"Why, Father, you here! This is an honour," Vanno said; but in his eyes
there was the same shadow the cure had seen in Mary Grant's, the
expectation of blame. Poor Vanno! He was resigning himself, his old
friend saw, to a lecture. Perhaps he thought that Angelo, hearing of and
disapproving certain stories, had begged the priest to come and scold
him.
"You look tired," Vanno added, as they shook hands.
"So do you, my son," said the cure.
"I am, rather. But----" He stopped, yet the older man guessed the end of
the sentence.
"You are dining out, and must get ready in a hurry."
"I'm due at Angelo's at eight. I've plenty of time though. I shall take
a taxi. I hope you haven't been waiting long?"
"More than two hours. I would not go--even to oblige the waiters."
"Two hours! Then----"
"Yes. It was that, my Principino. I had to see you. I have come--to make
you a reproach. You know why?"
Vanno's face hardened slightly. "I can imagine. Who told you? Angelo?"
"Who told me what?"
The Prince shrugged his shoulders, then nodded slightly in the direction
of the Casino, which, through the big windows of the hall, could be seen
sparkling with light. "That I've taken to amusing myself--over there.
But it's no use scolding, Father. It's very good of you to feel an
interest in your old pupil, though whoever has been telling tales
oughtn't to have put you to this trouble. I must 'dree my ain weird,' as
the Scots have it. I can translate it only by saying that I must go to
the devil in my own way.
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