“Allaye, what do you think about? You are the bride of Tawara,” said Geoffrey.
Alvina looked at him, smiling rather wanly.
“And who is Tawara?” she asked.
He raised his shoulders and spread his hands and swayed his head from side to side, for all the world like a comic mandarin.
“There!” he cried. “The question! Who is Tawara? Who? Tell me! Ciccio is he—and I am he—and Max and Louis—” he spread his hand to the distant members of the tribe.
“I can’t be the bride of all four of you,” said Alvina, laughing.
“No—no! No—no! Such a thing does not come into my mind. But you are the Bride of Tawara. You dwell in the tent of Pacohuila. And comes the day, should it ever be so, there is no room for you in the tent of Pacohuila, then the lodge of Walgatchka the bear is open for you. Open, yes, wide open—” He spread his arms from his ample chest, at the end of the table. “Open, and when Allaye enters, it is the lodge of Allaye, Walgatchka is the bear that serves Allaye. By the law of the Pale Face, by the law of the Yenghees, by the law of the Fransayes, Walgatchka shall be husband-bear to Allaye, that day she lifts the door-curtain of his tent—”
He rolled his eyes and looked around. Alvina watched him.
“But I might be afraid of a husband-bear,” she said.
Geoffrey got on to his feet.
“By the Manitou,” he said, “the head of the bear Walgatchka is humble—” here Geoffrey bowed his head—“his teeth are as soft as lilies—” here he opened his mouth and put his finger on his small close teeth—“his hands are as soft as bees that stroke a flower—” here he spread his hands and went and suddenly flopped on his knees beside Alvina, showing his hands and his teeth still, and rolling his eyes. “Allaye can have no fear at all of the bear Walgatchka,” he said, looking up at her comically.
Ciccio, who had been watching and slightly grinning, here rose to his feet and took Geoffrey by the shoulder, pulling him up.
“Basta!” he said. “Tu es saoul. You are drunk, my Gigi. Get up. How are you going to ride to Mansfield, hein?—great beast.”
“Ciccio,” said Geoffrey solemnly. “I love thee, I love thee as a brother, and also more. I love thee as a brother, my Ciccio, as thou knowest. But—” and he puffed fiercely—“I am the slave of Allaye, I am the tame bear of Allaye.”
“Get up,” said Ciccio, “get up! Per bacco! She doesn’t want a tame bear.” He smiled down on his friend.
Geoffrey rose to his feet and flung his arms round Ciccio.
“Cic’,” he besought him. “Cic’—I love thee as a brother. But let me be the tame bear of Allaye, let me be the gentle bear of Allaye.”
“All right,” said Ciccio. “Thou art the tame bear of Allaye.”
Geoffrey strained Ciccio to his breast.
“Thank you! Thank you! Salute me, my own friend.”
And Ciccio kissed him on either cheek. Whereupon Geoffrey immediately flopped on his knees again before Alvina, and presented her his broad, rich-coloured cheek.
“Salute your bear, Allaye,” he cried. “Salute your slave, the tame bear Walgatchka, who is a wild bear for all except Allaye and his brother Pacohuila the Puma.” Geoffrey growled realistically as a wild bear as he kneeled before Alvina, presenting his cheek.
Alvina looked at Ciccio, who stood above, watching. Then she lightly kissed him on the cheek, and said:
“Won’t you go to bed and sleep?”
Geoffrey staggered to his feet, shaking his head.
“No—no—” he said. “No—no! Walgatchka must travel to the tent of Kishwégin, to the Camp of the Tawaras.”
“Not tonight, mon brave,” said Ciccio. “Tonight we stay here, hein. Why separate, hein?—frère?”
Geoffrey again clasped Ciccio in his arms.
“Pacohuila and Walgatchka are blood-brothers, two bodies, one blood. One blood, in two bodies; one stream, in two valleys: one lake, between two mountains.”
Here Geoffrey gazed with large, heavy eyes on Ciccio. Alvina brought a candle and lighted it.
“You will manage in the one room?” she said. “I will give you another pillow.”
She led the way upstairs. Geoffrey followed, heavily. Then Ciccio. On the landing Alvina gave them the pillow and the candle, smiled, bade them good night in a whisper, and went downstairs again. She cleared away the supper and carried away all glasses and bottles from the drawing-room. Then she washed up, removing all traces of the feast. The cards she restored to their old mahogany box. Manchester House looked itself again.
She turned off the gas at the meter, and went upstairs to bed. From the far room she could hear the gentle, but profound vibrations of Geoffrey’s snoring. She was tired after her day: too tired to trouble about anything any more.
But in the morning she was first downstairs. She heard Miss Pinnegar, and hurried. Hastily she opened the windows and doors to drive away the smell of beer and smoke. She heard the men rumbling in the bathroom. And quickly she prepared breakfast and made a fire. Mrs. Rollings would not appear till later in the day. At a quarter to seven Miss Pinnegar came down, and went into the scullery to make her tea.
“Did both the men stay?” she asked.
“Yes, they both slept in the end room,” said Alvina.
Miss Pinnegar said no more, but padded with her tea and her boiled egg into the living room. In the morning she was wordless.
Ciccio came down, in his shirtsleeves as usual, but wearing a collar. He greeted Miss Pinnegar politely.
“Good morning!” she said, and went on with her tea.
Geoffrey appeared. Miss Pinnegar glanced once at him, sullenly, and briefly answered his good morning. Then she went on with her egg, slow and persistent in her movements, mum.
The men went out to attend to Geoffrey’s bicycle. The morning was slow and grey, obscure. As they pumped
