The Lighted Way | Page 9

with those others, for he is also a
man of schemes. I am sorry, but I must send you in now with Mrs.
Horsman, who is much too amiable to be anything else but dull. You
shall come with me and I will introduce you."
Dinner was announced almost at that moment. Arnold, keen to enjoy,

with all the love of new places and the enthusiasm of youth in his veins,
found every moment of the meal delightful. They took their places at a
round table with shaded lights artistically arranged, so that they seemed
to be seated before a little oasis of flowers and perfumes in the midst of
a land of shadows. He found his companion pleasant and sympathetic.
She had a son about his age who was going soon into the city and about
whom she talked incessantly. On his left, Lady Blennington made frank
attempts to engage him in conversation whenever an opportunity arose.
Arnold felt his spirits rise with every moment. He laughed and talked
the whole of the time, devoting himself with very little intermission to
one or the other of his two neighbors. Mr. Weatherley, who was
exceedingly uncomfortable and found it difficult even to remember his
few staple openings, looked across the table more than once in absolute
wonder that this young man who, earning a wage of twenty-eight
shillings a week, and occupying almost the bottom stool in his office,
could yet be entirely and completely at his ease in this exalted company.
More than once Arnold caught his hostess's eye, and each time he felt,
for some unknown reason, a little thrill of pleasure at the faint relaxing
of her lips, the glance of sympathy which shone across the roses. Life
was a good place, he thought to himself, for these few hours, at any rate.
And then, as he leaned back in his place for a moment, Ruth's words
seemed suddenly traced with a finger of fire upon the dim wall.
To-night was to be a night of mysteries. To-night the great adventure
was to be born. He glanced around the table. There was, indeed, an air
of mystery about some of these guests, something curiously aloof,
something which it was impossible to put into words. The man Starling,
for instance, seemed queerly placed here. Count Sabatini was another
of the guests who seemed somehow to be outside the little circle. For
minutes together he sat sometimes in grim silence. About him, too,
there was always a curious air of detachment. Rosario was making the
small conversation with his neighbor which the occasion seemed to
demand, but he, too, appeared to talk as one who had more weighty
matters troubling his brain. It was a fancy of Arnold's, perhaps, but it
was a fancy of which he could not rid himself. He glanced towards his
employer and a curious feeling of sympathy stirred him. The man was
unhappy and ill at ease. He had lost his air of slight pomposity, the air
with which he entered his offices in the morning, strutted about the

warehouse, went out to lunch with a customer, and which he somehow
seemed to lose as the time came for returning to his home. Once or
twice he glanced towards his wife, half nervously, half admiringly.
Once she nodded back to him, but it was the nod of one who gathers up
her skirts as she throws alms to a beggar. Then Arnold realized that his
little fit of thoughtfulness had made a material difference to the hum of
conversation. He remembered his duty and leaned over toward Lady
Blennington.
"You promised to tell me more about some of these people," he
reminded her. "I am driven to make guesses all the time. Why does Mr.
Starling look so much like an unwilling and impatient guest? And
where is the castle of the Count Sabatini which has no roof?"
Lady Blennington sighed.
"This table is much too small for us to indulge in scandal," she replied.
"It really is such a pity. One so seldom meets any one worth talking to
who doesn't know everything there is that shouldn't be known about
everybody. About Count Sabatini, for instance, I could tell you some
most amusing things."
"His castle, perhaps, is in the air?" Arnold inquired.
"By no means," Lady Blennington assured him.
"On the contrary, it is very much upon the rocks. Some little island near
Minorca, I believe. They say that Mr. Weatherley was wrecked there
and Sabatini locked him up in a dungeon and refused to let him go until
he promised to marry his sister."
"There are a good many men in the world, I should think," Arnold
murmured, "who would like to be locked up on similar conditions."
She looked at him with