Castle Craneycrow | Page 4

questions to arouse your intellect." The wind was blowing the stray hairs ruthlessly across her face and she looked very, very pretty.
"Intellects are so very common nowadays that 'most anything will arouse them. Quentin says his man Turk has a brain, and if Turk has a brain I don't see how the rest of us can escape. I'd like to be a porpoise."
"What an ambition! Why not a whale or a, shark?"
"If I were a shark you'd be afraid of me, and if I were a whale I could not begin to get into your heart."
"That's the best thing you've said since you were seasick," she said, sweetly.
"I'm glad you didn't hear what I said when I was seasick."
"Oh! I've heard brother Bob say things," loftily.
"But nobody can say things quite so impressively as an American."
"Pooh! You boasting Americans think you can do everything better than others. Now you claim that you can swear better. I won't listen to you," and off she went toward the companionway. Dickey looked mildly surprised, but did not follow. Instead, he joined Lady Saxondale and Quentin in a stroll.
Four days later they were comfortably established with Saxondale in London. That night Quentin met, for the first time, the reigning society sensation, Prince Ugo Ravorelli, and his countrymen, Count Sallaconi and the Duke of Laselli. All London had gone mad over the prince.
There was something oddly familiar in the face and voice of the Italian. Quentin sat with him for an hour, listening with puzzled ears to the conversation that went on between him and Saxondale. On several occasions he detected a curious, searching look in the Italian's dark eyes, and was convinced that the prince also had the impression that they had met before. At last Quentin, unable to curb his curiosity, expressed his doubt. Ravorelli's gaze was penetrating as he replied, but it was perfectly frank.
"I have the feeling that your face is not strange to me, yet I cannot recall when or where I have seen you. Have you been in Paris of late?" he asked, his English almost perfect. It seemed to Quentin that there was a look of relief in his dark eyes, and there was a trace of satisfaction in the long breath that followed the question.
"No," he replied; "I seem in some way to associate you with Brazil and the South American cities. Were you ever in Rio Janeiro?"
"I have never visited either of the Americas. We are doubtless misled by a strange resemblance to persons we know quite well, but who do not come to mind."
"But isn't it rather odd that we should have the same feeling? And you have not been in New York?" persisted Phil.
"I have not been in America at all, you must remember," replied the prince, coldly.
"I'd stake my soul on it," thought Quentin to himself, more fully convinced than ever. "I've seen him before and more than once, too. He remembers me, even though I can't place him. It's devilish aggravating, but his face is as familiar as if I saw him yesterday."
When they parted for the night Ravorelli's glance again impressed the American with a certainty that he, at least, was not in doubt as to where and when they had met.
"You are trying to recall where we have seen one another," said the prince, smiling easily, his white teeth showing clearly between smooth lips. "My cousin visited America some years ago, and there is a strong family resemblance. Possibly you have our faces confused."
"That may be the solution," admitted Phil, but he was by no means satisfied by the hypothesis.
In the cab, later on, Lord Bob was startled from a bit of doze by hearing his thoughtful, abstracted companion exclaim:
"By thunder!"
"What's up? Forgot your hat, or left something at the club?" he demanded, sleepily.
"No; I remember something, that's all. Bob, I know where I've seen that Italian prince. He was in Rio Janeiro with a big Italian opera company just before I left there for New York."
"What! But he said he'd never been in America," exclaimed Saxondale, wide awake.
"Well, he lied, that's all. I am positive he's the man, and the best proof in the world is the certainty that he remembers me. Of course he denies it, but you know what he said when I first asked him if we had met. He was the tenor in Pagani's opera company, and he sang in several of the big South American cities. They were in Rio Janeiro for weeks, and we lived in the same hotel. There's no mistake about it, old man. This howling swell of to-day was Pagani's tenor, and he was a good one, too. Gad, what a Romeo he was! Imagine him in the part, Bob. Lord, how the women raved about him!"
"I say, Phil, don't