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But it sounds
foreign. I thought you did not care about foreigners."
"I don't. But there's one--"
"Go on," said Denis.
Mr. Marten winked.
The mists had fled from the hilltops; rocks and vineyards, and the sea
at their foot, lay flooded in sunshine. With one accord, the two young
men rose from the ground and turned their steps homewards. The
mineralogical lesson was over.
"Coming to Keith's to-night?" enquired Marten with a fine show of
nonchalance.
"I don't know."
"I would if I were you. They say he does things properly. There'll be
an awful crowd--a regular bust-up. He only gives one of these
entertainments a year. Dancing and Chinese lanterns and champagne in
torrents. Won't you go?"
"Perhaps later in the evening."
Denis was perturbed. He scented a rival in this brutalitarian, though
it seemed hardly possible that Angelina should take much notice of him.
Meanwhile, he felt in need of some gentlemanly and soothing influence,
after such an outpouring of vulgarity. He thought of the bibliographer.


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