"Brother, welcome! Ah! your arm is hurt! I do not forget." His yellow face and deep-set eyes expressed a dignified gratitude."Let me introduce to you my friend Baron Kasteliz."Swithin bowed to a man with a small forehead, who had appeared softly, and stood with his gloved hands touching his waist.Swithin conceived a sudden aversion for this catlike man.About Boleskey there was that which made contempt impossible--the sense of comradeship begotten in the fight; the man's height; something lofty and savage in his face; and an obscure instinct that it would not pay to show distaste; but this Kasteliz, with his neat jaw, low brow, and velvety, volcanic look, excited his proper English animosity."Your friends are mine," murmured Kasteliz.He spoke with suavity, and hissed his s's.A long, vibrating twang quavered through the room.
Swithin turned and saw Rozsi sitting at the czymbal; the notes rang under the little hammers in her hands, incessant, metallic, rising and falling with that strange melody.Kasteliz had fixed his glowing eyes on her; Boleskey, nodding his head, was staring at the floor;Margit, with a pale face, stood like a statue.
'What can they see in it?' thought Swithin; 'it's not a tune.' He took up his hat.Rozsi saw him and stopped; her lips had parted with a faintly dismayed expression.His sense of personal injury diminished; he even felt a little sorry for her.She jumped up from her seat and twirled round with a pout.An inspiration seized on Swithin."Come and dine with me," he said to Boleskey, "to-morrow--the Goldene Alp--bring your friend." He felt the eyes of the whole room on him--the Hungarian's fine eyes; Margit's wide glance; the narrow, hot gaze of Kasteliz; and lastly--Rozsi's.A glow of satisfaction ran down his spine.When he emerged into the street he thought gloomily, 'Now I've done it!' And not for some paces did he look round; then, with a forced smile, turned and removed his hat to the faces at the window.
Notwithstanding this moment of gloom, however, he was in an exalted state all day, and at dinner kept looking at his brother and Traquair enigmatically.'What do they know of life?' he thought; 'they might be here a year and get no farther.' He made jokes, and pinned the menu to the waiter's coat-tails."I like this place," he said, "Ishall spend three weeks here." James, whose lips were on the point of taking in a plum, looked at him uneasily.
IV
On the day of the dinner Swithin suffered a good deal.He reflected gloomily on Boleskey's clothes.He had fixed an early hour--there would be fewer people to see them.When the time approached he attired himself with a certain neat splendour, and though his arm was still sore, left off the sling....
Nearly three hours afterwards he left the Goldene Alp between his guests.It was sunset, and along the riverbank the houses stood out, unsoftened by the dusk; the streets were full of people hurrying home.Swithin had a hazy vision of empty bottles, of the ground before his feet, and the accessibility of all the world.Dim recollections of the good things he had said, of his brother and Traquair seated in the background eating ordinary meals with inquiring, acid visages, caused perpetual smiles to break out on his face, and he steered himself stubbornly, to prove that he was a better man than either' of his guests.He knew, vaguely, that he was going somewhere with an object; Rozsi's face kept dancing before him, like a promise.Once or twice he gave Kasteliz a glassy stare.
Towards Boleskey, on the other hand, he felt quite warm, and recalled with admiration the way he had set his glass down empty, time after time.'I like to see him take his liquor,' he thought; 'the fellow's a gentleman, after all.' Boleskey strode on, savagely inattentive to everything; and Kasteliz had become more like a cat than ever.It was nearly dark when they reached a narrow street close to the cathedral.They stopped at a door held open by an old woman.The change from the fresh air to a heated corridor, the noise of the door closed behind him, the old woman's anxious glances, sobered Swithin.
"I tell her," said Boleskey, "that I reply for you as for my son."Swithin was angry.What business had this man to reply for him!
They passed into a large room, crowded with men all women; Swithin noticed that they all looked fit him.He stared at them in turn--they seemed of all classes, some in black coats or silk dresses, others in the clothes of work-people; one man, a cobbler, still wore his leather apron, as if he had rushed there straight from his work.
Laying his hand on Swithin's arm, Boleskey evidently began explaining who he was; hands were extended, people beyond reach bowed to him.
Swithin acknowledged the greetings with a stiff motion of his head;then seeing other people dropping into seats, he, too, sat down.
Some one whispered his name--Margit and Rozsi were just behind him.
"Welcome!" said Margit; but Swithin was looking at Rozsi.Her face was so alive and quivering! 'What's the excitement all about?' he thought.'How pretty she looks!' She blushed, drew in her hands with a quick tense movement, and gazed again beyond him into the room.'What is it?' thought Swithin; he had a longing to lean back and kiss her lips.He tried angrily to see what she was seeing in those faces turned all one way.
Boleskey rose to speak.No one moved; not a sound could be heard but the tone of his deep voice.On and on he went, fierce and solemn, and with the rise of his voice, all those faces-fair or swarthy--seemed to be glowing with one and the same feeling.Swithin felt the white heat in those faces--it was not decent! In that whole speech he only understood the one word--"Magyar" which came again and again.
He almost dozed off at last.The twang of a czymbal woke him.
