly, “There! You see how cleverly I
have brought it off.”
“Ecco. That is our Signore's dog,” announced the man who had promised
intercession. “He himself will not be far behind.”
At the word, appeared, approaching, the tall and slender figure of
Bertram, to whom, in a sudden contrapuntal outburst, both gondoliers
began to speak Venetian. They spoke rapidly, turbulently almost, with
many modulations, with lavish gestures, vividly, feelingly, each exposed
the ladies' case.
Bertram, his grey eyes smiling (you know that rather deep-in, flickering
smile of goodwill of theirs), removed his panama hat and said, in
perfectly English English, with the accent of a man praying a particular
favour, “I beg you to let them take you to your hotel.”
The next instant, the gondoliers steadying their craft, Lucilla
murmuring what she could by way of thanks, he had helped them aboard,
and, after a quick order to the men, was bowing god-speed to them
from the landing-stage, while one hand, by the collar, held captive a
tugging, impetuous Balzatore.
“But you?” exclaimed Lucilla, puzzled. “Do you not also go to Venice?”
“Oh, they will come back for me,” said Bertram, lightly.
She gave a slight movement to her head, slight but decisive, a movement
that implied finality.
“We can't think of such a thing,” in the tone of an ultimatum she
declared. “It's extremely good of you to offer us a lift--but we simply
can't accept it if it means inconvenience to yourself.”
And Bertram, of course, at once ceded the point.
Bowing again, “Thank you very much,” he said. “I wasn't sure we
shouldn't be in your way.”
He took his seat, keeping Balzatore restive between his knees.