Part 12 (1/2)
How do you judge of anything?”
”By applying the test of past experience to present fact,” I replied.
”Then past experience is that by which I judge. How can you expect me to tell you the whole of my past experience, in order that you may understand how my judgment is formed? It would take years.”
”You are a pair of very singular men,” remarked John Carvel. ”You seem to take to argument as fish to the water. You ought to be successful in a school of walking philosophers.”
John seemed more depressed than I had ever seen him, and only made an observation from time to time, as though to make a show of hospitality.
The professor interested me, but I could see that we were boring Carvel.
The conversation languished, and before long the latter proposed that we should go into the drawing-room for half an hour before bed-time.
We found the ladies seated around the fire. Their voices fell suddenly as we entered the room, and all of them looked towards John and the professor, as though expecting something. It struck me that they had been talking of some matter which was not intended for our ears.
”We have been making plans for Christmas,” said Mrs. Carvel, as though to break the awkward silence that followed our entrance.
VIII.
Early on the following morning John Carvel came to my room. He looked less anxious than on the previous night, but he was evidently not altogether his former self.
”Would you care to drive to the station and meet those boys?” he asked, cheerfully.
The weather was bright and frosty, and I was glad enough of an excuse for being alone for half an hour with my friend. I a.s.sented, therefore, to his proposition, and presently we were rattling along the hard road through the park. The h.o.a.r-frost was on the trees and on the blue-green frozen gra.s.s beneath them, and on the reeds and sedges beside the pond, which was overspread with a sheet of black ice. The breath flew from the horses' nostrils in white clouds to right and left, and the low morning sun flashed back from the harness, and made the little icicles and laces of frost upon the trees s.h.i.+ne like diamonds.
”Carvel,” I said presently, as we spun past the lodge, through the great iron gates, ”I am not inquisitive, but it is easy to see that there is something going on in your house which is not agreeable to you. Will you tell me frankly whether you would like me to go away?”
”Not for worlds,” my companion e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, and he turned a shade paler as he spoke. ”I would rather tell you all about it--only”---- He paused.
”Don't,” said I. ”I don't want to know. I merely thought you might prefer to be left free of outsiders at present.”
”We hardly look upon you as an outsider, Griggs,” said John, quietly.
”You have been here so much and we have been so intimate that you are almost like one of the family. Besides, you know this young nephew of my wife's, Paul Patoff; and your knowing him will make matters a little easier. I am not at all sure I shall like him.”
”I think you will. At all events, I can give you some idea of him.”
”I wish you would,” answered John.
”He is a thorough Russian in his ideas and an Englishman in appearance,--perhaps you might say he is more like a Scotchman. He is fair, with blue eyes, a brown mustache, and a prominent nose. He is angular in his movements and rather tall. He has a remarkable talent for languages, and is regarded as a very promising diplomatist. His temper is violent and changeable, but he has excellent manners and is full of tact. I should call him an extremely clever fellow in a general way, and he has done wisely in the selection of his career.”
”That is not a bad description. Is there anything against him?”
”I cannot say; I only knew him in Persia,--a chance acquaintance. People said he was very eccentric.”
”Eccentric?” asked John. ”How?”
”Moody, I suppose, because he would sometimes shut himself up for days, and see n.o.body unless the minister sent for him. He used to beat his native servants when he was in a bad humor, and was said to be a reckless sort of fellow.”
”I hope he will not indulge his eccentricities here. Heaven knows, he has reason enough for being odd, poor fellow. We must make the best of him,” continued John hurriedly, as though regretting his last remark, ”and you must help us to amuse him and keep him out of mischief. Those Russians are the very devil, sometimes, as I have no doubt you know, and just at present our relations with them are not of the best; but, after all, he is my nephew and one of the family, so that we must do what we can for him, and avoid trouble. Macaulay likes him, and I dare say he likes Macaulay. They will get on together very well.”