South Wind | Page 6

yellow! His face all furrowed! He has
lived very viciously, that man. Perhaps he is mad. In every case, look to
your purse, Mr. Denis. He'll be here in a minute."
"That's quite right," said the young man. "The Bishop of Bampopo. It's
in the NEW YORK HERALD. Sailing by the MOZAMBIQUE. But
they didn't say he was coming to the island. I wonder what he wants
here?"
Don Francesco was aghast.
"Indeed?" he asked. "A bishop, and so yellow! He must have thought
me very rude," he added.
"You couldn't be rude if you tried," said the Duchess, giving him a
playful slap with her fan.
She was burning with ardour to be the first to introduce such a lion to
the local society. But fearful of making a FAUX PAS, she said:
"You'll go and speak to him, Denis. Find out if it's the right one--the
one you read about in the paper, I mean. Then come and tell me."
"Good Lord, Duchess, don't ask me to do that! I couldn't tackle a
bishop. Not an African. Not unless he has a proper apron on."
"Be a man, Denis. He won't bite a pretty boy like you."
"What nice things the lady is saying to you," observed Don Francesco.
"She always does," he laughed, "when she wants me to do something
for her. I haven't been on this island long, but I have already found out
the Duchess! You do it, Don Francesco. He is sure to be the right one.
They get yellow, out there. Sometimes green."
Mr. Heard was intercepted on his way to the hotel by the genial priest,
and formally presented to the Duchess. She was more than
condescending to this stern and rather tired-looking man; she was

gracious. She made all kinds of polite enquiries, and indicated the
various sites and persons of interest; while Don Francesco, he observed,
had unaccountably recovered from his sudden attack of bad humour on
the steamer.
"And that is where I live," she said, pointing to a large and sever
structure whose walls had plainly not been whitewashed for many long
years. "It's an old disused convent, built by the Good Duke Alfred.
Wasn't it, Denis?"
"I really couldn't say, Duchess. I never heard of the gentleman."
"That Good Duke was an unmitigated ruffian," observed Don
Francesco.
"Oh, don't say that! Think of all the good he did for the island. Think of
that frieze in the church! I have acres and acres of rooms to walk about
in," she continued, addressing the bishop. "All by myself! I'm quite a
hermit, you know. You will perhaps be able to have a cup of tea with
me to-day?"
"Not exactly a hermit," Denis interposed.
"To take tea with the Duchess is an experience, a revelation," said Don
Francesco in judicial tones. "I have enjoyed that meal in various parts
of the world, but nobody can manage it like she can. She has the true
gift. You will make tea for us in Paradise, dear lady. As to luncheon, let
me tell you in confidence, Mr. Heard, that my friend Keith, whom you
will meet sooner or later, has a most remarkable chef. What that man of
Keith's cannot cook is not worth eating."
"How delightful!" replied the bishop, slightly embarrassed. "And
where," he added, laughing--"where does one dine?"
"I don not dine. Madame Steynlin used to give nice evening parties," he
continued reflectively, and with a shad of sadness in his voice.
"Excellent little dinners! But she is so taken up with Russians just now;
they quite monopolise her house. Down there; do you see, Mr. Heard?

That white villa by the sea, at the end of the promontory? She is so
romantic. That is why she bought a house which nobody else would
have bought at any price. That little place, all by itself--it fascinated her.
Bitterly she regrets her choice. She has discovered the drawbacks of a
promontory. My dear Duchess, never live on a promontory! It has
fearful inconveniences; you are overlooked by everybody. All the
islands know what you do, and who visits you, and when, and why. . . .
Yes, I remember those dinners with regret. Nowadays I must content
myself with a miserable supper at home. The doctor has forbidden
dinners. He says I am getting too fat."
Denis remarked:
"Your fat is your fortune, Don Francesco."
"My fortune, then, is a heavy load to bear. Mr. Keith tells me I have
seven double chins, three behind and four in front. He says he has
counted them carefully. He declares that an eighth is in course of
formation. It is too much for a person of my austere temperament."
"You need never believe a word Keith says," said the Duchess. "He
upsets me