Mr. Zanti, getting up ponderously, placed his hands on Peter's shoulders.
"Still the same Peter," he said. "Now I know zat I go 'appy. Zat is all I
came for--I said I must zee my Peter because Stephen--"
"Stephen--" broke in Peter sharply.
"Yes, our Stephen. He goes with me now to Spain. He is now, until to-night,
in London but he will not come to you because 'e's afraid--"
"Afraid?"
"Yes 'e says you are married now and 'ave a lovely 'ouse and 'e says you
'ave not written for a ver' long time, and 'e just asked me to give you 'is
love and say that when 'e comes back from Spain, per'aps--"
"Stephen!" Peter's voice was sharp with distress. "Zanti, where is he now?
I must go and see him at once."
"No, 'e 'as gone already to the boat. I follow 'im." Then Mr. Zanti added
in a softer voice--"So when he tell me that you 'ave not written I say 'Ah!
Mr. Peter forgets his old friends,' and I was zorry but I say that I will
go and make sure. And now I am glad, ver' glad, and Stephen will be glad
too. All is well--"
"Oh! I am ashamed. I don't know what has come over me all this time. But
wait--I will write a note that you shall take to him and then--when he
comes back from Spain--"
He went to his table and began to write eagerly. Mr. Zanti, meanwhile, went
round the room on tip-toe, examining everything, sometimes shaking his huge
head in disapproval, sometimes nodding his appreciation.
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