ocabulary. The word unpleasant I
should have thought would have fitted amply the worst experience likely
to befall a man of his stamp. And an adventure, too. Incredible! But
it is in human nature to believe the worst; and I confess I eyed him
stealthily, wondering what he had been up to. In a moment, however,
my unworthy suspicions vanished. There was a fundamental refinement of
nature about the man which made me dismiss all idea of some more or less
disreputable scrape.

"It is very serious. Very serious." He went on, nervously. "I will tell
you after dinner, if you will allow me."

I expressed my perfect acquiescence by a little bow, nothing more.
I wished him to understand that I was not likely to hold him to that
offer, if he thought better of it later on. We talked of indifferent
things, but with a sense of difficulty quite unlike our former easy,
gossipy intercourse. The hand raising a piece of bread to his lips, I
noticed, trembled slightly. This symptom, in regard to my reading of the
man, was no less than startling.

In the smoking-room he did not hang back at all. Directly we had taken
our usual seats he leaned sideways over the arm of his chair and looked
straight into my eyes earnestly.

"You remember," he began, "that day you went away? I told you then I
would go to the Villa Nazionale to hear some music in the evening."

I remembered. His handsome old face, so fresh for his age, unmarked by
any trying experience, appeared haggard for an instant. It was like the
passing of a shadow. Returning his steadfast gaze, I took a sip of my
black coffee. He was systematically minute in his narrative, simply in
order, I think, not to let his excitement get the better of him.

After leaving the railway station, he had an ice, and read the paper in
a cafe. Then he went back to the hotel, dressed for dinner, and dined
with a good appetite. After dinner he lingered in the hall (there were
chairs and tables there) smoking his cigar; talked to the little girl
of the Primo Tenore of the San Carlo theatre, and exchanged a few words
with that "amiable lady," the wife of the Primo Tenore. There was no
performance that evening, and these people were going to the Villa also.
They went out of the hotel. Very well.

At the moment of following their example--it was half-past nine
already--he remembered he had a rather large sum of money in his
pocket-book. He entered, therefore, the office and deposited the greater
part of i