Don Francesco was a fisher of
men, and of women. He fished AD MAIOREM DEI GLORIAM, and for the fun of
the thing. It was his way of taking exercise, he once confessed to his
friend Keith; he was too fat to run about like other people--he could
only talk. He fished among natives, and among foreigners.
Foreigners were hard to catch, on Nepenthe. They came and went in such
breathless succession. Of the permanent residents only the Duchess,
always of High Church leanings, had of late yielded to his
blandishments. She was fairly hooked. Madame Steynlin, a lady of Dutch
extraction whose hats were proverbial, was uncompromisingly Lutheran.
The men were past redemption, all save the Commissioner who, however,
was under bad influences and an incurable wobbler, anyhow. Eames, the
scholar, cared for nothing but his books. Keith, a rich eccentric who
owned one of the finest villas and gardens on the place, only came to
the island for a few weeks every year. He knew too much, and had
travelled too far, to be anything but a hopeless unbeliever; besides,
he was a particular friend of his, with whom he agreed, in his heart of
hearts, on every subject.
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