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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/2948-0.txt b/2948-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..464d785 --- /dev/null +++ b/2948-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6257 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Where Angels Fear to Tread, by E. M. Forster + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Where Angels Fear to Tread + +Author: E. M. Forster + +Posting Date: January 10, 2009 [EBook #2948] +Release Date: December, 2001 +Last Updated: October 14, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHERE ANGELS FEAR TO TREAD *** + + + + +Produced by Richard Fane + + + + + +WHERE ANGELS FEAR TO TREAD + +By E. M. Forster + + + + +Chapter 1 + +They were all at Charing Cross to see Lilia off--Philip, Harriet, Irma, +Mrs. Herriton herself. Even Mrs. Theobald, squired by Mr. Kingcroft, +had braved the journey from Yorkshire to bid her only daughter good-bye. +Miss Abbott was likewise attended by numerous relatives, and the sight +of so many people talking at once and saying such different things +caused Lilia to break into ungovernable peals of laughter. + +“Quite an ovation,” she cried, sprawling out of her first-class +carriage. “They’ll take us for royalty. Oh, Mr. Kingcroft, get us +foot-warmers.” + +The good-natured young man hurried away, and Philip, taking his place, +flooded her with a final stream of advice and injunctions--where to +stop, how to learn Italian, when to use mosquito-nets, what pictures +to look at. “Remember,” he concluded, “that it is only by going off the +track that you get to know the country. See the little towns--Gubbio, +Pienza, Cortona, San Gemignano, Monteriano. And don’t, let me beg +you, go with that awful tourist idea that Italy’s only a museum of +antiquities and art. Love and understand the Italians, for the people +are more marvellous than the land.” + +“How I wish you were coming, Philip,” she said, flattered at the +unwonted notice her brother-in-law was giving her. + +“I wish I were.” He could have managed it without great difficulty, +for his career at the Bar was not so intense as to prevent occasional +holidays. But his family disliked his continual visits to the Continent, +and he himself often found pleasure in the idea that he was too busy to +leave town. + +“Good-bye, dear every one. What a whirl!” She caught sight of her little +daughter Irma, and felt that a touch of maternal solemnity was required. +“Good-bye, darling. Mind you’re always good, and do what Granny tells +you.” + +She referred not to her own mother, but to her mother-in-law, Mrs. +Herriton, who hated the title of Granny. + +Irma lifted a serious face to be kissed, and said cautiously, “I’ll do +my best.” + +“She is sure to be good,” said Mrs. Herriton, who was standing pensively +a little out of the hubbub. But Lilia was already calling to Miss +Abbott, a tall, grave, rather nice-looking young lady who was conducting +her adieus in a more decorous manner on the platform. + +“Caroline, my Caroline! Jump in, or your chaperon will go off without +you.” + +And Philip, whom the idea of Italy always intoxicated, had started +again, telling her of the supreme moments of her coming journey--the +Campanile of Airolo, which would burst on her when she emerged from the +St. Gothard tunnel, presaging the future; the view of the Ticino and +Lago Maggiore as the train climbed the slopes of Monte Cenere; the view +of Lugano, the view of Como--Italy gathering thick around her now--the +arrival at her first resting-place, when, after long driving through +dark and dirty streets, she should at last behold, amid the roar of +trams and the glare of arc lamps, the buttresses of the cathedral of +Milan. + +“Handkerchiefs and collars,” screamed Harriet, “in my inlaid box! I’ve +lent you my inlaid box.” + +“Good old Harry!” She kissed every one again, and there was a moment’s +silence. They all smiled steadily, excepting Philip, who was choking in +the fog, and old Mrs. Theobald, who had begun to cry. Miss Abbott got +into the carriage. The guard himself shut the door, and told Lilia that +she would be all right. Then the train moved, and they all moved with it +a couple of steps, and waved their handkerchiefs, and uttered cheerful +little cries. At that moment Mr. Kingcroft reappeared, carrying a +footwarmer by both ends, as if it was a tea-tray. He was sorry that +he was too late, and called out in a quivering voice, “Good-bye, Mrs. +Charles. May you enjoy yourself, and may God bless you.” + +Lilia smiled and nodded, and then the absurd position of the foot-warmer +overcame her, and she began to laugh again. + +“Oh, I am so sorry,” she cried back, “but you do look so funny. Oh, you +all look so funny waving! Oh, pray!” And laughing helplessly, she was +carried out into the fog. + +“High spirits to begin so long a journey,” said Mrs. Theobald, dabbing +her eyes. + +Mr. Kingcroft solemnly moved his head in token of agreement. “I wish,” + said he, “that Mrs. Charles had gotten the footwarmer. These London +porters won’t take heed to a country chap.” + +“But you did your best,” said Mrs. Herriton. “And I think it simply +noble of you to have brought Mrs. Theobald all the way here on such a +day as this.” Then, rather hastily, she shook hands, and left him to +take Mrs. Theobald all the way back. + +Sawston, her own home, was within easy reach of London, and they were +not late for tea. Tea was in the dining-room, with an egg for Irma, to +keep up the child’s spirits. The house seemed strangely quiet after a +fortnight’s bustle, and their conversation was spasmodic and subdued. +They wondered whether the travellers had got to Folkestone, whether it +would be at all rough, and if so what would happen to poor Miss Abbott. + +“And, Granny, when will the old ship get to Italy?” asked Irma. + +“‘Grandmother,’ dear; not ‘Granny,’” said Mrs. Herriton, giving her +a kiss. “And we say ‘a boat’ or ‘a steamer,’ not ‘a ship.’ Ships have +sails. And mother won’t go all the way by sea. You look at the map of +Europe, and you’ll see why. Harriet, take her. Go with Aunt Harriet, and +she’ll show you the map.” + +“Righto!” said the little girl, and dragged the reluctant Harriet +into the library. Mrs. Herriton and her son were left alone. There was +immediately confidence between them. + +“Here beginneth the New Life,” said Philip. + +“Poor child, how vulgar!” murmured Mrs. Herriton. “It’s surprising that +she isn’t worse. But she has got a look of poor Charles about her.” + +“And--alas, alas!--a look of old Mrs. Theobald. What appalling +apparition was that! I did think the lady was bedridden as well as +imbecile. Why ever did she come?” + +“Mr. Kingcroft made her. I am certain of it. He wanted to see Lilia +again, and this was the only way.” + +“I hope he is satisfied. I did not think my sister-in-law distinguished +herself in her farewells.” + +Mrs. Herriton shuddered. “I mind nothing, so long as she has gone--and +gone with Miss Abbott. It is mortifying to think that a widow of +thirty-three requires a girl ten years younger to look after her.” + +“I pity Miss Abbott. Fortunately one admirer is chained to England. Mr. +Kingcroft cannot leave the crops or the climate or something. I don’t +think, either, he improved his chances today. He, as well as Lilia, has +the knack of being absurd in public.” + +Mrs. Herriton replied, “When a man is neither well bred, nor well +connected, nor handsome, nor clever, nor rich, even Lilia may discard +him in time.” + +“No. I believe she would take any one. Right up to the last, when her +boxes were packed, she was ‘playing’ the chinless curate. Both the +curates are chinless, but hers had the dampest hands. I came on them in +the Park. They were speaking of the Pentateuch.” + +“My dear boy! If possible, she has got worse and worse. It was your idea +of Italian travel that saved us!” + +Philip brightened at the little compliment. “The odd part is that she +was quite eager--always asking me for information; and of course I was +very glad to give it. I admit she is a Philistine, appallingly ignorant, +and her taste in art is false. Still, to have any taste at all is +something. And I do believe that Italy really purifies and ennobles all +who visit her. She is the school as well as the playground of the world. +It is really to Lilia’s credit that she wants to go there.” + +“She would go anywhere,” said his mother, who had heard enough of the +praises of Italy. “I and Caroline Abbott had the greatest difficulty in +dissuading her from the Riviera.” + +“No, Mother; no. She was really keen on Italy. This travel is quite a +crisis for her.” He found the situation full of whimsical romance: there +was something half attractive, half repellent in the thought of this +vulgar woman journeying to places he loved and revered. Why should she +not be transfigured? The same had happened to the Goths. + +Mrs. Herriton did not believe in romance nor in transfiguration, nor in +parallels from history, nor in anything else that may disturb domestic +life. She adroitly changed the subject before Philip got excited. Soon +Harriet returned, having given her lesson in geography. Irma went to bed +early, and was tucked up by her grandmother. Then the two ladies worked +and played cards. Philip read a book. And so they all settled down to +their quiet, profitable existence, and continued it without interruption +through the winter. + +It was now nearly ten years since Charles had fallen in love with Lilia +Theobald because she was pretty, and during that time Mrs. Herriton had +hardly known a moment’s rest. For six months she schemed to prevent +the match, and when it had taken place she turned to another task--the +supervision of her daughter-in-law. Lilia must be pushed through life +without bringing discredit on the family into which she had married. She +was aided by Charles, by her daughter Harriet, and, as soon as he was +old enough, by the clever one of the family, Philip. The birth of Irma +made things still more difficult. But fortunately old Mrs. Theobald, who +had attempted interference, began to break up. It was an effort to her +to leave Whitby, and Mrs. Herriton discouraged the effort as far as +possible. That curious duel which is fought over every baby was fought +and decided early. Irma belonged to her father’s family, not to her +mother’s. + +Charles died, and the struggle recommenced. Lilia tried to assert +herself, and said that she should go to take care of Mrs. Theobald. +It required all Mrs. Herriton’s kindness to prevent her. A house was +finally taken for her at Sawston, and there for three years she lived +with Irma, continually subject to the refining influences of her late +husband’s family. + +During one of her rare Yorkshire visits trouble began again. Lilia +confided to a friend that she liked a Mr. Kingcroft extremely, but +that she was not exactly engaged to him. The news came round to Mrs. +Herriton, who at once wrote, begging for information, and pointing out +that Lilia must either be engaged or not, since no intermediate state +existed. It was a good letter, and flurried Lilia extremely. She left +Mr. Kingcroft without even the pressure of a rescue-party. She cried a +great deal on her return to Sawston, and said she was very sorry. Mrs. +Herriton took the opportunity of speaking more seriously about the +duties of widowhood and motherhood than she had ever done before. But +somehow things never went easily after. Lilia would not settle down in +her place among Sawston matrons. She was a bad housekeeper, always in +the throes of some domestic crisis, which Mrs. Herriton, who kept her +servants for years, had to step across and adjust. She let Irma stop +away from school for insufficient reasons, and she allowed her to wear +rings. She learnt to bicycle, for the purpose of waking the place up, +and coasted down the High Street one Sunday evening, falling off at the +turn by the church. If she had not been a relative, it would have been +entertaining. But even Philip, who in theory loved outraging English +conventions, rose to the occasion, and gave her a talking which she +remembered to her dying day. It was just then, too, that they discovered +that she still allowed Mr. Kingcroft to write to her “as a gentleman +friend,” and to send presents to Irma. + +Philip thought of Italy, and the situation was saved. Caroline, +charming, sober, Caroline Abbott, who lived two turnings away, was +seeking a companion for a year’s travel. Lilia gave up her house, sold +half her furniture, left the other half and Irma with Mrs. Herriton, and +had now departed, amid universal approval, for a change of scene. + +She wrote to them frequently during the winter--more frequently than she +wrote to her mother. Her letters were always prosperous. Florence she +found perfectly sweet, Naples a dream, but very whiffy. In Rome one had +simply to sit still and feel. Philip, however, declared that she was +improving. He was particularly gratified when in the early spring she +began to visit the smaller towns that he had recommended. “In a place +like this,” she wrote, “one really does feel in the heart of things, and +off the beaten track. Looking out of a Gothic window every morning, it +seems impossible that the middle ages have passed away.” The letter was +from Monteriano, and concluded with a not unsuccessful description of +the wonderful little town. + +“It is something that she is contented,” said Mrs. Herriton. “But no one +could live three months with Caroline Abbott and not be the better for +it.” + +Just then Irma came in from school, and she read her mother’s letter to +her, carefully correcting any grammatical errors, for she was a loyal +supporter of parental authority--Irma listened politely, but soon +changed the subject to hockey, in which her whole being was absorbed. +They were to vote for colours that afternoon--yellow and white or yellow +and green. What did her grandmother think? + +Of course Mrs. Herriton had an opinion, which she sedately expounded, in +spite of Harriet, who said that colours were unnecessary for children, +and of Philip, who said that they were ugly. She was getting proud of +Irma, who had certainly greatly improved, and could no longer be called +that most appalling of things--a vulgar child. She was anxious to form +her before her mother returned. So she had no objection to the leisurely +movements of the travellers, and even suggested that they should +overstay their year if it suited them. + +Lilia’s next letter was also from Monteriano, and Philip grew quite +enthusiastic. + +“They’ve stopped there over a week!” he cried. “Why! I shouldn’t have +done as much myself. They must be really keen, for the hotel’s none too +comfortable.” + +“I cannot understand people,” said Harriet. “What can they be doing all +day? And there is no church there, I suppose.” + +“There is Santa Deodata, one of the most beautiful churches in Italy.” + +“Of course I mean an English church,” said Harriet stiffly. “Lilia +promised me that she would always be in a large town on Sundays.” + +“If she goes to a service at Santa Deodata’s, she will find more beauty +and sincerity than there is in all the Back Kitchens of Europe.” + +The Back Kitchen was his nickname for St. James’s, a small depressing +edifice much patronized by his sister. She always resented any slight on +it, and Mrs. Herriton had to intervene. + +“Now, dears, don’t. Listen to Lilia’s letter. ‘We love this place, and +I do not know how I shall ever thank Philip for telling me it. It is +not only so quaint, but one sees the Italians unspoiled in all their +simplicity and charm here. The frescoes are wonderful. Caroline, who +grows sweeter every day, is very busy sketching.’” + +“Every one to his taste!” said Harriet, who always delivered a platitude +as if it was an epigram. She was curiously virulent about Italy, which +she had never visited, her only experience of the Continent being an +occasional six weeks in the Protestant parts of Switzerland. + +“Oh, Harriet is a bad lot!” said Philip as soon as she left the room. +His mother laughed, and told him not to be naughty; and the appearance +of Irma, just off to school, prevented further discussion. Not only in +Tracts is a child a peacemaker. + +“One moment, Irma,” said her uncle. “I’m going to the station. I’ll give +you the pleasure of my company.” + +They started together. Irma was gratified; but conversation flagged, +for Philip had not the art of talking to the young. Mrs. Herriton sat +a little longer at the breakfast table, re-reading Lilia’s letter. Then +she helped the cook to clear, ordered dinner, and started the housemaid +turning out the drawing-room, Tuesday being its day. The weather was +lovely, and she thought she would do a little gardening, as it was quite +early. She called Harriet, who had recovered from the insult to St. +James’s, and together they went to the kitchen garden and began to sow +some early vegetables. + +“We will save the peas to the last; they are the greatest fun,” said +Mrs. Herriton, who had the gift of making work a treat. She and her +elderly daughter always got on very well, though they had not a great +deal in common. Harriet’s education had been almost too successful. As +Philip once said, she had “bolted all the cardinal virtues and couldn’t +digest them.” Though pious and patriotic, and a great moral asset for +the house, she lacked that pliancy and tact which her mother so much +valued, and had expected her to pick up for herself. Harriet, if she had +been allowed, would have driven Lilia to an open rupture, and, what was +worse, she would have done the same to Philip two years before, when he +returned full of passion for Italy, and ridiculing Sawston and its ways. + +“It’s a shame, Mother!” she had cried. “Philip laughs at everything--the +Book Club, the Debating Society, the Progressive Whist, the bazaars. +People won’t like it. We have our reputation. A house divided against +itself cannot stand.” + +Mrs. Herriton replied in the memorable words, “Let Philip say what he +likes, and he will let us do what we like.” And Harriet had acquiesced. + +They sowed the duller vegetables first, and a pleasant feeling of +righteous fatigue stole over them as they addressed themselves to the +peas. Harriet stretched a string to guide the row straight, and Mrs. +Herriton scratched a furrow with a pointed stick. At the end of it she +looked at her watch. + +“It’s twelve! The second post’s in. Run and see if there are any +letters.” + +Harriet did not want to go. “Let’s finish the peas. There won’t be any +letters.” + +“No, dear; please go. I’ll sow the peas, but you shall cover them +up--and mind the birds don’t see ‘em!” + +Mrs. Herriton was very careful to let those peas trickle evenly from +her hand, and at the end of the row she was conscious that she had never +sown better. They were expensive too. + +“Actually old Mrs. Theobald!” said Harriet, returning. + +“Read me the letter. My hands are dirty. How intolerable the crested +paper is.” + +Harriet opened the envelope. + +“I don’t understand,” she said; “it doesn’t make sense.” + +“Her letters never did.” + +“But it must be sillier than usual,” said Harriet, and her voice began +to quaver. “Look here, read it, Mother; I can’t make head or tail.” + +Mrs. Herriton took the letter indulgently. “What is the difficulty?” she +said after a long pause. “What is it that puzzles you in this letter?” + +“The meaning--” faltered Harriet. The sparrows hopped nearer and began +to eye the peas. + +“The meaning is quite clear--Lilia is engaged to be married. Don’t cry, +dear; please me by not crying--don’t talk at all. It’s more than I could +bear. She is going to marry some one she has met in a hotel. Take the +letter and read for yourself.” Suddenly she broke down over what might +seem a small point. “How dare she not tell me direct! How dare she +write first to Yorkshire! Pray, am I to hear through Mrs. Theobald--a +patronizing, insolent letter like this? Have I no claim at all? Bear +witness, dear”--she choked with passion--“bear witness that for this +I’ll never forgive her!” + +“Oh, what is to be done?” moaned Harriet. “What is to be done?” + +“This first!” She tore the letter into little pieces and scattered it +over the mould. “Next, a telegram for Lilia! No! a telegram for Miss +Caroline Abbott. She, too, has something to explain.” + +“Oh, what is to be done?” repeated Harriet, as she followed her mother +to the house. She was helpless before such effrontery. What awful +thing--what awful person had come to Lilia? “Some one in the hotel.” The +letter only said that. What kind of person? A gentleman? An Englishman? +The letter did not say. + +“Wire reason of stay at Monteriano. Strange rumours,” read Mrs. +Herriton, and addressed the telegram to Abbott, Stella d’Italia, +Monteriano, Italy. “If there is an office there,” she added, “we might +get an answer this evening. Since Philip is back at seven, and the +eight-fifteen catches the midnight boat at Dover--Harriet, when you go +with this, get 100 pounds in 5 pound notes at the bank.” + +“Go, dear, at once; do not talk. I see Irma coming back; go quickly.... +Well, Irma dear, and whose team are you in this afternoon--Miss Edith’s +or Miss May’s?” + +But as soon as she had behaved as usual to her grand-daughter, she went +to the library and took out the large atlas, for she wanted to know +about Monteriano. The name was in the smallest print, in the midst of a +woolly-brown tangle of hills which were called the “Sub-Apennines.” It +was not so very far from Siena, which she had learnt at school. Past it +there wandered a thin black line, notched at intervals like a saw, +and she knew that this was a railway. But the map left a good deal to +imagination, and she had not got any. She looked up the place in “Childe +Harold,” but Byron had not been there. Nor did Mark Twain visit it in +the “Tramp Abroad.” The resources of literature were exhausted: she +must wait till Philip came home. And the thought of Philip made her try +Philip’s room, and there she found “Central Italy,” by Baedeker, and +opened it for the first time in her life and read in it as follows:-- + + +MONTERIANO (pop. 4800). Hotels: Stella d’Italia, moderate only; Globo, +dirty. * Caffe Garibaldi. Post and Telegraph office in Corso Vittorio +Emmanuele, next to theatre. Photographs at Seghena’s (cheaper in +Florence). Diligence (1 lira) meets principal trains. + +Chief attractions (2-3 hours): Santa Deodata, Palazzo Pubblico, Sant’ +Agostino, Santa Caterina, Sant’ Ambrogio, Palazzo Capocchi. Guide +(2 lire) unnecessary. A walk round the Walls should on no account be +omitted. The view from the Rocca (small gratuity) is finest at sunset. + +History: Monteriano, the Mons Rianus of Antiquity, whose Ghibelline +tendencies are noted by Dante (Purg. xx.), definitely emancipated itself +from Poggibonsi in 1261. Hence the distich, “POGGIBONIZZI, FAUI IN LA, +CHE MONTERIANO SI FA CITTA!” till recently enscribed over the Siena +gate. It remained independent till 1530, when it was sacked by the Papal +troops and became part of the Grand Duchy of Tuscany. It is now of small +importance, and seat of the district prison. The inhabitants are still +noted for their agreeable manners. + + ***** + +The traveller will proceed direct from the Siena gate to the Collegiate +Church of Santa Deodata, and inspect (5th chapel on right) the charming +Frescoes.... + + +Mrs. Herriton did not proceed. She was not one to detect the hidden +charms of Baedeker. Some of the information seemed to her unnecessary, +all of it was dull. Whereas Philip could never read “The view from the +Rocca (small gratuity) is finest at sunset” without a catching at the +heart. Restoring the book to its place, she went downstairs, and looked +up and down the asphalt paths for her daughter. She saw her at last, +two turnings away, vainly trying to shake off Mr. Abbott, Miss Caroline +Abbott’s father. Harriet was always unfortunate. At last she returned, +hot, agitated, crackling with bank-notes, and Irma bounced to greet her, +and trod heavily on her corn. + +“Your feet grow larger every day,” said the agonized Harriet, and gave +her niece a violent push. Then Irma cried, and Mrs. Herriton was annoyed +with Harriet for betraying irritation. Lunch was nasty; and during +pudding news arrived that the cook, by sheer dexterity, had broken +a very vital knob off the kitchen-range. “It is too bad,” said Mrs. +Herriton. Irma said it was three bad, and was told not to be rude. After +lunch Harriet would get out Baedeker, and read in injured tones about +Monteriano, the Mons Rianus of Antiquity, till her mother stopped her. + +“It’s ridiculous to read, dear. She’s not trying to marry any one in the +place. Some tourist, obviously, who’s stopping in the hotel. The place +has nothing to do with it at all.” + +“But what a place to go to! What nice person, too, do you meet in a +hotel?” + +“Nice or nasty, as I have told you several times before, is not the +point. Lilia has insulted our family, and she shall suffer for it. And +when you speak against hotels, I think you forget that I met your father +at Chamounix. You can contribute nothing, dear, at present, and I think +you had better hold your tongue. I am going to the kitchen, to speak +about the range.” + +She spoke just too much, and the cook said that if she could not give +satisfaction--she had better leave. A small thing at hand is greater +than a great thing remote, and Lilia, misconducting herself upon a +mountain in Central Italy, was immediately hidden. Mrs. Herriton flew to +a registry office, failed; flew to another, failed again; came home, +was told by the housemaid that things seemed so unsettled that she had +better leave as well; had tea, wrote six letters, was interrupted by +cook and housemaid, both weeping, asking her pardon, and imploring to +be taken back. In the flush of victory the door-bell rang, and there was +the telegram: “Lilia engaged to Italian nobility. Writing. Abbott.” + +“No answer,” said Mrs. Herriton. “Get down Mr. Philip’s Gladstone from +the attic.” + +She would not allow herself to be frightened by the unknown. Indeed +she knew a little now. The man was not an Italian noble, otherwise the +telegram would have said so. It must have been written by Lilia. None +but she would have been guilty of the fatuous vulgarity of “Italian +nobility.” She recalled phrases of this morning’s letter: “We love this +place--Caroline is sweeter than ever, and busy sketching--Italians full +of simplicity and charm.” And the remark of Baedeker, “The inhabitants +are still noted for their agreeable manners,” had a baleful meaning now. +If Mrs. Herriton had no imagination, she had intuition, a more useful +quality, and the picture she made to herself of Lilia’s FIANCE did not +prove altogether wrong. + +So Philip was received with the news that he must start in half an hour +for Monteriano. He was in a painful position. For three years he had +sung the praises of the Italians, but he had never contemplated having +one as a relative. He tried to soften the thing down to his mother, but +in his heart of hearts he agreed with her when she said, “The man may +be a duke or he may be an organ-grinder. That is not the point. If Lilia +marries him she insults the memory of Charles, she insults Irma, she +insults us. Therefore I forbid her, and if she disobeys we have done +with her for ever.” + +“I will do all I can,” said Philip in a low voice. It was the first time +he had had anything to do. He kissed his mother and sister and puzzled +Irma. The hall was warm and attractive as he looked back into it from +the cold March night, and he departed for Italy reluctantly, as for +something commonplace and dull. + +Before Mrs. Herriton went to bed she wrote to Mrs. Theobald, using plain +language about Lilia’s conduct, and hinting that it was a question on +which every one must definitely choose sides. She added, as if it was an +afterthought, that Mrs. Theobald’s letter had arrived that morning. + +Just as she was going upstairs she remembered that she never covered +up those peas. It upset her more than anything, and again and again she +struck the banisters with vexation. Late as it was, she got a lantern +from the tool-shed and went down the garden to rake the earth over them. +The sparrows had taken every one. But countless fragments of the letter +remained, disfiguring the tidy ground. + + + +Chapter 2 + +When the bewildered tourist alights at the station of Monteriano, he +finds himself in the middle of the country. There are a few houses round +the railway, and many more dotted over the plain and the slopes of the +hills, but of a town, mediaeval or otherwise, not the slightest sign. He +must take what is suitably termed a “legno”--a piece of wood--and +drive up eight miles of excellent road into the middle ages. For it is +impossible, as well as sacrilegious, to be as quick as Baedeker. + +It was three in the afternoon when Philip left the realms of +commonsense. He was so weary with travelling that he had fallen asleep +in the train. His fellow-passengers had the usual Italian gift of +divination, and when Monteriano came they knew he wanted to go there, +and dropped him out. His feet sank into the hot asphalt of the platform, +and in a dream he watched the train depart, while the porter who ought +to have been carrying his bag, ran up the line playing touch-you-last +with the guard. Alas! he was in no humour for Italy. Bargaining for a +legno bored him unutterably. The man asked six lire; and though Philip +knew that for eight miles it should scarcely be more than four, yet he +was about to give what he was asked, and so make the man discontented +and unhappy for the rest of the day. He was saved from this social +blunder by loud shouts, and looking up the road saw one cracking his +whip and waving his reins and driving two horses furiously, and behind +him there appeared the swaying figure of a woman, holding star-fish +fashion on to anything she could touch. It was Miss Abbott, who had just +received his letter from Milan announcing the time of his arrival, and +had hurried down to meet him. + +He had known Miss Abbott for years, and had never had much opinion about +her one way or the other. She was good, quiet, dull, and amiable, +and young only because she was twenty-three: there was nothing in her +appearance or manner to suggest the fire of youth. All her life had +been spent at Sawston with a dull and amiable father, and her pleasant, +pallid face, bent on some respectable charity, was a familiar object +of the Sawston streets. Why she had ever wished to leave them was +surprising; but as she truly said, “I am John Bull to the backbone, yet +I do want to see Italy, just once. Everybody says it is marvellous, and +that one gets no idea of it from books at all.” The curate suggested +that a year was a long time; and Miss Abbott, with decorous playfulness, +answered him, “Oh, but you must let me have my fling! I promise to have +it once, and once only. It will give me things to think about and talk +about for the rest of my life.” The curate had consented; so had Mr. +Abbott. And here she was in a legno, solitary, dusty, frightened, with +as much to answer and to answer for as the most dashing adventuress +could desire. + +They shook hands without speaking. She made room for Philip and his +luggage amidst the loud indignation of the unsuccessful driver, whom it +required the combined eloquence of the station-master and the station +beggar to confute. The silence was prolonged until they started. For +three days he had been considering what he should do, and still more +what he should say. He had invented a dozen imaginary conversations, in +all of which his logic and eloquence procured him certain victory. But +how to begin? He was in the enemy’s country, and everything--the hot +sun, the cold air behind the heat, the endless rows of olive-trees, +regular yet mysterious--seemed hostile to the placid atmosphere of +Sawston in which his thoughts took birth. At the outset he made one +great concession. If the match was really suitable, and Lilia were bent +on it, he would give in, and trust to his influence with his mother to +set things right. He would not have made the concession in England; +but here in Italy, Lilia, however wilful and silly, was at all events +growing to be a human being. + +“Are we to talk it over now?” he asked. + +“Certainly, please,” said Miss Abbott, in great agitation. “If you will +be so very kind.” + +“Then how long has she been engaged?” + +Her face was that of a perfect fool--a fool in terror. + +“A short time--quite a short time,” she stammered, as if the shortness +of the time would reassure him. + +“I should like to know how long, if you can remember.” + +She entered into elaborate calculations on her fingers. “Exactly eleven +days,” she said at last. + +“How long have you been here?” + +More calculations, while he tapped irritably with his foot. “Close on +three weeks.” + +“Did you know him before you came?” + +“No.” + +“Oh! Who is he?” + +“A native of the place.” + +The second silence took place. They had left the plain now and +were climbing up the outposts of the hills, the olive-trees still +accompanying. The driver, a jolly fat man, had got out to ease the +horses, and was walking by the side of the carriage. + +“I understood they met at the hotel.” + +“It was a mistake of Mrs. Theobald’s.” + +“I also understand that he is a member of the Italian nobility.” + +She did not reply. + +“May I be told his name?” + +Miss Abbott whispered, “Carella.” But the driver heard her, and a grin +split over his face. The engagement must be known already. + +“Carella? Conte or Marchese, or what?” + +“Signor,” said Miss Abbott, and looked helplessly aside. + +“Perhaps I bore you with these questions. If so, I will stop.” + +“Oh, no, please; not at all. I am here--my own idea--to give all +information which you very naturally--and to see if somehow--please ask +anything you like.” + +“Then how old is he?” + +“Oh, quite young. Twenty-one, I believe.” + +There burst from Philip the exclamation, “Good Lord!” + +“One would never believe it,” said Miss Abbott, flushing. “He looks much +older.” + +“And is he good-looking?” he asked, with gathering sarcasm. + +She became decisive. “Very good-looking. All his features are good, and +he is well built--though I dare say English standards would find him too +short.” + +Philip, whose one physical advantage was his height, felt annoyed at her +implied indifference to it. + +“May I conclude that you like him?” + +She replied decisively again, “As far as I have seen him, I do.” + +At that moment the carriage entered a little wood, which lay brown and +sombre across the cultivated hill. The trees of the wood were small and +leafless, but noticeable for this--that their stems stood in violets as +rocks stand in the summer sea. There are such violets in England, +but not so many. Nor are there so many in Art, for no painter has the +courage. The cart-ruts were channels, the hollow lagoons; even the +dry white margin of the road was splashed, like a causeway soon to be +submerged under the advancing tide of spring. Philip paid no attention +at the time: he was thinking what to say next. But his eyes had +registered the beauty, and next March he did not forget that the road to +Monteriano must traverse innumerable flowers. + +“As far as I have seen him, I do like him,” repeated Miss Abbott, after +a pause. + +He thought she sounded a little defiant, and crushed her at once. + +“What is he, please? You haven’t told me that. What’s his position?” + +She opened her mouth to speak, and no sound came from it. Philip waited +patiently. She tried to be audacious, and failed pitiably. + +“No position at all. He is kicking his heels, as my father would say. +You see, he has only just finished his military service.” + +“As a private?” + +“I suppose so. There is general conscription. He was in the Bersaglieri, +I think. Isn’t that the crack regiment?” + +“The men in it must be short and broad. They must also be able to walk +six miles an hour.” + +She looked at him wildly, not understanding all that he said, but +feeling that he was very clever. Then she continued her defence of +Signor Carella. + +“And now, like most young men, he is looking out for something to do.” + +“Meanwhile?” + +“Meanwhile, like most young men, he lives with his people--father, +mother, two sisters, and a tiny tot of a brother.” + +There was a grating sprightliness about her that drove him nearly mad. +He determined to silence her at last. + +“One more question, and only one more. What is his father?” + +“His father,” said Miss Abbott. “Well, I don’t suppose you’ll think it +a good match. But that’s not the point. I mean the point is not--I mean +that social differences--love, after all--not but what--I--” + +Philip ground his teeth together and said nothing. + +“Gentlemen sometimes judge hardly. But I feel that you, and at +all events your mother--so really good in every sense, so really +unworldly--after all, love-marriages are made in heaven.” + +“Yes, Miss Abbott, I know. But I am anxious to hear heaven’s choice. You +arouse my curiosity. Is my sister-in-law to marry an angel?” + +“Mr. Herriton, don’t--please, Mr. Herriton--a dentist. His father’s a +dentist.” + +Philip gave a cry of personal disgust and pain. He shuddered all over, +and edged away from his companion. A dentist! A dentist at Monteriano. A +dentist in fairyland! False teeth and laughing gas and the tilting +chair at a place which knew the Etruscan League, and the Pax Romana, +and Alaric himself, and the Countess Matilda, and the Middle Ages, all +fighting and holiness, and the Renaissance, all fighting and beauty! He +thought of Lilia no longer. He was anxious for himself: he feared that +Romance might die. + +Romance only dies with life. No pair of pincers will ever pull it out of +us. But there is a spurious sentiment which cannot resist the unexpected +and the incongruous and the grotesque. A touch will loosen it, and the +sooner it goes from us the better. It was going from Philip now, and +therefore he gave the cry of pain. + +“I cannot think what is in the air,” he began. “If Lilia was determined +to disgrace us, she might have found a less repulsive way. A boy of +medium height with a pretty face, the son of a dentist at Monteriano. +Have I put it correctly? May I surmise that he has not got one penny? +May I also surmise that his social position is nil? Furthermore--” + +“Stop! I’ll tell you no more.” + +“Really, Miss Abbott, it is a little late for reticence. You have +equipped me admirably!” + +“I’ll tell you not another word!” she cried, with a spasm of terror. +Then she got out her handkerchief, and seemed as if she would shed +tears. After a silence, which he intended to symbolize to her the +dropping of a curtain on the scene, he began to talk of other subjects. + +They were among olives again, and the wood with its beauty and wildness +had passed away. But as they climbed higher the country opened out, and +there appeared, high on a hill to the right, Monteriano. The hazy green +of the olives rose up to its walls, and it seemed to float in isolation +between trees and sky, like some fantastic ship city of a dream. Its +colour was brown, and it revealed not a single house--nothing but the +narrow circle of the walls, and behind them seventeen towers--all that +was left of the fifty-two that had filled the city in her prime. Some +were only stumps, some were inclining stiffly to their fall, some were +still erect, piercing like masts into the blue. It was impossible to +praise it as beautiful, but it was also impossible to damn it as quaint. + +Meanwhile Philip talked continually, thinking this to be great evidence +of resource and tact. It showed Miss Abbott that he had probed her to +the bottom, but was able to conquer his disgust, and by sheer force of +intellect continue to be as agreeable and amusing as ever. He did not +know that he talked a good deal of nonsense, and that the sheer force +of his intellect was weakened by the sight of Monteriano, and by the +thought of dentistry within those walls. + +The town above them swung to the left, to the right, to the left again, +as the road wound upward through the trees, and the towers began to glow +in the descending sun. As they drew near, Philip saw the heads of people +gathering black upon the walls, and he knew well what was happening--how +the news was spreading that a stranger was in sight, and the beggars +were aroused from their content and bid to adjust their deformities; how +the alabaster man was running for his wares, and the Authorized Guide +running for his peaked cap and his two cards of recommendation--one from +Miss M’Gee, Maida Vale, the other, less valuable, from an Equerry to the +Queen of Peru; how some one else was running to tell the landlady of the +Stella d’Italia to put on her pearl necklace and brown boots and empty +the slops from the spare bedroom; and how the landlady was running to +tell Lilia and her boy that their fate was at hand. + +Perhaps it was a pity Philip had talked so profusely. He had driven +Miss Abbott half demented, but he had given himself no time to concert +a plan. The end came so suddenly. They emerged from the trees on to the +terrace before the walk, with the vision of half Tuscany radiant in the +sun behind them, and then they turned in through the Siena gate, and +their journey was over. The Dogana men admitted them with an air of +gracious welcome, and they clattered up the narrow dark street, greeted +by that mixture of curiosity and kindness which makes each Italian +arrival so wonderful. + +He was stunned and knew not what to do. At the hotel he received no +ordinary reception. The landlady wrung him by the hand; one person +snatched his umbrella, another his bag; people pushed each other out of +his way. The entrance seemed blocked with a crowd. Dogs were barking, +bladder whistles being blown, women waving their handkerchiefs, excited +children screaming on the stairs, and at the top of the stairs was Lilia +herself, very radiant, with her best blouse on. + +“Welcome!” she cried. “Welcome to Monteriano!” He greeted her, for he +did not know what else to do, and a sympathetic murmur rose from the +crowd below. + +“You told me to come here,” she continued, “and I don’t forget it. Let +me introduce Signor Carella!” + +Philip discerned in the corner behind her a young man who might +eventually prove handsome and well-made, but certainly did not seem so +then. He was half enveloped in the drapery of a cold dirty curtain, and +nervously stuck out a hand, which Philip took and found thick and damp. +There were more murmurs of approval from the stairs. + +“Well, din-din’s nearly ready,” said Lilia. “Your room’s down the +passage, Philip. You needn’t go changing.” + +He stumbled away to wash his hands, utterly crushed by her effrontery. + +“Dear Caroline!” whispered Lilia as soon as he had gone. “What an angel +you’ve been to tell him! He takes it so well. But you must have had a +MAUVAIS QUART D’HEURE.” + +Miss Abbott’s long terror suddenly turned into acidity. “I’ve told +nothing,” she snapped. “It’s all for you--and if it only takes a quarter +of an hour you’ll be lucky!” + +Dinner was a nightmare. They had the smelly dining-room to themselves. +Lilia, very smart and vociferous, was at the head of the table; Miss +Abbott, also in her best, sat by Philip, looking, to his irritated +nerves, more like the tragedy confidante every moment. That scion of the +Italian nobility, Signor Carella, sat opposite. Behind him loomed a bowl +of goldfish, who swam round and round, gaping at the guests. + +The face of Signor Carella was twitching too much for Philip to study +it. But he could see the hands, which were not particularly clean, and +did not get cleaner by fidgeting amongst the shining slabs of hair. +His starched cuffs were not clean either, and as for his suit, it had +obviously been bought for the occasion as something really English--a +gigantic check, which did not even fit. His handkerchief he had +forgotten, but never missed it. Altogether, he was quite unpresentable, +and very lucky to have a father who was a dentist in Monteriano. And +why, even Lilia--But as soon as the meal began it furnished Philip with +an explanation. + +For the youth was hungry, and his lady filled his plate with spaghetti, +and when those delicious slippery worms were flying down his throat, his +face relaxed and became for a moment unconscious and calm. And Philip +had seen that face before in Italy a hundred times--seen it and loved +it, for it was not merely beautiful, but had the charm which is the +rightful heritage of all who are born on that soil. But he did not want +to see it opposite him at dinner. It was not the face of a gentleman. + +Conversation, to give it that name, was carried on in a mixture of +English and Italian. Lilia had picked up hardly any of the latter +language, and Signor Carella had not yet learnt any of the former. +Occasionally Miss Abbott had to act as interpreter between the lovers, +and the situation became uncouth and revolting in the extreme. Yet +Philip was too cowardly to break forth and denounce the engagement. He +thought he should be more effective with Lilia if he had her alone, +and pretended to himself that he must hear her defence before giving +judgment. + +Signor Carella, heartened by the spaghetti and the throat-rasping wine, +attempted to talk, and, looking politely towards Philip, said, “England +is a great country. The Italians love England and the English.” + +Philip, in no mood for international amenities, merely bowed. + +“Italy too,” the other continued a little resentfully, “is a great +country. She has produced many famous men--for example Garibaldi and +Dante. The latter wrote the ‘Inferno,’ the ‘Purgatorio,’ the ‘Paradiso.’ +The ‘Inferno’ is the most beautiful.” And with the complacent tone of +one who has received a solid education, he quoted the opening lines-- + + Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita + Mi ritrovai per una selva oscura + Che la diritta via era smarrita-- + +a quotation which was more apt than he supposed. + +Lilia glanced at Philip to see whether he noticed that she was +marrying no ignoramus. Anxious to exhibit all the good qualities of her +betrothed, she abruptly introduced the subject of pallone, in which, +it appeared, he was a proficient player. He suddenly became shy and +developed a conceited grin--the grin of the village yokel whose cricket +score is mentioned before a stranger. Philip himself had loved to watch +pallone, that entrancing combination of lawn-tennis and fives. But he +did not expect to love it quite so much again. + +“Oh, look!” exclaimed Lilia, “the poor wee fish!” + +A starved cat had been worrying them all for pieces of the purple +quivering beef they were trying to swallow. Signor Carella, with the +brutality so common in Italians, had caught her by the paw and flung her +away from him. Now she had climbed up to the bowl and was trying to +hook out the fish. He got up, drove her off, and finding a large glass +stopper by the bowl, entirely plugged up the aperture with it. + +“But may not the fish die?” said Miss Abbott. “They have no air.” + +“Fish live on water, not on air,” he replied in a knowing voice, and sat +down. Apparently he was at his ease again, for he took to spitting on +the floor. Philip glanced at Lilia but did not detect her wincing. She +talked bravely till the end of the disgusting meal, and then got up +saying, “Well, Philip, I am sure you are ready for by-bye. We shall meet +at twelve o’clock lunch tomorrow, if we don’t meet before. They give us +caffe later in our rooms.” + +It was a little too impudent. Philip replied, “I should like to see you +now, please, in my room, as I have come all the way on business.” He +heard Miss Abbott gasp. Signor Carella, who was lighting a rank cigar, +had not understood. + +It was as he expected. When he was alone with Lilia he lost all +nervousness. The remembrance of his long intellectual supremacy +strengthened him, and he began volubly-- + +“My dear Lilia, don’t let’s have a scene. Before I arrived I thought I +might have to question you. It is unnecessary. I know everything. Miss +Abbott has told me a certain amount, and the rest I see for myself.” + +“See for yourself?” she exclaimed, and he remembered afterwards that she +had flushed crimson. + +“That he is probably a ruffian and certainly a cad.” + +“There are no cads in Italy,” she said quickly. + +He was taken aback. It was one of his own remarks. And she further upset +him by adding, “He is the son of a dentist. Why not?” + +“Thank you for the information. I know everything, as I told you before. +I am also aware of the social position of an Italian who pulls teeth in +a minute provincial town.” + +He was not aware of it, but he ventured to conclude that it was pretty, +low. Nor did Lilia contradict him. But she was sharp enough to say, +“Indeed, Philip, you surprise me. I understood you went in for equality +and so on.” + +“And I understood that Signor Carella was a member of the Italian +nobility.” + +“Well, we put it like that in the telegram so as not to shock dear Mrs. +Herriton. But it is true. He is a younger branch. Of course families +ramify--just as in yours there is your cousin Joseph.” She adroitly +picked out the only undesirable member of the Herriton clan. “Gino’s +father is courtesy itself, and rising rapidly in his profession. This +very month he leaves Monteriano, and sets up at Poggibonsi. And for +my own poor part, I think what people are is what matters, but I don’t +suppose you’ll agree. And I should like you to know that Gino’s uncle is +a priest--the same as a clergyman at home.” + +Philip was aware of the social position of an Italian priest, and said +so much about it that Lilia interrupted him with, “Well, his cousin’s a +lawyer at Rome.” + +“What kind of ‘lawyer’?” + +“Why, a lawyer just like you are--except that he has lots to do and can +never get away.” + +The remark hurt more than he cared to show. He changed his method, and +in a gentle, conciliating tone delivered the following speech:-- + +“The whole thing is like a bad dream--so bad that it cannot go on. If +there was one redeeming feature about the man I might be uneasy. As it +is I can trust to time. For the moment, Lilia, he has taken you in, +but you will find him out soon. It is not possible that you, a lady, +accustomed to ladies and gentlemen, will tolerate a man whose position +is--well, not equal to the son of the servants’ dentist in Coronation +Place. I am not blaming you now. But I blame the glamour of Italy--I +have felt it myself, you know--and I greatly blame Miss Abbott.” + +“Caroline! Why blame her? What’s all this to do with Caroline?” + +“Because we expected her to--” He saw that the answer would involve him +in difficulties, and, waving his hand, continued, “So I am confident, +and you in your heart agree, that this engagement will not last. Think +of your life at home--think of Irma! And I’ll also say think of us; for +you know, Lilia, that we count you more than a relation. I should feel +I was losing my own sister if you did this, and my mother would lose a +daughter.” + +She seemed touched at last, for she turned away her face and said, “I +can’t break it off now!” + +“Poor Lilia,” said he, genuinely moved. “I know it may be painful. But +I have come to rescue you, and, book-worm though I may be, I am not +frightened to stand up to a bully. He’s merely an insolent boy. He +thinks he can keep you to your word by threats. He will be different +when he sees he has a man to deal with.” + +What follows should be prefaced with some simile--the simile of a +powder-mine, a thunderbolt, an earthquake--for it blew Philip up in the +air and flattened him on the ground and swallowed him up in the depths. +Lilia turned on her gallant defender and said-- + +“For once in my life I’ll thank you to leave me alone. I’ll thank your +mother too. For twelve years you’ve trained me and tortured me, and I’ll +stand it no more. Do you think I’m a fool? Do you think I never felt? +Ah! when I came to your house a poor young bride, how you all looked me +over--never a kind word--and discussed me, and thought I might just do; +and your mother corrected me, and your sister snubbed me, and you said +funny things about me to show how clever you were! And when Charles died +I was still to run in strings for the honour of your beastly family, +and I was to be cooped up at Sawston and learn to keep house, and all my +chances spoilt of marrying again. No, thank you! No, thank you! ‘Bully?’ +‘Insolent boy?’ Who’s that, pray, but you? But, thank goodness, I can +stand up against the world now, for I’ve found Gino, and this time I +marry for love!” + +The coarseness and truth of her attack alike overwhelmed him. But her +supreme insolence found him words, and he too burst forth. + +“Yes! and I forbid you to do it! You despise me, perhaps, and think +I’m feeble. But you’re mistaken. You are ungrateful and impertinent and +contemptible, but I will save you in order to save Irma and our name. +There is going to be such a row in this town that you and he’ll be sorry +you came to it. I shall shrink from nothing, for my blood is up. It is +unwise of you to laugh. I forbid you to marry Carella, and I shall tell +him so now.” + +“Do,” she cried. “Tell him so now. Have it out with him. Gino! Gino! +Come in! Avanti! Fra Filippo forbids the banns!” + +Gino appeared so quickly that he must have been listening outside the +door. + +“Fra Filippo’s blood’s up. He shrinks from nothing. Oh, take care he +doesn’t hurt you!” She swayed about in vulgar imitation of Philip’s +walk, and then, with a proud glance at the square shoulders of her +betrothed, flounced out of the room. + +Did she intend them to fight? Philip had no intention of doing so; and +no more, it seemed, had Gino, who stood nervously in the middle of the +room with twitching lips and eyes. + +“Please sit down, Signor Carella,” said Philip in Italian. “Mrs. +Herriton is rather agitated, but there is no reason we should not be +calm. Might I offer you a cigarette? Please sit down.” + +He refused the cigarette and the chair, and remained standing in the +full glare of the lamp. Philip, not averse to such assistance, got his +own face into shadow. + +For a long time he was silent. It might impress Gino, and it also gave +him time to collect himself. He would not this time fall into the error +of blustering, which he had caught so unaccountably from Lilia. He would +make his power felt by restraint. + +Why, when he looked up to begin, was Gino convulsed with silent +laughter? It vanished immediately; but he became nervous, and was even +more pompous than he intended. + +“Signor Carella, I will be frank with you. I have come to prevent you +marrying Mrs. Herriton, because I see you will both be unhappy together. +She is English, you are Italian; she is accustomed to one thing, you to +another. And--pardon me if I say it--she is rich and you are poor.” + +“I am not marrying her because she is rich,” was the sulky reply. + +“I never suggested that for a moment,” said Philip courteously. “You are +honourable, I am sure; but are you wise? And let me remind you that we +want her with us at home. Her little daughter will be motherless, +our home will be broken up. If you grant my request you will earn our +thanks--and you will not be without a reward for your disappointment.” + +“Reward--what reward?” He bent over the back of a chair and looked +earnestly at Philip. They were coming to terms pretty quickly. Poor +Lilia! + +Philip said slowly, “What about a thousand lire?” + +His soul went forth into one exclamation, and then he was silent, with +gaping lips. Philip would have given double: he had expected a bargain. + +“You can have them tonight.” + +He found words, and said, “It is too late.” + +“But why?” + +“Because--” His voice broke. Philip watched his face,--a face without +refinement perhaps, but not without expression,--watched it quiver and +re-form and dissolve from emotion into emotion. There was avarice at one +moment, and insolence, and politeness, and stupidity, and cunning--and +let us hope that sometimes there was love. But gradually one emotion +dominated, the most unexpected of all; for his chest began to heave and +his eyes to wink and his mouth to twitch, and suddenly he stood erect +and roared forth his whole being in one tremendous laugh. + +Philip sprang up, and Gino, who had flung wide his arms to let the +glorious creature go, took him by the shoulders and shook him, and said, +“Because we are married--married--married as soon as I knew you were, +coming. There was no time to tell you. Oh. oh! You have come all the way +for nothing. Oh! And oh, your generosity!” Suddenly he became grave, and +said, “Please pardon me; I am rude. I am no better than a peasant, and +I--” Here he saw Philip’s face, and it was too much for him. He gasped +and exploded and crammed his hands into his mouth and spat them out in +another explosion, and gave Philip an aimless push, which toppled him on +to the bed. He uttered a horrified Oh! and then gave up, and bolted away +down the passage, shrieking like a child, to tell the joke to his wife. + +For a time Philip lay on the bed, pretending to himself that he was hurt +grievously. He could scarcely see for temper, and in the passage he ran +against Miss Abbott, who promptly burst into tears. + +“I sleep at the Globo,” he told her, “and start for Sawston tomorrow +morning early. He has assaulted me. I could prosecute him. But shall +not.” + +“I can’t stop here,” she sobbed. “I daren’t stop here. You will have to +take me with you!” + + + +Chapter 3 + +Opposite the Volterra gate of Monteriano, outside the city, is a very +respectable white-washed mud wall, with a coping of red crinkled tiles +to keep it from dissolution. It would suggest a gentleman’s garden if +there was not in its middle a large hole, which grows larger with every +rain-storm. Through the hole is visible, firstly, the iron gate that is +intended to close it; secondly, a square piece of ground which, though +not quite, mud, is at the same time not exactly grass; and finally, +another wall, stone this time, which has a wooden door in the middle and +two wooden-shuttered windows each side, and apparently forms the facade +of a one-storey house. + +This house is bigger than it looks, for it slides for two storeys down +the hill behind, and the wooden door, which is always locked, really +leads into the attic. The knowing person prefers to follow the +precipitous mule-track round the turn of the mud wall till he can take +the edifice in the rear. Then--being now on a level with the cellars--he +lifts up his head and shouts. If his voice sounds like something +light--a letter, for example, or some vegetables, or a bunch of +flowers--a basket is let out of the first-floor windows by a string, +into which he puts his burdens and departs. But if he sounds like +something heavy, such as a log of wood, or a piece of meat, or a +visitor, he is interrogated, and then bidden or forbidden to ascend. +The ground floor and the upper floor of that battered house are alike +deserted, and the inmates keep the central portion, just as in a dying +body all life retires to the heart. There is a door at the top of the +first flight of stairs, and if the visitor is admitted he will find a +welcome which is not necessarily cold. There are several rooms, some +dark and mostly stuffy--a reception-room adorned with horsehair chairs, +wool-work stools, and a stove that is never lit--German bad taste +without German domesticity broods over that room; also a living-room, +which insensibly glides into a bedroom when the refining influence of +hospitality is absent, and real bedrooms; and last, but not least, the +loggia, where you can live day and night if you feel inclined, drinking +vermouth and smoking cigarettes, with leagues of olive-trees and +vineyards and blue-green hills to watch you. + +It was in this house that the brief and inevitable tragedy of Lilia’s +married life took place. She made Gino buy it for her, because it was +there she had first seen him sitting on the mud wall that faced the +Volterra gate. She remembered how the evening sun had struck his hair, +and how he had smiled down at her, and being both sentimental and +unrefined, was determined to have the man and the place together. Things +in Italy are cheap for an Italian, and, though he would have preferred +a house in the piazza, or better still a house at Siena, or, bliss above +bliss, a house at Leghorn, he did as she asked, thinking that perhaps +she showed her good taste in preferring so retired an abode. + +The house was far too big for them, and there was a general concourse of +his relatives to fill it up. His father wished to make it a patriarchal +concern, where all the family should have their rooms and meet together +for meals, and was perfectly willing to give up the new practice at +Poggibonsi and preside. Gino was quite willing too, for he was an +affectionate youth who liked a large home-circle, and he told it as +a pleasant bit of news to Lilia, who did not attempt to conceal her +horror. + +At once he was horrified too; saw that the idea was monstrous; abused +himself to her for having suggested it; rushed off to tell his father +that it was impossible. His father complained that prosperity was +already corrupting him and making him unsympathetic and hard; his mother +cried; his sisters accused him of blocking their social advance. He +was apologetic, and even cringing, until they turned on Lilia. Then +he turned on them, saying that they could not understand, much less +associate with, the English lady who was his wife; that there should be +one master in that house--himself. + +Lilia praised and petted him on his return, calling him brave and a hero +and other endearing epithets. But he was rather blue when his clan left +Monteriano in much dignity--a dignity which was not at all impaired +by the acceptance of a cheque. They took the cheque not to Poggibonsi, +after all, but to Empoli--a lively, dusty town some twenty miles off. +There they settled down in comfort, and the sisters said they had been +driven to it by Gino. + +The cheque was, of course, Lilia’s, who was extremely generous, and was +quite willing to know anybody so long as she had not to live with them, +relations-in-law being on her nerves. She liked nothing better than +finding out some obscure and distant connection--there were several of +them--and acting the lady bountiful, leaving behind her bewilderment, +and too often discontent. Gino wondered how it was that all his people, +who had formerly seemed so pleasant, had suddenly become plaintive +and disagreeable. He put it down to his lady wife’s magnificence, in +comparison with which all seemed common. Her money flew apace, in +spite of the cheap living. She was even richer than he expected; and he +remembered with shame how he had once regretted his inability to accept +the thousand lire that Philip Herriton offered him in exchange for her. +It would have been a shortsighted bargain. + +Lilia enjoyed settling into the house, with nothing to do except give +orders to smiling workpeople, and a devoted husband as interpreter. She +wrote a jaunty account of her happiness to Mrs. Herriton, and Harriet +answered the letter, saying (1) that all future communications should be +addressed to the solicitors; (2) would Lilia return an inlaid box which +Harriet had lent her--but not given--to keep handkerchiefs and collars +in? + +“Look what I am giving up to live with you!” she said to Gino, never +omitting to lay stress on her condescension. He took her to mean the +inlaid box, and said that she need not give it up at all. + +“Silly fellow, no! I mean the life. Those Herritons are very well +connected. They lead Sawston society. But what do I care, so long as I +have my silly fellow!” She always treated him as a boy, which he was, +and as a fool, which he was not, thinking herself so immeasurably +superior to him that she neglected opportunity after opportunity of +establishing her rule. He was good-looking and indolent; therefore he +must be stupid. He was poor; therefore he would never dare to criticize +his benefactress. He was passionately in love with her; therefore she +could do exactly as she liked. + +“It mayn’t be heaven below,” she thought, “but it’s better than +Charles.” + +And all the time the boy was watching her, and growing up. + +She was reminded of Charles by a disagreeable letter from the +solicitors, bidding her disgorge a large sum of money for Irma, in +accordance with her late husband’s will. It was just like Charles’s +suspicious nature to have provided against a second marriage. Gino was +equally indignant, and between them they composed a stinging reply, +which had no effect. He then said that Irma had better come out and live +with them. “The air is good, so is the food; she will be happy here, and +we shall not have to part with the money.” But Lilia had not the courage +even to suggest this to the Herritons, and an unexpected terror seized +her at the thought of Irma or any English child being educated at +Monteriano. + +Gino became terribly depressed over the solicitors’ letter, more +depressed than she thought necessary. There was no more to do in the +house, and he spent whole days in the loggia leaning over the parapet or +sitting astride it disconsolately. + +“Oh, you idle boy!” she cried, pinching his muscles. “Go and play +pallone.” + +“I am a married man,” he answered, without raising his head. “I do not +play games any more.” + +“Go and see your friends then.” + +“I have no friends now.” + +“Silly, silly, silly! You can’t stop indoors all day!” + +“I want to see no one but you.” He spat on to an olive-tree. + +“Now, Gino, don’t be silly. Go and see your friends, and bring them to +see me. We both of us like society.” + +He looked puzzled, but allowed himself to be persuaded, went out, found +that he was not as friendless as he supposed, and returned after several +hours in altered spirits. Lilia congratulated herself on her good +management. + +“I’m ready, too, for people now,” she said. “I mean to wake you all up, +just as I woke up Sawston. Let’s have plenty of men--and make them bring +their womenkind. I mean to have real English tea-parties.” + +“There is my aunt and her husband; but I thought you did not want to +receive my relatives.” + +“I never said such a--” + +“But you would be right,” he said earnestly. “They are not for you. +Many of them are in trade, and even we are little more; you should have +gentlefolk and nobility for your friends.” + +“Poor fellow,” thought Lilia. “It is sad for him to discover that his +people are vulgar.” She began to tell him that she loved him just for +his silly self, and he flushed and began tugging at his moustache. + +“But besides your relatives I must have other people here. Your friends +have wives and sisters, haven’t they?” + +“Oh, yes; but of course I scarcely know them.” + +“Not know your friends’ people?” + +“Why, no. If they are poor and have to work for their living I may see +them--but not otherwise. Except--” He stopped. The chief exception was +a young lady, to whom he had once been introduced for matrimonial +purposes. But the dowry had proved inadequate, and the acquaintance +terminated. + +“How funny! But I mean to change all that. Bring your friends to see me, +and I will make them bring their people.” + +He looked at her rather hopelessly. + +“Well, who are the principal people here? Who leads society?” + +The governor of the prison, he supposed, and the officers who assisted +him. + +“Well, are they married?” + +“Yes.” + +“There we are. Do you know them?” + +“Yes--in a way.” + +“I see,” she exclaimed angrily. “They look down on you, do they, poor +boy? Wait!” He assented. “Wait! I’ll soon stop that. Now, who else is +there?” + +“The marchese, sometimes, and the canons of the Collegiate Church.” + +“Married?” + +“The canons--” he began with twinkling eyes. + +“Oh, I forgot your horrid celibacy. In England they would be the centre +of everything. But why shouldn’t I know them? Would it make it easier if +I called all round? Isn’t that your foreign way?” + +He did not think it would make it easier. + +“But I must know some one! Who were the men you were talking to this +afternoon?” + +Low-class men. He could scarcely recollect their names. + +“But, Gino dear, if they’re low class, why did you talk to them? Don’t +you care about your position?” + +All Gino cared about at present was idleness and pocket-money, and his +way of expressing it was to exclaim, “Ouf-pouf! How hot it is in here. +No air; I sweat all over. I expire. I must cool myself, or I shall never +get to sleep.” In his funny abrupt way he ran out on to the loggia, +where he lay full length on the parapet, and began to smoke and spit +under the silence of the stars. + +Lilia gathered somehow from this conversation that Continental society +was not the go-as-you-please thing she had expected. Indeed she could +not see where Continental society was. Italy is such a delightful place +to live in if you happen to be a man. There one may enjoy that exquisite +luxury of Socialism--that true Socialism which is based not on equality +of income or character, but on the equality of manners. In the democracy +of the caffe or the street the great question of our life has been +solved, and the brotherhood of man is a reality. But is accomplished at +the expense of the sisterhood of women. Why should you not make friends +with your neighbour at the theatre or in the train, when you know and +he knows that feminine criticism and feminine insight and feminine +prejudice will never come between you? Though you become as David and +Jonathan, you need never enter his home, nor he yours. All your lives +you will meet under the open air, the only roof-tree of the South, under +which he will spit and swear, and you will drop your h’s, and nobody +will think the worse of either. + +Meanwhile the women--they have, of course, their house and their church, +with its admirable and frequent services, to which they are escorted by +the maid. Otherwise they do not go out much, for it is not genteel to +walk, and you are too poor to keep a carriage. Occasionally you will +take them to the caffe or theatre, and immediately all your wonted +acquaintance there desert you, except those few who are expecting +and expected to marry into your family. It is all very sad. But one +consolation emerges--life is very pleasant in Italy if you are a man. + +Hitherto Gino had not interfered with Lilia. She was so much older than +he was, and so much richer, that he regarded her as a superior being who +answered to other laws. He was not wholly surprised, for strange rumours +were always blowing over the Alps of lands where men and women had the +same amusements and interests, and he had often met that privileged +maniac, the lady tourist, on her solitary walks. Lilia took solitary +walks too, and only that week a tramp had grabbed at her watch--an +episode which is supposed to be indigenous in Italy, though really less +frequent there than in Bond Street. Now that he knew her better, he +was inevitably losing his awe: no one could live with her and keep it, +especially when she had been so silly as to lose a gold watch and chain. +As he lay thoughtful along the parapet, he realized for the first time +the responsibilities of monied life. He must save her from dangers, +physical and social, for after all she was a woman. “And I,” he +reflected, “though I am young, am at all events a man, and know what is +right.” + +He found her still in the living-room, combing her hair, for she had +something of the slattern in her nature, and there was no need to keep +up appearances. + +“You must not go out alone,” he said gently. “It is not safe. If you +want to walk, Perfetta shall accompany you.” Perfetta was a widowed +cousin, too humble for social aspirations, who was living with them as +factotum. + +“Very well,” smiled Lilia, “very well”--as if she were addressing a +solicitous kitten. But for all that she never took a solitary walk +again, with one exception, till the day of her death. + +Days passed, and no one called except poor relatives. She began to feel +dull. Didn’t he know the Sindaco or the bank manager? Even the landlady +of the Stella d’Italia would be better than no one. She, when she went +into the town, was pleasantly received; but people naturally found a +difficulty in getting on with a lady who could not learn their language. +And the tea-party, under Gino’s adroit management, receded ever and ever +before her. + +He had a good deal of anxiety over her welfare, for she did not +settle down in the house at all. But he was comforted by a welcome and +unexpected visitor. As he was going one afternoon for the letters--they +were delivered at the door, but it took longer to get them at the +office--some one humorously threw a cloak over his head, and when he +disengaged himself he saw his very dear friend Spiridione Tesi of the +custom-house at Chiasso, whom he had not met for two years. What joy! +what salutations! so that all the passersby smiled with approval on the +amiable scene. Spiridione’s brother was now station-master at Bologna, +and thus he himself could spend his holiday travelling over Italy at the +public expense. Hearing of Gino’s marriage, he had come to see him on +his way to Siena, where lived his own uncle, lately monied too. + +“They all do it,” he exclaimed, “myself excepted.” He was not quite +twenty-three. “But tell me more. She is English. That is good, very +good. An English wife is very good indeed. And she is rich?” + +“Immensely rich.” + +“Blonde or dark?” + +“Blonde.” + +“Is it possible!” + +“It pleases me very much,” said Gino simply. “If you remember, I always +desired a blonde.” Three or four men had collected, and were listening. + +“We all desire one,” said Spiridione. “But you, Gino, deserve your good +fortune, for you are a good son, a brave man, and a true friend, and +from the very first moment I saw you I wished you well.” + +“No compliments, I beg,” said Gino, standing with his hands crossed on +his chest and a smile of pleasure on his face. + +Spiridione addressed the other men, none of whom he had ever seen +before. “Is it not true? Does not he deserve this wealthy blonde?” + +“He does deserve her,” said all the men. + +It is a marvellous land, where you love it or hate it. + +There were no letters, and of course they sat down at the Caffe +Garibaldi, by the Collegiate Church--quite a good caffe that for so +small a city. There were marble-topped tables, and pillars terra-cotta +below and gold above, and on the ceiling was a fresco of the battle of +Solferino. One could not have desired a prettier room. They had vermouth +and little cakes with sugar on the top, which they chose gravely at +the counter, pinching them first to be sure they were fresh. And though +vermouth is barely alcoholic, Spiridione drenched his with soda-water to +be sure that it should not get into his head. + +They were in high spirits, and elaborate compliments alternated +curiously with gentle horseplay. But soon they put up their legs on a +pair of chairs and began to smoke. + +“Tell me,” said Spiridione--“I forgot to ask--is she young?” + +“Thirty-three.” + +“Ah, well, we cannot have everything.” + +“But you would be surprised. Had she told me twenty-eight, I should not +have disbelieved her.” + +“Is she SIMPATICA?” (Nothing will translate that word.) + +Gino dabbed at the sugar and said after a silence, “Sufficiently so.” + +“It is a most important thing.” + +“She is rich, she is generous, she is affable, she addresses her +inferiors without haughtiness.” + +There was another silence. “It is not sufficient,” said the other. “One +does not define it thus.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Last month +a German was smuggling cigars. The custom-house was dark. Yet I +refused because I did not like him. The gifts of such men do not bring +happiness. NON ERA SIMPATICO. He paid for every one, and the fine for +deception besides.” + +“Do you gain much beyond your pay?” asked Gino, diverted for an instant. + +“I do not accept small sums now. It is not worth the risk. But the +German was another matter. But listen, my Gino, for I am older than +you and more full of experience. The person who understands us at first +sight, who never irritates us, who never bores, to whom we can pour +forth every thought and wish, not only in speech but in silence--that is +what I mean by SIMPATICO.” + +“There are such men, I know,” said Gino. “And I have heard it said of +children. But where will you find such a woman?” + +“That is true. Here you are wiser than I. SONO POCO SIMPATICHE LE DONNE. +And the time we waste over them is much.” He sighed dolefully, as if he +found the nobility of his sex a burden. + +“One I have seen who may be so. She spoke very little, but she was a +young lady--different to most. She, too, was English, the companion of +my wife here. But Fra Filippo, the brother-in-law, took her back with +him. I saw them start. He was very angry.” + +Then he spoke of his exciting and secret marriage, and they made fun of +the unfortunate Philip, who had travelled over Europe to stop it. + +“I regret though,” said Gino, when they had finished laughing, “that I +toppled him on to the bed. A great tall man! And when I am really amused +I am often impolite.” + +“You will never see him again,” said Spiridione, who carried plenty of +philosophy about him. “And by now the scene will have passed from his +mind.” + +“It sometimes happens that such things are recollected longest. I shall +never see him again, of course; but it is no benefit to me that he +should wish me ill. And even if he has forgotten, I am still sorry that +I toppled him on to the bed.” + +So their talk continued, at one moment full of childishness and +tender wisdom, the next moment scandalously gross. The shadows of the +terra-cotta pillars lengthened, and tourists, flying through the Palazzo +Pubblico opposite, could observe how the Italians wasted time. + +The sight of tourists reminded Gino of something he might say. “I +want to consult you since you are so kind as to take an interest in my +affairs. My wife wishes to take solitary walks.” + +Spiridione was shocked. + +“But I have forbidden her.” + +“Naturally.” + +“She does not yet understand. She asked me to accompany her +sometimes--to walk without object! You know, she would like me to be +with her all day.” + +“I see. I see.” He knitted his brows and tried to think how he could +help his friend. “She needs employment. Is she a Catholic?” + +“No.” + +“That is a pity. She must be persuaded. It will be a great solace to her +when she is alone.” + +“I am a Catholic, but of course I never go to church.” + +“Of course not. Still, you might take her at first. That is what my +brother has done with his wife at Bologna and he has joined the Free +Thinkers. He took her once or twice himself, and now she has acquired +the habit and continues to go without him.” + +“Most excellent advice, and I thank you for it. But she wishes to give +tea-parties--men and women together whom she has never seen.” + +“Oh, the English! they are always thinking of tea. They carry it by the +kilogramme in their trunks, and they are so clumsy that they always pack +it at the top. But it is absurd!” + +“What am I to do about it?” + +“Do nothing. Or ask me!” + +“Come!” cried Gino, springing up. “She will be quite pleased.” + +The dashing young fellow coloured crimson. “Of course I was only +joking.” + +“I know. But she wants me to take my friends. Come now! Waiter!” + +“If I do come,” cried the other, “and take tea with you, this bill must +be my affair.” + +“Certainly not; you are in my country!” + +A long argument ensued, in which the waiter took part, suggesting +various solutions. At last Gino triumphed. The bill came to +eightpence-halfpenny, and a halfpenny for the waiter brought it up +to ninepence. Then there was a shower of gratitude on one side and of +deprecation on the other, and when courtesies were at their height they +suddenly linked arms and swung down the street, tickling each other with +lemonade straws as they went. + +Lilia was delighted to see them, and became more animated than Gino had +known her for a long time. The tea tasted of chopped hay, and they asked +to be allowed to drink it out of a wine-glass, and refused milk; but, as +she repeatedly observed, this was something like. Spiridione’s manners +were very agreeable. He kissed her hand on introduction, and as his +profession had taught him a little English, conversation did not flag. + +“Do you like music?” she asked. + +“Passionately,” he replied. “I have not studied scientific music, but +the music of the heart, yes.” + +So she played on the humming piano very badly, and he sang, not so +badly. Gino got out a guitar and sang too, sitting out on the loggia. It +was a most agreeable visit. + +Gino said he would just walk his friend back to his lodgings. As they +went he said, without the least trace of malice or satire in his voice, +“I think you are quite right. I shall not bring people to the house any +more. I do not see why an English wife should be treated differently. +This is Italy.” + +“You are very wise,” exclaimed the other; “very wise indeed. The more +precious a possession the more carefully it should be guarded.” + +They had reached the lodging, but went on as far as the Caffe Garibaldi, +where they spent a long and most delightful evening. + + + +Chapter 4 + +The advance of regret can be so gradual that it is impossible to say +“yesterday I was happy, today I am not.” At no one moment did Lilia +realize that her marriage was a failure; yet during the summer and +autumn she became as unhappy as it was possible for her nature to be. +She had no unkind treatment, and few unkind words, from her husband. +He simply left her alone. In the morning he went out to do “business,” + which, as far as she could discover, meant sitting in the Farmacia. He +usually returned to lunch, after which he retired to another room and +slept. In the evening he grew vigorous again, and took the air on +the ramparts, often having his dinner out, and seldom returning till +midnight or later. There were, of course, the times when he was away +altogether--at Empoli, Siena, Florence, Bologna--for he delighted in +travel, and seemed to pick up friends all over the country. Lilia often +heard what a favorite he was. + +She began to see that she must assert herself, but she could not see +how. Her self-confidence, which had overthrown Philip, had gradually +oozed away. If she left the strange house there was the strange little +town. If she were to disobey her husband and walk in the country, that +would be stranger still--vast slopes of olives and vineyards, with +chalk-white farms, and in the distance other slopes, with more olives +and more farms, and more little towns outlined against the cloudless +sky. “I don’t call this country,” she would say. “Why, it’s not as wild +as Sawston Park!” And, indeed, there was scarcely a touch of wildness +in it--some of those slopes had been under cultivation for two thousand +years. But it was terrible and mysterious all the same, and its +continued presence made Lilia so uncomfortable that she forgot her +nature and began to reflect. + +She reflected chiefly about her marriage. The ceremony had been hasty +and expensive, and the rites, whatever they were, were not those of the +Church of England. Lilia had no religion in her; but for hours at a +time she would be seized with a vulgar fear that she was not “married +properly,” and that her social position in the next world might be as +obscure as it was in this. It might be safer to do the thing thoroughly, +and one day she took the advice of Spiridione and joined the Roman +Catholic Church, or as she called it, “Santa Deodata’s.” Gino approved; +he, too, thought it safer, and it was fun confessing, though the priest +was a stupid old man, and the whole thing was a good slap in the face +for the people at home. + +The people at home took the slap very soberly; indeed, there were few +left for her to give it to. The Herritons were out of the question; +they would not even let her write to Irma, though Irma was occasionally +allowed to write to her. Mrs. Theobald was rapidly subsiding into +dotage, and, as far as she could be definite about anything, had +definitely sided with the Herritons. And Miss Abbott did likewise. Night +after night did Lilia curse this false friend, who had agreed with her +that the marriage would “do,” and that the Herritons would come round to +it, and then, at the first hint of opposition, had fled back to England +shrieking and distraught. Miss Abbott headed the long list of those who +should never be written to, and who should never be forgiven. Almost +the only person who was not on that list was Mr. Kingcroft, who had +unexpectedly sent an affectionate and inquiring letter. He was quite +sure never to cross the Channel, and Lilia drew freely on her fancy in +the reply. + +At first she had seen a few English people, for Monteriano was not the +end of the earth. One or two inquisitive ladies, who had heard at home +of her quarrel with the Herritons, came to call. She was very sprightly, +and they thought her quite unconventional, and Gino a charming boy, so +all that was to the good. But by May the season, such as it was, had +finished, and there would be no one till next spring. As Mrs. Herriton +had often observed, Lilia had no resources. She did not like music, or +reading, or work. Her one qualification for life was rather blowsy +high spirits, which turned querulous or boisterous according to +circumstances. She was not obedient, but she was cowardly, and in the +most gentle way, which Mrs. Herriton might have envied, Gino made her do +what he wanted. At first it had been rather fun to let him get the upper +hand. But it was galling to discover that he could not do otherwise. He +had a good strong will when he chose to use it, and would not have had +the least scruple in using bolts and locks to put it into effect. There +was plenty of brutality deep down in him, and one day Lilia nearly +touched it. + +It was the old question of going out alone. + +“I always do it in England.” + +“This is Italy.” + +“Yes, but I’m older than you, and I’ll settle.” + +“I am your husband,” he said, smiling. They had finished their mid-day +meal, and he wanted to go and sleep. Nothing would rouse him up, until +at last Lilia, getting more and more angry, said, “And I’ve got the +money.” + +He looked horrified. + +Now was the moment to assert herself. She made the statement again. He +got up from his chair. + +“And you’d better mend your manners,” she continued, “for you’d find it +awkward if I stopped drawing cheques.” + +She was no reader of character, but she quickly became alarmed. As she +said to Perfetta afterwards, “None of his clothes seemed to fit--too +big in one place, too small in another.” His figure rather than his face +altered, the shoulders falling forward till his coat wrinkled across the +back and pulled away from his wrists. He seemed all arms. He edged round +the table to where she was sitting, and she sprang away and held the +chair between them, too frightened to speak or to move. He looked at her +with round, expressionless eyes, and slowly stretched out his left hand. + +Perfetta was heard coming up from the kitchen. It seemed to wake him up, +and he turned away and went to his room without a word. + +“What has happened?” cried Lilia, nearly fainting. “He is ill--ill.” + +Perfetta looked suspicious when she heard the account. “What did you say +to him?” She crossed herself. + +“Hardly anything,” said Lilia and crossed herself also. Thus did the two +women pay homage to their outraged male. + +It was clear to Lilia at last that Gino had married her for money. But +he had frightened her too much to leave any place for contempt. His +return was terrifying, for he was frightened too, imploring her pardon, +lying at her feet, embracing her, murmuring “It was not I,” striving to +define things which he did not understand. He stopped in the house +for three days, positively ill with physical collapse. But for all his +suffering he had tamed her, and she never threatened to cut off supplies +again. + +Perhaps he kept her even closer than convention demanded. But he was +very young, and he could not bear it to be said of him that he did +not know how to treat a lady--or to manage a wife. And his own social +position was uncertain. Even in England a dentist is a troublesome +creature, whom careful people find difficult to class. He hovers between +the professions and the trades; he may be only a little lower than the +doctors, or he may be down among the chemists, or even beneath them. The +son of the Italian dentist felt this too. For himself nothing mattered; +he made friends with the people he liked, for he was that glorious +invariable creature, a man. But his wife should visit nowhere rather +than visit wrongly: seclusion was both decent and safe. The social +ideals of North and South had had their brief contention, and this time +the South had won. + +It would have been well if he had been as strict over his own behaviour +as he was over hers. But the incongruity never occurred to him for +a moment. His morality was that of the average Latin, and as he was +suddenly placed in the position of a gentleman, he did not see why he +should not behave as such. Of course, had Lilia been different--had +she asserted herself and got a grip on his character--he might +possibly--though not probably--have been made a better husband as well +as a better man, and at all events he could have adopted the attitude of +the Englishman, whose standard is higher even when his practice is the +same. But had Lilia been different she might not have married him. + +The discovery of his infidelity--which she made by accident--destroyed +such remnants of self-satisfaction as her life might yet possess. She +broke down utterly and sobbed and cried in Perfetta’s arms. Perfetta was +kind and even sympathetic, but cautioned her on no account to speak to +Gino, who would be furious if he was suspected. And Lilia agreed, partly +because she was afraid of him, partly because it was, after all, the +best and most dignified thing to do. She had given up everything for +him--her daughter, her relatives, her friends, all the little comforts +and luxuries of a civilized life--and even if she had the courage to +break away, there was no one who would receive her now. The Herritons +had been almost malignant in their efforts against her, and all her +friends had one by one fallen off. So it was better to live on humbly, +trying not to feel, endeavouring by a cheerful demeanour to put things +right. “Perhaps,” she thought, “if I have a child he will be different. +I know he wants a son.” + +Lilia had achieved pathos despite herself, for there are some situations +in which vulgarity counts no longer. Not Cordelia nor Imogen more +deserves our tears. + +She herself cried frequently, making herself look plain and old, which +distressed her husband. He was particularly kind to her when he hardly +ever saw her, and she accepted his kindness without resentment, even +with gratitude, so docile had she become. She did not hate him, even as +she had never loved him; with her it was only when she was excited that +the semblance of either passion arose. People said she was headstrong, +but really her weak brain left her cold. + +Suffering, however, is more independent of temperament, and the wisest +of women could hardly have suffered more. + +As for Gino, he was quite as boyish as ever, and carried his iniquities +like a feather. A favourite speech of his was, “Ah, one ought to marry! +Spiridione is wrong; I must persuade him. Not till marriage does one +realize the pleasures and the possibilities of life.” So saying, he +would take down his felt hat, strike it in the right place as infallibly +as a German strikes his in the wrong place, and leave her. + +One evening, when he had gone out thus, Lilia could stand it no longer. +It was September. Sawston would be just filling up after the summer +holidays. People would be running in and out of each other’s houses +all along the road. There were bicycle gymkhanas, and on the 30th Mrs. +Herriton would be holding the annual bazaar in her garden for the C.M.S. +It seemed impossible that such a free, happy life could exist. She +walked out on to the loggia. Moonlight and stars in a soft purple sky. +The walls of Monteriano should be glorious on such a night as this. But +the house faced away from them. + +Perfetta was banging in the kitchen, and the stairs down led past the +kitchen door. But the stairs up to the attic--the stairs no one ever +used--opened out of the living-room, and by unlocking the door at the +top one might slip out to the square terrace above the house, and thus +for ten minutes walk in freedom and peace. + +The key was in the pocket of Gino’s best suit--the English check--which +he never wore. The stairs creaked and the key-hole screamed; but +Perfetta was growing deaf. The walls were beautiful, but as they faced +west they were in shadow. To see the light upon them she must walk round +the town a little, till they were caught by the beams of the rising +moon. She looked anxiously at the house, and started. + +It was easy walking, for a little path ran all outside the ramparts. +The few people she met wished her a civil good-night, taking her, in her +hatless condition, for a peasant. The walls trended round towards the +moon; and presently she came into its light, and saw all the rough +towers turn into pillars of silver and black, and the ramparts +into cliffs of pearl. She had no great sense of beauty, but she was +sentimental, and she began to cry; for here, where a great cypress +interrupted the monotony of the girdle of olives, she had sat with Gino +one afternoon in March, her head upon his shoulder, while Caroline was +looking at the view and sketching. Round the corner was the Siena gate, +from which the road to England started, and she could hear the rumble of +the diligence which was going down to catch the night train to Empoli. +The next moment it was upon her, for the highroad came towards her a +little before it began its long zigzag down the hill. + +The driver slackened, and called to her to get in. He did not know who +she was. He hoped she might be coming to the station. + +“Non vengo!” she cried. + +He wished her good-night, and turned his horses down the corner. As the +diligence came round she saw that it was empty. + +“Vengo...” + +Her voice was tremulous, and did not carry. The horses swung off. + +“Vengo! Vengo!” + +He had begun to sing, and heard nothing. She ran down the road screaming +to him to stop--that she was coming; while the distance grew greater +and the noise of the diligence increased. The man’s back was black and +square against the moon, and if he would but turn for an instant she +would be saved. She tried to cut off the corner of the zigzag, stumbling +over the great clods of earth, large and hard as rocks, which lay +between the eternal olives. She was too late; for, just before she +regained the road, the thing swept past her, thunderous, ploughing up +choking clouds of moonlit dust. + +She did not call any more, for she felt very ill, and fainted; and when +she revived she was lying in the road, with dust in her eyes, and dust +in her mouth, and dust down her ears. There is something very terrible +in dust at night-time. + +“What shall I do?” she moaned. “He will be so angry.” + +And without further effort she slowly climbed back to captivity, shaking +her garments as she went. + +Ill luck pursued her to the end. It was one of the nights when Gino +happened to come in. He was in the kitchen, swearing and smashing +plates, while Perfetta, her apron over her head, was weeping violently. +At the sight of Lilia he turned upon her and poured forth a flood of +miscellaneous abuse. He was far more angry but much less alarming than +he had been that day when he edged after her round the table. And Lilia +gained more courage from her bad conscience than she ever had from her +good one, for as he spoke she was seized with indignation and feared him +no longer, and saw him for a cruel, worthless, hypocritical, dissolute +upstart, and spoke in return. + +Perfetta screamed for she told him everything--all she knew and all +she thought. He stood with open mouth, all the anger gone out of +him, feeling ashamed, and an utter fool. He was fairly and rightfully +cornered. When had a husband so given himself away before? She finished; +and he was dumb, for she had spoken truly. Then, alas! the absurdity of +his own position grew upon him, and he laughed--as he would have laughed +at the same situation on the stage. + +“You laugh?” stammered Lilia. + +“Ah!” he cried, “who could help it? I, who thought you knew and saw +nothing--I am tricked--I am conquered. I give in. Let us talk of it no +more.” + +He touched her on the shoulder like a good comrade, half amused and half +penitent, and then, murmuring and smiling to himself, ran quietly out of +the room. + +Perfetta burst into congratulations. “What courage you have!” she cried; +“and what good fortune! He is angry no longer! He has forgiven you!” + +Neither Perfetta, nor Gino, nor Lilia herself knew the true reason of +all the misery that followed. To the end he thought that kindness and a +little attention would be enough to set things straight. His wife was +a very ordinary woman, and why should her ideas differ from his own? +No one realized that more than personalities were engaged; that the +struggle was national; that generations of ancestors, good, bad, or +indifferent, forbad the Latin man to be chivalrous to the northern +woman, the northern woman to forgive the Latin man. All this might have +been foreseen: Mrs. Herriton foresaw it from the first. + +Meanwhile Lilia prided herself on her high personal standard, and Gino +simply wondered why she did not come round. He hated discomfort and +yearned for sympathy, but shrank from mentioning his difficulties in the +town in case they were put down to his own incompetence. Spiridione was +told, and replied in a philosophical but not very helpful letter. His +other great friend, whom he trusted more, was still serving in Eritrea +or some other desolate outpost. And, besides, what was the good of +letters? Friends cannot travel through the post. + +Lilia, so similar to her husband in many ways, yearned for comfort and +sympathy too. The night he laughed at her she wildly took up paper and +pen and wrote page after page, analysing his character, enumerating his +iniquities, reporting whole conversations, tracing all the causes and +the growth of her misery. She was beside herself with passion, +and though she could hardly think or see, she suddenly attained to +magnificence and pathos which a practised stylist might have envied. It +was written like a diary, and not till its conclusion did she realize +for whom it was meant. + +“Irma, darling Irma, this letter is for you. I almost forgot I have a +daughter. It will make you unhappy, but I want you to know everything, +and you cannot learn things too soon. God bless you, my dearest, and +save you. God bless your miserable mother.” + +Fortunately Mrs. Herriton was in when the letter arrived. She seized +it and opened it in her bedroom. Another moment, and Irma’s placid +childhood would have been destroyed for ever. + +Lilia received a brief note from Harriet, again forbidding direct +communication between mother and daughter, and concluding with formal +condolences. It nearly drove her mad. + +“Gently! gently!” said her husband. They were sitting together on the +loggia when the letter arrived. He often sat with her now, watching her +for hours, puzzled and anxious, but not contrite. + +“It’s nothing.” She went in and tore it up, and then began to write--a +very short letter, whose gist was “Come and save me.” + +It is not good to see your wife crying when she writes--especially if +you are conscious that, on the whole, your treatment of her has been +reasonable and kind. It is not good, when you accidentally look over her +shoulder, to see that she is writing to a man. Nor should she shake her +fist at you when she leaves the room, under the impression that you are +engaged in lighting a cigar and cannot see her. + +Lilia went to the post herself. But in Italy so many things can be +arranged. The postman was a friend of Gino’s, and Mr. Kingcroft never +got his letter. + +So she gave up hope, became ill, and all through the autumn lay in bed. +Gino was distracted. She knew why; he wanted a son. He could talk and +think of nothing else. His one desire was to become the father of a man +like himself, and it held him with a grip he only partially understood, +for it was the first great desire, the first great passion of his life. +Falling in love was a mere physical triviality, like warm sun or cool +water, beside this divine hope of immortality: “I continue.” He gave +candles to Santa Deodata, for he was always religious at a crisis, and +sometimes he went to her himself and prayed the crude uncouth demands of +the simple. Impetuously he summoned all his relatives back to bear him +company in his time of need, and Lilia saw strange faces flitting past +her in the darkened room. + +“My love!” he would say, “my dearest Lilia! Be calm. I have never loved +any one but you.” + +She, knowing everything, would only smile gently, too broken by +suffering to make sarcastic repartees. + +Before the child was born he gave her a kiss, and said, “I have prayed +all night for a boy.” + +Some strangely tender impulse moved her, and she said faintly, “You are +a boy yourself, Gino.” + +He answered, “Then we shall be brothers.” + +He lay outside the room with his head against the door like a dog. When +they came to tell him the glad news they found him half unconscious, and +his face was wet with tears. + +As for Lilia, some one said to her, “It is a beautiful boy!” But she had +died in giving birth to him. + + + +Chapter 5 + +At the time of Lilia’s death Philip Herriton was just twenty-four years +of age--indeed the news reached Sawston on his birthday. He was a tall, +weakly-built young man, whose clothes had to be judiciously padded +on the shoulders in order to make him pass muster. His face was plain +rather than not, and there was a curious mixture in it of good and bad. +He had a fine forehead and a good large nose, and both observation +and sympathy were in his eyes. But below the nose and eyes all was +confusion, and those people who believe that destiny resides in the +mouth and chin shook their heads when they looked at him. + +Philip himself, as a boy, had been keenly conscious of these defects. +Sometimes when he had been bullied or hustled about at school he would +retire to his cubicle and examine his features in a looking-glass, and +he would sigh and say, “It is a weak face. I shall never carve a place +for myself in the world.” But as years went on he became either less +self-conscious or more self-satisfied. The world, he found, made a +niche for him as it did for every one. Decision of character might come +later--or he might have it without knowing. At all events he had got +a sense of beauty and a sense of humour, two most desirable gifts. The +sense of beauty developed first. It caused him at the age of twenty to +wear parti-coloured ties and a squashy hat, to be late for dinner on +account of the sunset, and to catch art from Burne-Jones to Praxiteles. +At twenty-two he went to Italy with some cousins, and there he absorbed +into one aesthetic whole olive-trees, blue sky, frescoes, country inns, +saints, peasants, mosaics, statues, beggars. He came back with the air +of a prophet who would either remodel Sawston or reject it. All the +energies and enthusiasms of a rather friendless life had passed into the +championship of beauty. + +In a short time it was over. Nothing had happened either in Sawston or +within himself. He had shocked half-a-dozen people, squabbled with his +sister, and bickered with his mother. He concluded that nothing could +happen, not knowing that human love and love of truth sometimes conquer +where love of beauty fails. + +A little disenchanted, a little tired, but aesthetically intact, he +resumed his placid life, relying more and more on his second gift, the +gift of humour. If he could not reform the world, he could at all +events laugh at it, thus attaining at least an intellectual superiority. +Laughter, he read and believed, was a sign of good moral health, and he +laughed on contentedly, till Lilia’s marriage toppled contentment down +for ever. Italy, the land of beauty, was ruined for him. She had no +power to change men and things who dwelt in her. She, too, could produce +avarice, brutality, stupidity--and, what was worse, vulgarity. It was on +her soil and through her influence that a silly woman had married a cad. +He hated Gino, the betrayer of his life’s ideal, and now that the sordid +tragedy had come, it filled him with pangs, not of sympathy, but of +final disillusion. + +The disillusion was convenient for Mrs. Herriton, who saw a trying +little period ahead of her, and was glad to have her family united. + +“Are we to go into mourning, do you think?” She always asked her +children’s advice where possible. + +Harriet thought that they should. She had been detestable to Lilia +while she lived, but she always felt that the dead deserve attention +and sympathy. “After all she has suffered. That letter kept me awake for +nights. The whole thing is like one of those horrible modern plays where +no one is in ‘the right.’ But if we have mourning, it will mean telling +Irma.” + +“Of course we must tell Irma!” said Philip. + +“Of course,” said his mother. “But I think we can still not tell her +about Lilia’s marriage.” + +“I don’t think that. And she must have suspected something by now.” + +“So one would have supposed. But she never cared for her mother, and +little girls of nine don’t reason clearly. She looks on it as a long +visit. And it is important, most important, that she should not receive +a shock. All a child’s life depends on the ideal it has of its parents. +Destroy that and everything goes--morals, behaviour, everything. +Absolute trust in some one else is the essence of education. That is why +I have been so careful about talking of poor Lilia before her.” + +“But you forget this wretched baby. Waters and Adamson write that there +is a baby.” + +“Mrs. Theobald must be told. But she doesn’t count. She is breaking +up very quickly. She doesn’t even see Mr. Kingcroft now. He, thank +goodness, I hear, has at last consoled himself with someone else.” + +“The child must know some time,” persisted Philip, who felt a little +displeased, though he could not tell with what. + +“The later the better. Every moment she is developing.” + +“I must say it seems rather hard luck, doesn’t it?” + +“On Irma? Why?” + +“On us, perhaps. We have morals and behaviour also, and I don’t think +this continual secrecy improves them.” + +“There’s no need to twist the thing round to that,” said Harriet, rather +disturbed. + +“Of course there isn’t,” said her mother. “Let’s keep to the main issue. +This baby’s quite beside the point. Mrs. Theobald will do nothing, and +it’s no concern of ours.” + +“It will make a difference in the money, surely,” said he. + +“No, dear; very little. Poor Charles provided for every kind of +contingency in his will. The money will come to you and Harriet, as +Irma’s guardians.” + +“Good. Does the Italian get anything?” + +“He will get all hers. But you know what that is.” + +“Good. So those are our tactics--to tell no one about the baby, not even +Miss Abbott.” + +“Most certainly this is the proper course,” said Mrs. Herriton, +preferring “course” to “tactics” for Harriet’s sake. “And why ever +should we tell Caroline?” + +“She was so mixed up in the affair.” + +“Poor silly creature. The less she hears about it the better she will be +pleased. I have come to be very sorry for Caroline. She, if any one, +has suffered and been penitent. She burst into tears when I told her a +little, only a little, of that terrible letter. I never saw such genuine +remorse. We must forgive her and forget. Let the dead bury their dead. +We will not trouble her with them.” + +Philip saw that his mother was scarcely logical. But there was no +advantage in saying so. “Here beginneth the New Life, then. Do you +remember, mother, that was what we said when we saw Lilia off?” + +“Yes, dear; but now it is really a New Life, because we are all at +accord. Then you were still infatuated with Italy. It may be full +of beautiful pictures and churches, but we cannot judge a country by +anything but its men.” + +“That is quite true,” he said sadly. And as the tactics were now +settled, he went out and took an aimless and solitary walk. + +By the time he came back two important things had happened. Irma had +been told of her mother’s death, and Miss Abbott, who had called for a +subscription, had been told also. + +Irma had wept loudly, had asked a few sensible questions and a good many +silly ones, and had been content with evasive answers. Fortunately the +school prize-giving was at hand, and that, together with the prospect of +new black clothes, kept her from meditating on the fact that Lilia, who +had been absent so long, would now be absent for ever. + +“As for Caroline,” said Mrs. Herriton, “I was almost frightened. She +broke down utterly. She cried even when she left the house. I comforted +her as best I could, and I kissed her. It is something that the breach +between her and ourselves is now entirely healed.” + +“Did she ask no questions--as to the nature of Lilia’s death, I mean?” + +“She did. But she has a mind of extraordinary delicacy. She saw that I +was reticent, and she did not press me. You see, Philip, I can say to +you what I could not say before Harriet. Her ideas are so crude. Really +we do not want it known in Sawston that there is a baby. All peace and +comfort would be lost if people came inquiring after it.” + +His mother knew how to manage him. He agreed enthusiastically. And a few +days later, when he chanced to travel up to London with Miss Abbott, +he had all the time the pleasant thrill of one who is better informed. +Their last journey together had been from Monteriano back across +Europe. It had been a ghastly journey, and Philip, from the force of +association, rather expected something ghastly now. + +He was surprised. Miss Abbott, between Sawston and Charing Cross, +revealed qualities which he had never guessed her to possess. Without +being exactly original, she did show a commendable intelligence, and +though at times she was gauche and even uncourtly, he felt that here was +a person whom it might be well to cultivate. + +At first she annoyed him. They were talking, of course, about Lilia, +when she broke the thread of vague commiseration and said abruptly, “It +is all so strange as well as so tragic. And what I did was as strange as +anything.” + +It was the first reference she had ever made to her contemptible +behaviour. “Never mind,” he said. “It’s all over now. Let the dead bury +their dead. It’s fallen out of our lives.” + +“But that’s why I can talk about it and tell you everything I have +always wanted to. You thought me stupid and sentimental and wicked and +mad, but you never really knew how much I was to blame.” + +“Indeed I never think about it now,” said Philip gently. He knew that +her nature was in the main generous and upright: it was unnecessary for +her to reveal her thoughts. + +“The first evening we got to Monteriano,” she persisted, “Lilia went out +for a walk alone, saw that Italian in a picturesque position on a wall, +and fell in love. He was shabbily dressed, and she did not even know +he was the son of a dentist. I must tell you I was used to this sort +of thing. Once or twice before I had had to send people about their +business.” + +“Yes; we counted on you,” said Philip, with sudden sharpness. After all, +if she would reveal her thoughts, she must take the consequences. + +“I know you did,” she retorted with equal sharpness. “Lilia saw him +several times again, and I knew I ought to interfere. I called her to +my bedroom one night. She was very frightened, for she knew what it was +about and how severe I could be. ‘Do you love this man?’ I asked. ‘Yes +or no?’ She said ‘Yes.’ And I said, ‘Why don’t you marry him if you +think you’ll be happy?’” + +“Really--really,” exploded Philip, as exasperated as if the thing had +happened yesterday. “You knew Lilia all your life. Apart from everything +else--as if she could choose what could make her happy!” + +“Had you ever let her choose?” she flashed out. “I’m afraid that’s +rude,” she added, trying to calm herself. + +“Let us rather say unhappily expressed,” said Philip, who always adopted +a dry satirical manner when he was puzzled. + +“I want to finish. Next morning I found Signor Carella and said the same +to him. He--well, he was willing. That’s all.” + +“And the telegram?” He looked scornfully out of the window. + +Hitherto her voice had been hard, possibly in self-accusation, possibly +in defiance. Now it became unmistakably sad. “Ah, the telegram! That was +wrong. Lilia there was more cowardly than I was. We should have told the +truth. It lost me my nerve, at all events. I came to the station meaning +to tell you everything then. But we had started with a lie, and I got +frightened. And at the end, when you left, I got frightened again and +came with you.” + +“Did you really mean to stop?” + +“For a time, at all events.” + +“Would that have suited a newly married pair?” + +“It would have suited them. Lilia needed me. And as for him--I can’t +help feeling I might have got influence over him.” + +“I am ignorant of these matters,” said Philip; “but I should have +thought that would have increased the difficulty of the situation.” + +The crisp remark was wasted on her. She looked hopelessly at the raw +over-built country, and said, “Well, I have explained.” + +“But pardon me, Miss Abbott; of most of your conduct you have given a +description rather than an explanation.” + +He had fairly caught her, and expected that she would gape and collapse. +To his surprise she answered with some spirit, “An explanation may bore +you, Mr. Herriton: it drags in other topics.” + +“Oh, never mind.” + +“I hated Sawston, you see.” + +He was delighted. “So did and do I. That’s splendid. Go on.” + +“I hated the idleness, the stupidity, the respectability, the petty +unselfishness.” + +“Petty selfishness,” he corrected. Sawston psychology had long been his +specialty. + +“Petty unselfishness,” she repeated. “I had got an idea that every one +here spent their lives in making little sacrifices for objects they +didn’t care for, to please people they didn’t love; that they never +learnt to be sincere--and, what’s as bad, never learnt how to enjoy +themselves. That’s what I thought--what I thought at Monteriano.” + +“Why, Miss Abbott,” he cried, “you should have told me this before! +Think it still! I agree with lots of it. Magnificent!” + +“Now Lilia,” she went on, “though there were things about her I didn’t +like, had somehow kept the power of enjoying herself with sincerity. And +Gino, I thought, was splendid, and young, and strong not only in body, +and sincere as the day. If they wanted to marry, why shouldn’t they do +so? Why shouldn’t she break with the deadening life where she had got +into a groove, and would go on in it, getting more and more--worse +than unhappy--apathetic till she died? Of course I was wrong. She only +changed one groove for another--a worse groove. And as for him--well, +you know more about him than I do. I can never trust myself to judge +characters again. But I still feel he cannot have been quite bad when +we first met him. Lilia--that I should dare to say it!--must have been +cowardly. He was only a boy--just going to turn into something fine, +I thought--and she must have mismanaged him. So that is the one time I +have gone against what is proper, and there are the results. You have an +explanation now.” + +“And much of it has been most interesting, though I don’t understand +everything. Did you never think of the disparity of their social +position?” + +“We were mad--drunk with rebellion. We had no common-sense. As soon as +you came, you saw and foresaw everything.” + +“Oh, I don’t think that.” He was vaguely displeased at being credited +with common-sense. For a moment Miss Abbott had seemed to him more +unconventional than himself. + +“I hope you see,” she concluded, “why I have troubled you with this long +story. Women--I heard you say the other day--are never at ease till they +tell their faults out loud. Lilia is dead and her husband gone to +the bad--all through me. You see, Mr. Herriton, it makes me specially +unhappy; it’s the only time I’ve ever gone into what my father calls +‘real life’--and look what I’ve made of it! All that winter I seemed to +be waking up to beauty and splendour and I don’t know what; and when the +spring came, I wanted to fight against the things I hated--mediocrity +and dulness and spitefulness and society. I actually hated society for +a day or two at Monteriano. I didn’t see that all these things are +invincible, and that if we go against them they will break us to pieces. +Thank you for listening to so much nonsense.” + +“Oh, I quite sympathize with what you say,” said Philip encouragingly; +“it isn’t nonsense, and a year or two ago I should have been saying it +too. But I feel differently now, and I hope that you also will change. +Society is invincible--to a certain degree. But your real life is your +own, and nothing can touch it. There is no power on earth that can +prevent your criticizing and despising mediocrity--nothing that can stop +you retreating into splendour and beauty--into the thoughts and beliefs +that make the real life--the real you.” + +“I have never had that experience yet. Surely I and my life must be +where I live.” + +Evidently she had the usual feminine incapacity for grasping philosophy. +But she had developed quite a personality, and he must see more of her. +“There is another great consolation against invincible mediocrity,” he +said--“the meeting a fellow-victim. I hope that this is only the first +of many discussions that we shall have together.” + +She made a suitable reply. The train reached Charing Cross, and they +parted,--he to go to a matinee, she to buy petticoats for the corpulent +poor. Her thoughts wandered as she bought them: the gulf between herself +and Mr. Herriton, which she had always known to be great, now seemed to +her immeasurable. + +These events and conversations took place at Christmas-time. The +New Life initiated by them lasted some seven months. Then a little +incident--a mere little vexatious incident--brought it to its close. + +Irma collected picture post-cards, and Mrs. Herriton or Harriet always +glanced first at all that came, lest the child should get hold of +something vulgar. On this occasion the subject seemed perfectly +inoffensive--a lot of ruined factory chimneys--and Harriet was about to +hand it to her niece when her eye was caught by the words on the margin. +She gave a shriek and flung the card into the grate. Of course no fire +was alight in July, and Irma only had to run and pick it out again. + +“How dare you!” screamed her aunt. “You wicked girl! Give it here!” + +Unfortunately Mrs. Herriton was out of the room. Irma, who was not in +awe of Harriet, danced round the table, reading as she did so, “View of +the superb city of Monteriano--from your lital brother.” + +Stupid Harriet caught her, boxed her ears, and tore the post-card into +fragments. Irma howled with pain, and began shouting indignantly, “Who +is my little brother? Why have I never heard of him before? Grandmamma! +Grandmamma! Who is my little brother? Who is my--” + +Mrs. Herriton swept into the room, saying, “Come with me, dear, and I +will tell you. Now it is time for you to know.” + +Irma returned from the interview sobbing, though, as a matter of +fact, she had learnt very little. But that little took hold of her +imagination. She had promised secrecy--she knew not why. But what harm +in talking of the little brother to those who had heard of him already? + +“Aunt Harriet!” she would say. “Uncle Phil! Grandmamma! What do you +suppose my little brother is doing now? Has he begun to play? Do Italian +babies talk sooner than us, or would he be an English baby born +abroad? Oh, I do long to see him, and be the first to teach him the Ten +Commandments and the Catechism.” + +The last remark always made Harriet look grave. + +“Really,” exclaimed Mrs. Herriton, “Irma is getting too tiresome. She +forgot poor Lilia soon enough.” + +“A living brother is more to her than a dead mother,” said Philip +dreamily. “She can knit him socks.” + +“I stopped that. She is bringing him in everywhere. It is most +vexatious. The other night she asked if she might include him in the +people she mentions specially in her prayers.” + +“What did you say?” + +“Of course I allowed her,” she replied coldly. “She has a right to +mention any one she chooses. But I was annoyed with her this morning, +and I fear that I showed it.” + +“And what happened this morning?” + +“She asked if she could pray for her ‘new father’--for the Italian!” + +“Did you let her?” + +“I got up without saying anything.” + +“You must have felt just as you did when I wanted to pray for the +devil.” + +“He is the devil,” cried Harriet. + +“No, Harriet; he is too vulgar.” + +“I will thank you not to scoff against religion!” was Harriet’s retort. +“Think of that poor baby. Irma is right to pray for him. What an +entrance into life for an English child!” + +“My dear sister, I can reassure you. Firstly, the beastly baby is +Italian. Secondly, it was promptly christened at Santa Deodata’s, and a +powerful combination of saints watch over--” + +“Don’t, dear. And, Harriet, don’t be so serious--I mean not so serious +when you are with Irma. She will be worse than ever if she thinks we +have something to hide.” + +Harriet’s conscience could be quite as tiresome as Philip’s +unconventionality. Mrs. Herriton soon made it easy for her daughter to +go for six weeks to the Tirol. Then she and Philip began to grapple with +Irma alone. + +Just as they had got things a little quiet the beastly baby sent another +picture post-card--a comic one, not particularly proper. Irma received +it while they were out, and all the trouble began again. + +“I cannot think,” said Mrs. Herriton, “what his motive is in sending +them.” + +Two years before, Philip would have said that the motive was to give +pleasure. Now he, like his mother, tried to think of something sinister +and subtle. + +“Do you suppose that he guesses the situation--how anxious we are to +hush the scandal up?” + +“That is quite possible. He knows that Irma will worry us about the +baby. Perhaps he hopes that we shall adopt it to quiet her.” + +“Hopeful indeed.” + +“At the same time he has the chance of corrupting the child’s morals.” + She unlocked a drawer, took out the post-card, and regarded it gravely. +“He entreats her to send the baby one,” was her next remark. + +“She might do it too!” + +“I told her not to; but we must watch her carefully, without, of course, +appearing to be suspicious.” + +Philip was getting to enjoy his mother’s diplomacy. He did not think of +his own morals and behaviour any more. + +“Who’s to watch her at school, though? She may bubble out any moment.” + +“We can but trust to our influence,” said Mrs. Herriton. + +Irma did bubble out, that very day. She was proof against a single +post-card, not against two. A new little brother is a valuable +sentimental asset to a school-girl, and her school was then passing +through an acute phase of baby-worship. Happy the girl who had her +quiver full of them, who kissed them when she left home in the morning, +who had the right to extricate them from mail-carts in the interval, who +dangled them at tea ere they retired to rest! That one might sing +the unwritten song of Miriam, blessed above all school-girls, who was +allowed to hide her baby brother in a squashy place, where none but +herself could find him! + +How could Irma keep silent when pretentious girls spoke of baby cousins +and baby visitors--she who had a baby brother, who wrote her post-cards +through his dear papa? She had promised not to tell about him--she knew +not why--and she told. And one girl told another, and one girl told her +mother, and the thing was out. + +“Yes, it is all very sad,” Mrs. Herriton kept saying. “My +daughter-in-law made a very unhappy marriage, as I dare say you know. +I suppose that the child will be educated in Italy. Possibly his +grandmother may be doing something, but I have not heard of it. I do not +expect that she will have him over. She disapproves of the father. It is +altogether a painful business for her.” + +She was careful only to scold Irma for disobedience--that eighth deadly +sin, so convenient to parents and guardians. Harriet would have plunged +into needless explanations and abuse. The child was ashamed, and talked +about the baby less. The end of the school year was at hand, and she +hoped to get another prize. But she also had put her hand to the wheel. + +It was several days before they saw Miss Abbott. Mrs. Herriton had not +come across her much since the kiss of reconciliation, nor Philip since +the journey to London. She had, indeed, been rather a disappointment to +him. Her creditable display of originality had never been repeated: +he feared she was slipping back. Now she came about the Cottage +Hospital--her life was devoted to dull acts of charity--and though she +got money out of him and out of his mother, she still sat tight in her +chair, looking graver and more wooden than ever. + +“I dare say you have heard,” said Mrs. Herriton, well knowing what the +matter was. + +“Yes, I have. I came to ask you; have any steps been taken?” + +Philip was astonished. The question was impertinent in the extreme. He +had a regard for Miss Abbott, and regretted that she had been guilty of +it. + +“About the baby?” asked Mrs. Herriton pleasantly. + +“Yes.” + +“As far as I know, no steps. Mrs. Theobald may have decided on +something, but I have not heard of it.” + +“I was meaning, had you decided on anything?” + +“The child is no relation of ours,” said Philip. “It is therefore +scarcely for us to interfere.” + +His mother glanced at him nervously. “Poor Lilia was almost a daughter +to me once. I know what Miss Abbott means. But now things have altered. +Any initiative would naturally come from Mrs. Theobald.” + +“But does not Mrs. Theobald always take any initiative from you?” asked +Miss Abbott. + +Mrs. Herriton could not help colouring. “I sometimes have given her +advice in the past. I should not presume to do so now.” + +“Then is nothing to be done for the child at all?” + +“It is extraordinarily good of you to take this unexpected interest,” + said Philip. + +“The child came into the world through my negligence,” replied Miss +Abbott. “It is natural I should take an interest in it.” + +“My dear Caroline,” said Mrs. Herriton, “you must not brood over the +thing. Let bygones be bygones. The child should worry you even less than +it worries us. We never even mention it. It belongs to another world.” + +Miss Abbott got up without replying and turned to go. Her extreme +gravity made Mrs. Herriton uneasy. “Of course,” she added, “if Mrs. +Theobald decides on any plan that seems at all practicable--I must say +I don’t see any such--I shall ask if I may join her in it, for Irma’s +sake, and share in any possible expenses.” + +“Please would you let me know if she decides on anything. I should like +to join as well.” + +“My dear, how you throw about your money! We would never allow it.” + +“And if she decides on nothing, please also let me know. Let me know in +any case.” + +Mrs. Herriton made a point of kissing her. + +“Is the young person mad?” burst out Philip as soon as she had departed. +“Never in my life have I seen such colossal impertinence. She ought to +be well smacked, and sent back to Sunday-school.” + +His mother said nothing. + +“But don’t you see--she is practically threatening us? You can’t put +her off with Mrs. Theobald; she knows as well as we do that she is a +nonentity. If we don’t do anything she’s going to raise a scandal--that +we neglect our relatives, &c., which is, of course, a lie. Still she’ll +say it. Oh, dear, sweet, sober Caroline Abbott has a screw loose! We +knew it at Monteriano. I had my suspicions last year one day in the +train; and here it is again. The young person is mad.” + +She still said nothing. + +“Shall I go round at once and give it her well? I’d really enjoy it.” + +In a low, serious voice--such a voice as she had not used to him for +months--Mrs. Herriton said, “Caroline has been extremely impertinent. +Yet there may be something in what she says after all. Ought the child +to grow up in that place--and with that father?” + +Philip started and shuddered. He saw that his mother was not sincere. +Her insincerity to others had amused him, but it was disheartening when +used against himself. + +“Let us admit frankly,” she continued, “that after all we may have +responsibilities.” + +“I don’t understand you, Mother. You are turning absolutely round. What +are you up to?” + +In one moment an impenetrable barrier had been erected between them. +They were no longer in smiling confidence. Mrs. Herriton was off on +tactics of her own--tactics which might be beyond or beneath him. + +His remark offended her. “Up to? I am wondering whether I ought not to +adopt the child. Is that sufficiently plain?” + +“And this is the result of half-a-dozen idiocies of Miss Abbott?” + +“It is. I repeat, she has been extremely impertinent. None the less +she is showing me my duty. If I can rescue poor Lilia’s baby from that +horrible man, who will bring it up either as Papist or infidel--who will +certainly bring it up to be vicious--I shall do it.” + +“You talk like Harriet.” + +“And why not?” said she, flushing at what she knew to be an insult. +“Say, if you choose, that I talk like Irma. That child has seen the +thing more clearly than any of us. She longs for her little brother. She +shall have him. I don’t care if I am impulsive.” + +He was sure that she was not impulsive, but did not dare to say so. Her +ability frightened him. All his life he had been her puppet. She let him +worship Italy, and reform Sawston--just as she had let Harriet be Low +Church. She had let him talk as much as he liked. But when she wanted a +thing she always got it. + +And though she was frightening him, she did not inspire him with +reverence. Her life, he saw, was without meaning. To what purpose was +her diplomacy, her insincerity, her continued repression of vigour? Did +they make any one better or happier? Did they even bring happiness to +herself? Harriet with her gloomy peevish creed, Lilia with her clutches +after pleasure, were after all more divine than this well-ordered, +active, useless machine. + +Now that his mother had wounded his vanity he could criticize her thus. +But he could not rebel. To the end of his days he could probably go on +doing what she wanted. He watched with a cold interest the duel between +her and Miss Abbott. Mrs. Herriton’s policy only appeared gradually. It +was to prevent Miss Abbott interfering with the child at all costs, and +if possible to prevent her at a small cost. Pride was the only solid +element in her disposition. She could not bear to seem less charitable +than others. + +“I am planning what can be done,” she would tell people, “and that kind +Caroline Abbott is helping me. It is no business of either of us, but +we are getting to feel that the baby must not be left entirely to that +horrible man. It would be unfair to little Irma; after all, he is her +half-brother. No, we have come to nothing definite.” + +Miss Abbott was equally civil, but not to be appeased by good +intentions. The child’s welfare was a sacred duty to her, not a matter +of pride or even of sentiment. By it alone, she felt, could she undo a +little of the evil that she had permitted to come into the world. To her +imagination Monteriano had become a magic city of vice, beneath +whose towers no person could grow up happy or pure. Sawston, with its +semi-detached houses and snobby schools, its book teas and bazaars, was +certainly petty and dull; at times she found it even contemptible. But +it was not a place of sin, and at Sawston, either with the Herritons or +with herself, the baby should grow up. + +As soon as it was inevitable, Mrs. Herriton wrote a letter for Waters +and Adamson to send to Gino--the oddest letter; Philip saw a copy of +it afterwards. Its ostensible purpose was to complain of the picture +postcards. Right at the end, in a few nonchalant sentences, she offered +to adopt the child, provided that Gino would undertake never to come +near it, and would surrender some of Lilia’s money for its education. + +“What do you think of it?” she asked her son. “It would not do to let +him know that we are anxious for it.” + +“Certainly he will never suppose that.” + +“But what effect will the letter have on him?” + +“When he gets it he will do a sum. If it is less expensive in the long +run to part with a little money and to be clear of the baby, he will +part with it. If he would lose, he will adopt the tone of the loving +father.” + +“Dear, you’re shockingly cynical.” After a pause she added, “How would +the sum work out?” + +“I don’t know, I’m sure. But if you wanted to ensure the baby being +posted by return, you should have sent a little sum to HIM. Oh, I’m not +cynical--at least I only go by what I know of him. But I am weary of +the whole show. Weary of Italy. Weary, weary, weary. Sawston’s a kind, +pitiful place, isn’t it? I will go walk in it and seek comfort.” + +He smiled as he spoke, for the sake of not appearing serious. When he +had left her she began to smile also. + +It was to the Abbotts’ that he walked. Mr. Abbott offered him tea, and +Caroline, who was keeping up her Italian in the next room, came in to +pour it out. He told them that his mother had written to Signor Carella, +and they both uttered fervent wishes for her success. + +“Very fine of Mrs. Herriton, very fine indeed,” said Mr. Abbott, +who, like every one else, knew nothing of his daughter’s exasperating +behaviour. “I’m afraid it will mean a lot of expense. She will get +nothing out of Italy without paying.” + +“There are sure to be incidental expenses,” said Philip cautiously. +Then he turned to Miss Abbott and said, “Do you suppose we shall have +difficulty with the man?” + +“It depends,” she replied, with equal caution. + +“From what you saw of him, should you conclude that he would make an +affectionate parent?” + +“I don’t go by what I saw of him, but by what I know of him.” + +“Well, what do you conclude from that?” + +“That he is a thoroughly wicked man.” + +“Yet thoroughly wicked men have loved their children. Look at Rodrigo +Borgia, for example.” + +“I have also seen examples of that in my district.” + +With this remark the admirable young woman rose, and returned to keep +up her Italian. She puzzled Philip extremely. He could understand +enthusiasm, but she did not seem the least enthusiastic. He could +understand pure cussedness, but it did not seem to be that either. +Apparently she was deriving neither amusement nor profit from the +struggle. Why, then, had she undertaken it? Perhaps she was not sincere. +Perhaps, on the whole, that was most likely. She must be professing one +thing and aiming at another. What the other thing could be he did not +stop to consider. Insincerity was becoming his stock explanation for +anything unfamiliar, whether that thing was a kindly action or a high +ideal. + +“She fences well,” he said to his mother afterwards. + +“What had you to fence about?” she said suavely. Her son might know her +tactics, but she refused to admit that he knew. She still pretended to +him that the baby was the one thing she wanted, and had always wanted, +and that Miss Abbott was her valued ally. + +And when, next week, the reply came from Italy, she showed him no face +of triumph. “Read the letters,” she said. “We have failed.” + +Gino wrote in his own language, but the solicitors had sent a laborious +English translation, where “Preghiatissima Signora” was rendered +as “Most Praiseworthy Madam,” and every delicate compliment and +superlative--superlatives are delicate in Italian--would have felled an +ox. For a moment Philip forgot the matter in the manner; this grotesque +memorial of the land he had loved moved him almost to tears. He knew +the originals of these lumbering phrases; he also had sent “sincere +auguries”; he also had addressed letters--who writes at home?--from the +Caffe Garibaldi. “I didn’t know I was still such an ass,” he thought. +“Why can’t I realize that it’s merely tricks of expression? A bounder’s +a bounder, whether he lives in Sawston or Monteriano.” + +“Isn’t it disheartening?” said his mother. + +He then read that Gino could not accept the generous offer. His paternal +heart would not permit him to abandon this symbol of his deplored +spouse. As for the picture post-cards, it displeased him greatly that +they had been obnoxious. He would send no more. Would Mrs. Herriton, +with her notorious kindness, explain this to Irma, and thank her for +those which Irma (courteous Miss!) had sent to him? + +“The sum works out against us,” said Philip. “Or perhaps he is putting +up the price.” + +“No,” said Mrs. Herriton decidedly. “It is not that. For some perverse +reason he will not part with the child. I must go and tell poor +Caroline. She will be equally distressed.” + +She returned from the visit in the most extraordinary condition. Her +face was red, she panted for breath, there were dark circles round her +eyes. + +“The impudence!” she shouted. “The cursed impudence! Oh, I’m swearing. +I don’t care. That beastly woman--how dare she interfere--I’ll--Philip, +dear, I’m sorry. It’s no good. You must go.” + +“Go where? Do sit down. What’s happened?” This outburst of violence from +his elegant ladylike mother pained him dreadfully. He had not known that +it was in her. + +“She won’t accept--won’t accept the letter as final. You must go to +Monteriano!” + +“I won’t!” he shouted back. “I’ve been and I’ve failed. I’ll never see +the place again. I hate Italy.” + +“If you don’t go, she will.” + +“Abbott?” + +“Yes. Going alone; would start this evening. I offered to write; she +said it was ‘too late!’ Too late! The child, if you please--Irma’s +brother--to live with her, to be brought up by her and her father at our +very gates, to go to school like a gentleman, she paying. Oh, you’re a +man! It doesn’t matter for you. You can laugh. But I know what people +say; and that woman goes to Italy this evening.” + +He seemed to be inspired. “Then let her go! Let her mess with Italy by +herself. She’ll come to grief somehow. Italy’s too dangerous, too--” + +“Stop that nonsense, Philip. I will not be disgraced by her. I WILL have +the child. Pay all we’ve got for it. I will have it.” + +“Let her go to Italy!” he cried. “Let her meddle with what she doesn’t +understand! Look at this letter! The man who wrote it will marry her, +or murder her, or do for her somehow. He’s a bounder, but he’s not an +English bounder. He’s mysterious and terrible. He’s got a country behind +him that’s upset people from the beginning of the world.” + +“Harriet!” exclaimed his mother. “Harriet shall go too. Harriet, now, +will be invaluable!” And before Philip had stopped talking nonsense, she +had planned the whole thing and was looking out the trains. + + + +Chapter 6 + +Italy, Philip had always maintained, is only her true self in the height +of the summer, when the tourists have left her, and her soul awakes +under the beams of a vertical sun. He now had every opportunity of +seeing her at her best, for it was nearly the middle of August before he +went out to meet Harriet in the Tirol. + +He found his sister in a dense cloud five thousand feet above the sea, +chilled to the bone, overfed, bored, and not at all unwilling to be +fetched away. + +“It upsets one’s plans terribly,” she remarked, as she squeezed out her +sponges, “but obviously it is my duty.” + +“Did mother explain it all to you?” asked Philip. + +“Yes, indeed! Mother has written me a really beautiful letter. She +describes how it was that she gradually got to feel that we must rescue +the poor baby from its terrible surroundings, how she has tried by +letter, and it is no good--nothing but insincere compliments and +hypocrisy came back. Then she says, ‘There is nothing like personal +influence; you and Philip will succeed where I have failed.’ She says, +too, that Caroline Abbott has been wonderful.” + +Philip assented. + +“Caroline feels it as keenly almost as us. That is because she knows the +man. Oh, he must be loathsome! Goodness me! I’ve forgotten to pack the +ammonia!... It has been a terrible lesson for Caroline, but I fancy it +is her turning-point. I can’t help liking to think that out of all this +evil good will come.” + +Philip saw no prospect of good, nor of beauty either. But the expedition +promised to be highly comic. He was not averse to it any longer; he +was simply indifferent to all in it except the humours. These would be +wonderful. Harriet, worked by her mother; Mrs. Herriton, worked by Miss +Abbott; Gino, worked by a cheque--what better entertainment could he +desire? There was nothing to distract him this time; his sentimentality +had died, so had his anxiety for the family honour. He might be a +puppet’s puppet, but he knew exactly the disposition of the strings. + +They travelled for thirteen hours down-hill, whilst the streams +broadened and the mountains shrank, and the vegetation changed, and the +people ceased being ugly and drinking beer, and began instead to drink +wine and to be beautiful. And the train which had picked them at sunrise +out of a waste of glaciers and hotels was waltzing at sunset round the +walls of Verona. + +“Absurd nonsense they talk about the heat,” said Philip, as they drove +from the station. “Supposing we were here for pleasure, what could be +more pleasurable than this?” + +“Did you hear, though, they are remarking on the cold?” said Harriet +nervously. “I should never have thought it cold.” + +And on the second day the heat struck them, like a hand laid over the +mouth, just as they were walking to see the tomb of Juliet. From +that moment everything went wrong. They fled from Verona. Harriet’s +sketch-book was stolen, and the bottle of ammonia in her trunk burst +over her prayer-book, so that purple patches appeared on all her +clothes. Then, as she was going through Mantua at four in the morning, +Philip made her look out of the window because it was Virgil’s +birthplace, and a smut flew in her eye, and Harriet with a smut in her +eye was notorious. At Bologna they stopped twenty-four hours to rest. It +was a FESTA, and children blew bladder whistles night and day. “What a +religion!” said Harriet. The hotel smelt, two puppies were asleep on +her bed, and her bedroom window looked into a belfry, which saluted her +slumbering form every quarter of an hour. Philip left his walking-stick, +his socks, and the Baedeker at Bologna; she only left her sponge-bag. +Next day they crossed the Apennines with a train-sick child and a +hot lady, who told them that never, never before had she sweated so +profusely. “Foreigners are a filthy nation,” said Harriet. “I don’t care +if there are tunnels; open the windows.” He obeyed, and she got another +smut in her eye. Nor did Florence improve matters. Eating, walking, even +a cross word would bathe them both in boiling water. Philip, who was +slighter of build, and less conscientious, suffered less. But Harriet +had never been to Florence, and between the hours of eight and eleven +she crawled like a wounded creature through the streets, and swooned +before various masterpieces of art. It was an irritable couple who took +tickets to Monteriano. + +“Singles or returns?” said he. + +“A single for me,” said Harriet peevishly; “I shall never get back +alive.” + +“Sweet creature!” said her brother, suddenly breaking down. “How helpful +you will be when we come to Signor Carella!” + +“Do you suppose,” said Harriet, standing still among a whirl of +porters--“do you suppose I am going to enter that man’s house?” + +“Then what have you come for, pray? For ornament?” + +“To see that you do your duty.” + +“Oh, thanks!” + +“So mother told me. For goodness sake get the tickets; here comes that +hot woman again! She has the impudence to bow.” + +“Mother told you, did she?” said Philip wrathfully, as he went to +struggle for tickets at a slit so narrow that they were handed to him +edgeways. Italy was beastly, and Florence station is the centre of +beastly Italy. But he had a strange feeling that he was to blame for it +all; that a little influx into him of virtue would make the whole land +not beastly but amusing. For there was enchantment, he was sure of that; +solid enchantment, which lay behind the porters and the screaming and +the dust. He could see it in the terrific blue sky beneath which they +travelled, in the whitened plain which gripped life tighter than a +frost, in the exhausted reaches of the Arno, in the ruins of brown +castles which stood quivering upon the hills. He could see it, though +his head ached and his skin was twitching, though he was here as a +puppet, and though his sister knew how he was here. There was nothing +pleasant in that journey to Monteriano station. But nothing--not even +the discomfort--was commonplace. + +“But do people live inside?” asked Harriet. They had exchanged +railway-carriage for the legno, and the legno had emerged from the +withered trees, and had revealed to them their destination. Philip, to +be annoying, answered “No.” + +“What do they do there?” continued Harriet, with a frown. + +“There is a caffe. A prison. A theatre. A church. Walls. A view.” + +“Not for me, thank you,” said Harriet, after a weighty pause. + +“Nobody asked you, Miss, you see. Now Lilia was asked by such a nice +young gentleman, with curls all over his forehead, and teeth just as +white as father makes them.” Then his manner changed. “But, Harriet, do +you see nothing wonderful or attractive in that place--nothing at all?” + +“Nothing at all. It’s frightful.” + +“I know it is. But it’s old--awfully old.” + +“Beauty is the only test,” said Harriet. “At least so you told me when +I sketched old buildings--for the sake, I suppose, of making yourself +unpleasant.” + +“Oh, I’m perfectly right. But at the same time--I don’t know--so +many things have happened here--people have lived so hard and so +splendidly--I can’t explain.” + +“I shouldn’t think you could. It doesn’t seem the best moment to begin +your Italy mania. I thought you were cured of it by now. Instead, will +you kindly tell me what you are going to do when you arrive. I do beg +you will not be taken unawares this time.” + +“First, Harriet, I shall settle you at the Stella d’Italia, in the +comfort that befits your sex and disposition. Then I shall make myself +some tea. After tea I shall take a book into Santa Deodata’s, and read +there. It is always fresh and cool.” + +The martyred Harriet exclaimed, “I’m not clever, Philip. I don’t go in +for it, as you know. But I know what’s rude. And I know what’s wrong.” + +“Meaning--?” + +“You!” she shouted, bouncing on the cushions of the legno and startling +all the fleas. “What’s the good of cleverness if a man’s murdered a +woman?” + +“Harriet, I am hot. To whom do you refer?” + +“He. Her. If you don’t look out he’ll murder you. I wish he would.” + +“Tut tut, tutlet! You’d find a corpse extraordinarily inconvenient.” + Then he tried to be less aggravating. “I heartily dislike the fellow, +but we know he didn’t murder her. In that letter, though she said a lot, +she never said he was physically cruel.” + +“He has murdered her. The things he did--things one can’t even +mention--” + +“Things which one must mention if one’s to talk at all. And things which +one must keep in their proper place. Because he was unfaithful to his +wife, it doesn’t follow that in every way he’s absolutely vile.” He +looked at the city. It seemed to approve his remark. + +“It’s the supreme test. The man who is unchivalrous to a woman--” + +“Oh, stow it! Take it to the Back Kitchen. It’s no more a supreme test +than anything else. The Italians never were chivalrous from the first. +If you condemn him for that, you’ll condemn the whole lot.” + +“I condemn the whole lot.” + +“And the French as well?” + +“And the French as well.” + +“Things aren’t so jolly easy,” said Philip, more to himself than to her. + +But for Harriet things were easy, though not jolly, and she turned upon +her brother yet again. “What about the baby, pray? You’ve said a lot of +smart things and whittled away morality and religion and I don’t know +what; but what about the baby? You think me a fool, but I’ve been +noticing you all today, and you haven’t mentioned the baby once. You +haven’t thought about it, even. You don’t care. Philip! I shall not +speak to you. You are intolerable.” + +She kept her promise, and never opened her lips all the rest of the way. +But her eyes glowed with anger and resolution. For she was a straight, +brave woman, as well as a peevish one. + +Philip acknowledged her reproof to be true. He did not care about the +baby one straw. Nevertheless, he meant to do his duty, and he was fairly +confident of success. If Gino would have sold his wife for a thousand +lire, for how much less would he not sell his child? It was just a +commercial transaction. Why should it interfere with other things? His +eyes were fixed on the towers again, just as they had been fixed when he +drove with Miss Abbott. But this time his thoughts were pleasanter, for +he had no such grave business on his mind. It was in the spirit of the +cultivated tourist that he approached his destination. + +One of the towers, rough as any other, was topped by a cross--the tower +of the Collegiate Church of Santa Deodata. She was a holy maiden of the +Dark Ages, the city’s patron saint, and sweetness and barbarity mingle +strangely in her story. So holy was she that all her life she lay upon +her back in the house of her mother, refusing to eat, refusing to play, +refusing to work. The devil, envious of such sanctity, tempted her in +various ways. He dangled grapes above her, he showed her fascinating +toys, he pushed soft pillows beneath her aching head. When all proved +vain he tripped up the mother and flung her downstairs before her very +eyes. But so holy was the saint that she never picked her mother up, but +lay upon her back through all, and thus assured her throne in Paradise. +She was only fifteen when she died, which shows how much is within the +reach of any school-girl. Those who think her life was unpractical need +only think of the victories upon Poggibonsi, San Gemignano, Volterra, +Siena itself--all gained through the invocation of her name; they need +only look at the church which rose over her grave. The grand schemes for +a marble facade were never carried out, and it is brown unfinished stone +until this day. But for the inside Giotto was summoned to decorate the +walls of the nave. Giotto came--that is to say, he did not come, German +research having decisively proved--but at all events the nave is covered +with frescoes, and so are two chapels in the left transept, and the +arch into the choir, and there are scraps in the choir itself. There the +decoration stopped, till in the full spring of the Renaissance a +great painter came to pay a few weeks’ visit to his friend the Lord of +Monteriano. In the intervals between the banquets and the discussions on +Latin etymology and the dancing, he would stroll over to the church, and +there in the fifth chapel to the right he has painted two frescoes of +the death and burial of Santa Deodata. That is why Baedeker gives the +place a star. + +Santa Deodata was better company than Harriet, and she kept Philip in a +pleasant dream until the legno drew up at the hotel. Every one there was +asleep, for it was still the hour when only idiots were moving. There +were not even any beggars about. The cabman put their bags down in the +passage--they had left heavy luggage at the station--and strolled about +till he came on the landlady’s room and woke her, and sent her to them. + +Then Harriet pronounced the monosyllable “Go!” + +“Go where?” asked Philip, bowing to the landlady, who was swimming down +the stairs. + +“To the Italian. Go.” + +“Buona sera, signora padrona. Si ritorna volontieri a Monteriano!” + (Don’t be a goose. I’m not going now. You’re in the way, too.) “Vorrei +due camere--” + +“Go. This instant. Now. I’ll stand it no longer. Go!” + +“I’m damned if I’ll go. I want my tea.” + +“Swear if you like!” she cried. “Blaspheme! Abuse me! But understand, +I’m in earnest.” + +“Harriet, don’t act. Or act better.” + +“We’ve come here to get the baby back, and for nothing else. I’ll not +have this levity and slackness, and talk about pictures and churches. +Think of mother; did she send you out for THEM?” + +“Think of mother and don’t straddle across the stairs. Let the cabman +and the landlady come down, and let me go up and choose rooms.” + +“I shan’t.” + +“Harriet, are you mad?” + +“If you like. But you will not come up till you have seen the Italian.” + +“La signorina si sente male,” said Philip, “C’ e il sole.” + +“Poveretta!” cried the landlady and the cabman. + +“Leave me alone!” said Harriet, snarling round at them. “I don’t care +for the lot of you. I’m English, and neither you’ll come down nor he up +till he goes for the baby.” + +“La prego-piano-piano-c e un’ altra signorina che dorme--” + +“We shall probably be arrested for brawling, Harriet. Have you the very +slightest sense of the ludicrous?” + +Harriet had not; that was why she could be so powerful. She had +concocted this scene in the carriage, and nothing should baulk her +of it. To the abuse in front and the coaxing behind she was equally +indifferent. How long she would have stood like a glorified Horatius, +keeping the staircase at both ends, was never to be known. For the young +lady, whose sleep they were disturbing, awoke and opened her bedroom +door, and came out on to the landing. She was Miss Abbott. + +Philip’s first coherent feeling was one of indignation. To be run by +his mother and hectored by his sister was as much as he could stand. The +intervention of a third female drove him suddenly beyond politeness. He +was about to say exactly what he thought about the thing from beginning +to end. But before he could do so Harriet also had seen Miss Abbott. She +uttered a shrill cry of joy. + +“You, Caroline, here of all people!” And in spite of the heat she darted +up the stairs and imprinted an affectionate kiss upon her friend. + +Philip had an inspiration. “You will have a lot to tell Miss Abbott, +Harriet, and she may have as much to tell you. So I’ll pay my call on +Signor Carella, as you suggested, and see how things stand.” + +Miss Abbott uttered some noise of greeting or alarm. He did not reply to +it or approach nearer to her. Without even paying the cabman, he escaped +into the street. + +“Tear each other’s eyes out!” he cried, gesticulating at the facade of +the hotel. “Give it to her, Harriet! Teach her to leave us alone. Give +it to her, Caroline! Teach her to be grateful to you. Go it, ladies; go +it!” + +Such people as observed him were interested, but did not conclude that +he was mad. This aftermath of conversation is not unknown in Italy. + +He tried to think how amusing it was; but it would not do--Miss Abbott’s +presence affected him too personally. Either she suspected him of +dishonesty, or else she was being dishonest herself. He preferred to +suppose the latter. Perhaps she had seen Gino, and they had prepared +some elaborate mortification for the Herritons. Perhaps Gino had sold +the baby cheap to her for a joke: it was just the kind of joke that +would appeal to him. Philip still remembered the laughter that had +greeted his fruitless journey, and the uncouth push that had toppled him +on to the bed. And whatever it might mean, Miss Abbott’s presence spoilt +the comedy: she would do nothing funny. + +During this short meditation he had walked through the city, and was out +on the other side. “Where does Signor Carella live?” he asked the men at +the Dogana. + +“I’ll show you,” said a little girl, springing out of the ground as +Italian children will. + +“She will show you,” said the Dogana men, nodding reassuringly. “Follow +her always, always, and you will come to no harm. She is a trustworthy +guide. She is my + + daughter.” + cousin.” + sister.” + +Philip knew these relatives well: they ramify, if need be, all over the +peninsula. + +“Do you chance to know whether Signor Carella is in?” he asked her. + +She had just seen him go in. Philip nodded. He was looking forward to +the interview this time: it would be an intellectual duet with a man +of no great intellect. What was Miss Abbott up to? That was one of the +things he was going to discover. While she had it out with Harriet, he +would have it out with Gino. He followed the Dogana’s relative softly, +like a diplomatist. + +He did not follow her long, for this was the Volterra gate, and the +house was exactly opposite to it. In half a minute they had scrambled +down the mule-track and reached the only practicable entrance. Philip +laughed, partly at the thought of Lilia in such a building, partly in +the confidence of victory. Meanwhile the Dogana’s relative lifted up her +voice and gave a shout. + +For an impressive interval there was no reply. Then the figure of a +woman appeared high up on the loggia. + +“That is Perfetta,” said the girl. + +“I want to see Signor Carella,” cried Philip. + +“Out!” + +“Out,” echoed the girl complacently. + +“Why on earth did you say he was in?” He could have strangled her +for temper. He had been just ripe for an interview--just the right +combination of indignation and acuteness: blood hot, brain cool. But +nothing ever did go right in Monteriano. “When will he be back?” he +called to Perfetta. It really was too bad. + +She did not know. He was away on business. He might be back this +evening, he might not. He had gone to Poggibonsi. + +At the sound of this word the little girl put her fingers to her +nose and swept them at the plain. She sang as she did so, even as her +foremothers had sung seven hundred years back-- + + Poggibonizzi, fatti in la, + Che Monteriano si fa citta! + +Then she asked Philip for a halfpenny. A German lady, friendly to the +Past, had given her one that very spring. + +“I shall have to leave a message,” he called. + +“Now Perfetta has gone for her basket,” said the little girl. “When she +returns she will lower it--so. Then you will put your card into it. Then +she will raise it--thus. By this means--” + +When Perfetta returned, Philip remembered to ask after the baby. It took +longer to find than the basket, and he stood perspiring in the evening +sun, trying to avoid the smell of the drains and to prevent the little +girl from singing against Poggibonsi. The olive-trees beside him were +draped with the weekly--or more probably the monthly--wash. What a +frightful spotty blouse! He could not think where he had seen it. Then +he remembered that it was Lilia’s. She had brought it “to hack about in” + at Sawston, and had taken it to Italy because “in Italy anything does.” + He had rebuked her for the sentiment. + +“Beautiful as an angel!” bellowed Perfetta, holding out something which +must be Lilia’s baby. “But who am I addressing?” + +“Thank you--here is my card.” He had written on it a civil request +to Gino for an interview next morning. But before he placed it in the +basket and revealed his identity, he wished to find something out. “Has +a young lady happened to call here lately--a young English lady?” + +Perfetta begged his pardon: she was a little deaf. + +“A young lady--pale, large, tall.” + +She did not quite catch. + +“A YOUNG LADY!” + +“Perfetta is deaf when she chooses,” said the Dogana’s relative. At +last Philip admitted the peculiarity and strode away. He paid off the +detestable child at the Volterra gate. She got two nickel pieces and was +not pleased, partly because it was too much, partly because he did not +look pleased when he gave it to her. He caught her fathers and cousins +winking at each other as he walked past them. Monteriano seemed in +one conspiracy to make him look a fool. He felt tired and anxious and +muddled, and not sure of anything except that his temper was lost. +In this mood he returned to the Stella d’Italia, and there, as he was +ascending the stairs, Miss Abbott popped out of the dining-room on the +first floor and beckoned to him mysteriously. + +“I was going to make myself some tea,” he said, with his hand still on +the banisters. + +“I should be grateful--” + +So he followed her into the dining-room and shut the door. + +“You see,” she began, “Harriet knows nothing.” + +“No more do I. He was out.” + +“But what’s that to do with it?” + +He presented her with an unpleasant smile. She fenced well, as he had +noticed before. “He was out. You find me as ignorant as you have left +Harriet.” + +“What do you mean? Please, please Mr. Herriton, don’t be mysterious: +there isn’t the time. Any moment Harriet may be down, and we shan’t have +decided how to behave to her. Sawston was different: we had to keep up +appearances. But here we must speak out, and I think I can trust you to +do it. Otherwise we’ll never start clear.” + +“Pray let us start clear,” said Philip, pacing up and down the room. +“Permit me to begin by asking you a question. In which capacity have you +come to Monteriano--spy or traitor?” + +“Spy!” she answered, without a moment’s hesitation. She was standing +by the little Gothic window as she spoke--the hotel had been a palace +once--and with her finger she was following the curves of the moulding +as if they might feel beautiful and strange. “Spy,” she repeated, for +Philip was bewildered at learning her guilt so easily, and could not +answer a word. “Your mother has behaved dishonourably all through. She +never wanted the child; no harm in that; but she is too proud to let it +come to me. She has done all she could to wreck things; she did not tell +you everything; she has told Harriet nothing at all; she has lied or +acted lies everywhere. I cannot trust your mother. So I have come here +alone--all across Europe; no one knows it; my father thinks I am in +Normandy--to spy on Mrs. Herriton. Don’t let’s argue!” for he had begun, +almost mechanically, to rebuke her for impertinence. “If you are here to +get the child, I will help you; if you are here to fail, I shall get it +instead of you.” + +“It is hopeless to expect you to believe me,” he stammered. “But I can +assert that we are here to get the child, even if it costs us all we’ve +got. My mother has fixed no money limit whatever. I am here to carry +out her instructions. I think that you will approve of them, as you have +practically dictated them. I do not approve of them. They are absurd.” + +She nodded carelessly. She did not mind what he said. All she wanted was +to get the baby out of Monteriano. + +“Harriet also carries out your instructions,” he continued. “She, +however, approves of them, and does not know that they proceed from you. +I think, Miss Abbott, you had better take entire charge of the rescue +party. I have asked for an interview with Signor Carella tomorrow +morning. Do you acquiesce?” + +She nodded again. + +“Might I ask for details of your interview with him? They might be +helpful to me.” + +He had spoken at random. To his delight she suddenly collapsed. Her hand +fell from the window. Her face was red with more than the reflection of +evening. + +“My interview--how do you know of it?” + +“From Perfetta, if it interests you.” + +“Who ever is Perfetta?” + +“The woman who must have let you in.” + +“In where?” + +“Into Signor Carella’s house.” + +“Mr. Herriton!” she exclaimed. “How could you believe her? Do you +suppose that I would have entered that man’s house, knowing about him +all that I do? I think you have very odd ideas of what is possible for +a lady. I hear you wanted Harriet to go. Very properly she refused. +Eighteen months ago I might have done such a thing. But I trust I have +learnt how to behave by now.” + +Philip began to see that there were two Miss Abbotts--the Miss Abbott +who could travel alone to Monteriano, and the Miss Abbott who could +not enter Gino’s house when she got there. It was an amusing discovery. +Which of them would respond to his next move? + +“I suppose I misunderstood Perfetta. Where did you have your interview, +then?” + +“Not an interview--an accident--I am very sorry--I meant you to have the +chance of seeing him first. Though it is your fault. You are a day late. +You were due here yesterday. So I came yesterday, and, not finding you, +went up to the Rocca--you know that kitchen-garden where they let you +in, and there is a ladder up to a broken tower, where you can stand +and see all the other towers below you and the plain and all the other +hills?” + +“Yes, yes. I know the Rocca; I told you of it.” + +“So I went up in the evening for the sunset: I had nothing to do. He was +in the garden: it belongs to a friend of his.” + +“And you talked.” + +“It was very awkward for me. But I had to talk: he seemed to make me. +You see he thought I was here as a tourist; he thinks so still. He +intended to be civil, and I judged it better to be civil also.” + +“And of what did you talk?” + +“The weather--there will be rain, he says, by tomorrow evening--the +other towns, England, myself, about you a little, and he actually +mentioned Lilia. He was perfectly disgusting; he pretended he loved +her; he offered to show me her grave--the grave of the woman he has +murdered!” + +“My dear Miss Abbott, he is not a murderer. I have just been driving +that into Harriet. And when you know the Italians as well as I do, you +will realize that in all that he said to you he was perfectly sincere. +The Italians are essentially dramatic; they look on death and love as +spectacles. I don’t doubt that he persuaded himself, for the moment, +that he had behaved admirably, both as husband and widower.” + +“You may be right,” said Miss Abbott, impressed for the first time. +“When I tried to pave the way, so to speak--to hint that he had not +behaved as he ought--well, it was no good at all. He couldn’t or +wouldn’t understand.” + +There was something very humorous in the idea of Miss Abbott approaching +Gino, on the Rocca, in the spirit of a district visitor. Philip, whose +temper was returning, laughed. + +“Harriet would say he has no sense of sin.” + +“Harriet may be right, I am afraid.” + +“If so, perhaps he isn’t sinful!” + +Miss Abbott was not one to encourage levity. “I know what he has +done,” she said. “What he says and what he thinks is of very little +importance.” + +Philip smiled at her crudity. “I should like to hear, though, what he +said about me. Is he preparing a warm reception?” + +“Oh, no, not that. I never told him that you and Harriet were coming. +You could have taken him by surprise if you liked. He only asked for +you, and wished he hadn’t been so rude to you eighteen months ago.” + +“What a memory the fellow has for little things!” He turned away as he +spoke, for he did not want her to see his face. It was suffused with +pleasure. For an apology, which would have been intolerable eighteen +months ago, was gracious and agreeable now. + +She would not let this pass. “You did not think it a little thing at the +time. You told me he had assaulted you.” + +“I lost my temper,” said Philip lightly. His vanity had been appeased, +and he knew it. This tiny piece of civility had changed his mood. “Did +he really--what exactly did he say?” + +“He said he was sorry--pleasantly, as Italians do say such things. But +he never mentioned the baby once.” + +What did the baby matter when the world was suddenly right way up? +Philip smiled, and was shocked at himself for smiling, and smiled again. +For romance had come back to Italy; there were no cads in her; she was +beautiful, courteous, lovable, as of old. And Miss Abbott--she, too, was +beautiful in her way, for all her gaucheness and conventionality. +She really cared about life, and tried to live it properly. And +Harriet--even Harriet tried. + +This admirable change in Philip proceeds from nothing admirable, and +may therefore provoke the gibes of the cynical. But angels and other +practical people will accept it reverently, and write it down as good. + +“The view from the Rocca (small gratuity) is finest at sunset,” he +murmured, more to himself than to her. + +“And he never mentioned the baby once,” Miss Abbott repeated. But she +had returned to the window, and again her finger pursued the delicate +curves. He watched her in silence, and was more attracted to her than he +had ever been before. She really was the strangest mixture. + +“The view from the Rocca--wasn’t it fine?” + +“What isn’t fine here?” she answered gently, and then added, “I wish I +was Harriet,” throwing an extraordinary meaning into the words. + +“Because Harriet--?” + +She would not go further, but he believed that she had paid homage +to the complexity of life. For her, at all events, the expedition was +neither easy nor jolly. Beauty, evil, charm, vulgarity, mystery--she +also acknowledged this tangle, in spite of herself. And her voice +thrilled him when she broke silence with “Mr. Herriton--come here--look +at this!” + +She removed a pile of plates from the Gothic window, and they leant out +of it. Close opposite, wedged between mean houses, there rose up one of +the great towers. It is your tower: you stretch a barricade between it +and the hotel, and the traffic is blocked in a moment. Farther up, where +the street empties out by the church, your connections, the Merli and +the Capocchi, do likewise. They command the Piazza, you the Siena gate. +No one can move in either but he shall be instantly slain, either by +bows or by crossbows, or by Greek fire. Beware, however, of the +back bedroom windows. For they are menaced by the tower of the +Aldobrandeschi, and before now arrows have stuck quivering over the +washstand. Guard these windows well, lest there be a repetition of the +events of February 1338, when the hotel was surprised from the rear, and +your dearest friend--you could just make out that it was he--was thrown +at you over the stairs. + +“It reaches up to heaven,” said Philip, “and down to the other place.” + The summit of the tower was radiant in the sun, while its base was in +shadow and pasted over with advertisements. “Is it to be a symbol of the +town?” + +She gave no hint that she understood him. But they remained together at +the window because it was a little cooler and so pleasant. Philip +found a certain grace and lightness in his companion which he had never +noticed in England. She was appallingly narrow, but her consciousness of +wider things gave to her narrowness a pathetic charm. He did not suspect +that he was more graceful too. For our vanity is such that we hold our +own characters immutable, and we are slow to acknowledge that they have +changed, even for the better. + +Citizens came out for a little stroll before dinner. Some of them stood +and gazed at the advertisements on the tower. + +“Surely that isn’t an opera-bill?” said Miss Abbott. + +Philip put on his pince-nez. “‘Lucia di Lammermoor. By the Master +Donizetti. Unique representation. This evening.’ + +“But is there an opera? Right up here?” + +“Why, yes. These people know how to live. They would sooner have a thing +bad than not have it at all. That is why they have got to have so much +that is good. However bad the performance is tonight, it will be alive. +Italians don’t love music silently, like the beastly Germans. The +audience takes its share--sometimes more.” + +“Can’t we go?” + +He turned on her, but not unkindly. “But we’re here to rescue a child!” + +He cursed himself for the remark. All the pleasure and the light went +out of her face, and she became again Miss Abbott of Sawston--good, oh, +most undoubtedly good, but most appallingly dull. Dull and remorseful: +it is a deadly combination, and he strove against it in vain till he was +interrupted by the opening of the dining-room door. + +They started as guiltily as if they had been flirting. Their interview +had taken such an unexpected course. Anger, cynicism, stubborn +morality--all had ended in a feeling of good-will towards each other +and towards the city which had received them. And now Harriet +was here--acrid, indissoluble, large; the same in Italy as in +England--changing her disposition never, and her atmosphere under +protest. + +Yet even Harriet was human, and the better for a little tea. She did not +scold Philip for finding Gino out, as she might reasonably have done. +She showered civilities on Miss Abbott, exclaiming again and again +that Caroline’s visit was one of the most fortunate coincidences in the +world. Caroline did not contradict her. + +“You see him tomorrow at ten, Philip. Well, don’t forget the blank +cheque. Say an hour for the business. No, Italians are so slow; say two. +Twelve o’clock. Lunch. Well--then it’s no good going till the evening +train. I can manage the baby as far as Florence--” + +“My dear sister, you can’t run on like that. You don’t buy a pair of +gloves in two hours, much less a baby.” + +“Three hours, then, or four; or make him learn English ways. At Florence +we get a nurse--” + +“But, Harriet,” said Miss Abbott, “what if at first he was to refuse?” + +“I don’t know the meaning of the word,” said Harriet impressively. “I’ve +told the landlady that Philip and I only want our rooms one night, and +we shall keep to it.” + +“I dare say it will be all right. But, as I told you, I thought the man +I met on the Rocca a strange, difficult man.” + +“He’s insolent to ladies, we know. But my brother can be trusted to +bring him to his senses. That woman, Philip, whom you saw will carry the +baby to the hotel. Of course you must tip her for it. And try, if you +can, to get poor Lilia’s silver bangles. They were nice quiet things, +and will do for Irma. And there is an inlaid box I lent her--lent, not +gave--to keep her handkerchiefs in. It’s of no real value; but this is +our only chance. Don’t ask for it; but if you see it lying about, just +say--” + +“No, Harriet; I’ll try for the baby, but for nothing else. I promise +to do that tomorrow, and to do it in the way you wish. But tonight, as +we’re all tired, we want a change of topic. We want relaxation. We want +to go to the theatre.” + +“Theatres here? And at such a moment?” + +“We should hardly enjoy it, with the great interview impending,” said +Miss Abbott, with an anxious glance at Philip. + +He did not betray her, but said, “Don’t you think it’s better than +sitting in all the evening and getting nervous?” + +His sister shook her head. “Mother wouldn’t like it. It would be most +unsuitable--almost irreverent. Besides all that, foreign theatres +are notorious. Don’t you remember those letters in the ‘Church Family +Newspaper’?” + +“But this is an opera--‘Lucia di Lammermoor’--Sir Walter +Scott--classical, you know.” + +Harriet’s face grew resigned. “Certainly one has so few opportunities +of hearing music. It is sure to be very bad. But it might be better than +sitting idle all the evening. We have no book, and I lost my crochet at +Florence.” + +“Good. Miss Abbott, you are coming too?” + +“It is very kind of you, Mr. Herriton. In some ways I should enjoy +it; but--excuse the suggestion--I don’t think we ought to go to cheap +seats.” + +“Good gracious me!” cried Harriet, “I should never have thought of that. +As likely as not, we should have tried to save money and sat among the +most awful people. One keeps on forgetting this is Italy.” + +“Unfortunately I have no evening dress; and if the seats--” + +“Oh, that’ll be all right,” said Philip, smiling at his timorous, +scrupulous women-kind. “We’ll go as we are, and buy the best we can get. +Monteriano is not formal.” + +So this strenuous day of resolutions, plans, alarms, battles, victories, +defeats, truces, ended at the opera. Miss Abbott and Harriet were both +a little shame-faced. They thought of their friends at Sawston, who were +supposing them to be now tilting against the powers of evil. What would +Mrs. Herriton, or Irma, or the curates at the Back Kitchen say if they +could see the rescue party at a place of amusement on the very first day +of its mission? Philip, too, marvelled at his wish to go. He began +to see that he was enjoying his time in Monteriano, in spite of the +tiresomeness of his companions and the occasional contrariness of +himself. + +He had been to this theatre many years before, on the occasion of a +performance of “La Zia di Carlo.” Since then it had been thoroughly done +up, in the tints of the beet-root and the tomato, and was in many other +ways a credit to the little town. The orchestra had been enlarged, +some of the boxes had terra-cotta draperies, and over each box was now +suspended an enormous tablet, neatly framed, bearing upon it the number +of that box. There was also a drop-scene, representing a pink and purple +landscape, wherein sported many a lady lightly clad, and two more ladies +lay along the top of the proscenium to steady a large and pallid clock. +So rich and so appalling was the effect, that Philip could scarcely +suppress a cry. There is something majestic in the bad taste of Italy; +it is not the bad taste of a country which knows no better; it has not +the nervous vulgarity of England, or the blinded vulgarity of Germany. +It observes beauty, and chooses to pass it by. But it attains to +beauty’s confidence. This tiny theatre of Monteriano spraddled and +swaggered with the best of them, and these ladies with their clock would +have nodded to the young men on the ceiling of the Sistine. + +Philip had tried for a box, but all the best were taken: it was rather +a grand performance, and he had to be content with stalls. Harriet was +fretful and insular. Miss Abbott was pleasant, and insisted on praising +everything: her only regret was that she had no pretty clothes with her. + +“We do all right,” said Philip, amused at her unwonted vanity. + +“Yes, I know; but pretty things pack as easily as ugly ones. We had no +need to come to Italy like guys.” + +This time he did not reply, “But we’re here to rescue a baby.” For +he saw a charming picture, as charming a picture as he had seen for +years--the hot red theatre; outside the theatre, towers and dark gates +and mediaeval walls; beyond the walls olive-trees in the starlight and +white winding roads and fireflies and untroubled dust; and here in the +middle of it all, Miss Abbott, wishing she had not come looking like a +guy. She had made the right remark. Most undoubtedly she had made the +right remark. This stiff suburban woman was unbending before the shrine. + +“Don’t you like it at all?” he asked her. + +“Most awfully.” And by this bald interchange they convinced each other +that Romance was here. + +Harriet, meanwhile, had been coughing ominously at the drop-scene, which +presently rose on the grounds of Ravenswood, and the chorus of Scotch +retainers burst into cry. The audience accompanied with tappings and +drummings, swaying in the melody like corn in the wind. Harriet, though +she did not care for music, knew how to listen to it. She uttered an +acid “Shish!” + +“Shut it,” whispered her brother. + +“We must make a stand from the beginning. They’re talking.” + +“It is tiresome,” murmured Miss Abbott; “but perhaps it isn’t for us to +interfere.” + +Harriet shook her head and shished again. The people were quiet, not +because it is wrong to talk during a chorus, but because it is natural +to be civil to a visitor. For a little time she kept the whole house in +order, and could smile at her brother complacently. + +Her success annoyed him. He had grasped the principle of opera in +Italy--it aims not at illusion but at entertainment--and he did not want +this great evening-party to turn into a prayer-meeting. But soon the +boxes began to fill, and Harriet’s power was over. Families greeted each +other across the auditorium. People in the pit hailed their brothers and +sons in the chorus, and told them how well they were singing. When Lucia +appeared by the fountain there was loud applause, and cries of “Welcome +to Monteriano!” + +“Ridiculous babies!” said Harriet, settling down in her stall. + +“Why, it is the famous hot lady of the Apennines,” cried Philip; “the +one who had never, never before--” + +“Ugh! Don’t. She will be very vulgar. And I’m sure it’s even worse here +than in the tunnel. I wish we’d never--” + +Lucia began to sing, and there was a moment’s silence. She was stout +and ugly; but her voice was still beautiful, and as she sang the theatre +murmured like a hive of happy bees. All through the coloratura she +was accompanied by sighs, and its top note was drowned in a shout of +universal joy. + +So the opera proceeded. The singers drew inspiration from the audience, +and the two great sextettes were rendered not unworthily. Miss Abbott +fell into the spirit of the thing. She, too, chatted and laughed and +applauded and encored, and rejoiced in the existence of beauty. As for +Philip, he forgot himself as well as his mission. He was not even an +enthusiastic visitor. For he had been in this place always. It was his +home. + +Harriet, like M. Bovary on a more famous occasion, was trying to follow +the plot. Occasionally she nudged her companions, and asked them what +had become of Walter Scott. She looked round grimly. The audience +sounded drunk, and even Caroline, who never took a drop, was swaying +oddly. Violent waves of excitement, all arising from very little, went +sweeping round the theatre. The climax was reached in the mad scene. +Lucia, clad in white, as befitted her malady, suddenly gathered up her +streaming hair and bowed her acknowledgment to the audience. Then from +the back of the stage--she feigned not to see it--there advanced a kind +of bamboo clothes-horse, stuck all over with bouquets. It was very ugly, +and most of the flowers in it were false. Lucia knew this, and so did +the audience; and they all knew that the clothes-horse was a piece of +stage property, brought in to make the performance go year after year. +None the less did it unloose the great deeps. With a scream of amazement +and joy she embraced the animal, pulled out one or two practicable +blossoms, pressed them to her lips, and flung them into her admirers. +They flung them back, with loud melodious cries, and a little boy in one +of the stageboxes snatched up his sister’s carnations and offered them. +“Che carino!” exclaimed the singer. She darted at the little boy and +kissed him. Now the noise became tremendous. “Silence! silence!” shouted +many old gentlemen behind. “Let the divine creature continue!” But +the young men in the adjacent box were imploring Lucia to extend her +civility to them. She refused, with a humorous, expressive gesture. One +of them hurled a bouquet at her. She spurned it with her foot. Then, +encouraged by the roars of the audience, she picked it up and tossed it +to them. Harriet was always unfortunate. The bouquet struck her full in +the chest, and a little billet-doux fell out of it into her lap. + +“Call this classical!” she cried, rising from her seat. “It’s not even +respectable! Philip! take me out at once.” + +“Whose is it?” shouted her brother, holding up the bouquet in one hand +and the billet-doux in the other. “Whose is it?” + +The house exploded, and one of the boxes was violently agitated, as if +some one was being hauled to the front. Harriet moved down the gangway, +and compelled Miss Abbott to follow her. Philip, still laughing +and calling “Whose is it?” brought up the rear. He was drunk with +excitement. The heat, the fatigue, and the enjoyment had mounted into +his head. + +“To the left!” the people cried. “The innamorato is to the left.” + +He deserted his ladies and plunged towards the box. A young man was +flung stomach downwards across the balustrade. Philip handed him up the +bouquet and the note. Then his own hands were seized affectionately. It +all seemed quite natural. + +“Why have you not written?” cried the young man. “Why do you take me by +surprise?” + +“Oh, I’ve written,” said Philip hilariously. “I left a note this +afternoon.” + +“Silence! silence!” cried the audience, who were beginning to have +enough. “Let the divine creature continue.” Miss Abbott and Harriet had +disappeared. + +“No! no!” cried the young man. “You don’t escape me now.” For Philip was +trying feebly to disengage his hands. Amiable youths bent out of the box +and invited him to enter it. + +“Gino’s friends are ours--” + +“Friends?” cried Gino. “A relative! A brother! Fra Filippo, who has come +all the way from England and never written.” + +“I left a message.” + +The audience began to hiss. + +“Come in to us.” + +“Thank you--ladies--there is not time--” + +The next moment he was swinging by his arms. The moment after he shot +over the balustrade into the box. Then the conductor, seeing that the +incident was over, raised his baton. The house was hushed, and Lucia di +Lammermoor resumed her song of madness and death. + +Philip had whispered introductions to the pleasant people who had pulled +him in--tradesmen’s sons perhaps they were, or medical students, or +solicitors’ clerks, or sons of other dentists. There is no knowing who +is who in Italy. The guest of the evening was a private soldier. He +shared the honour now with Philip. The two had to stand side by side in +the front, and exchange compliments, whilst Gino presided, courteous, +but delightfully familiar. Philip would have a spasm of horror at the +muddle he had made. But the spasm would pass, and again he would be +enchanted by the kind, cheerful voices, the laughter that was never +vapid, and the light caress of the arm across his back. + +He could not get away till the play was nearly finished, and Edgardo was +singing amongst the tombs of ancestors. His new friends hoped to see him +at the Garibaldi tomorrow evening. He promised; then he remembered that +if they kept to Harriet’s plan he would have left Monteriano. “At ten +o’clock, then,” he said to Gino. “I want to speak to you alone. At ten.” + +“Certainly!” laughed the other. + +Miss Abbott was sitting up for him when he got back. Harriet, it seemed, +had gone straight to bed. + +“That was he, wasn’t it?” she asked. + +“Yes, rather.” + +“I suppose you didn’t settle anything?” + +“Why, no; how could I? The fact is--well, I got taken by surprise, +but after all, what does it matter? There’s no earthly reason why we +shouldn’t do the business pleasantly. He’s a perfectly charming person, +and so are his friends. I’m his friend now--his long-lost brother. +What’s the harm? I tell you, Miss Abbott, it’s one thing for England and +another for Italy. There we plan and get on high moral horses. Here +we find what asses we are, for things go off quite easily, all by +themselves. My hat, what a night! Did you ever see a really purple sky +and really silver stars before? Well, as I was saying, it’s absurd to +worry; he’s not a porky father. He wants that baby as little as I do. +He’s been ragging my dear mother--just as he ragged me eighteen months +ago, and I’ve forgiven him. Oh, but he has a sense of humour!” + +Miss Abbott, too, had a wonderful evening, nor did she ever remember +such stars or such a sky. Her head, too, was full of music, and that +night when she opened the window her room was filled with warm, sweet +air. She was bathed in beauty within and without; she could not go to +bed for happiness. Had she ever been so happy before? Yes, once before, +and here, a night in March, the night Gino and Lilia had told her of +their love--the night whose evil she had come now to undo. + +She gave a sudden cry of shame. “This time--the same place--the same +thing”--and she began to beat down her happiness, knowing it to be +sinful. She was here to fight against this place, to rescue a little +soul--who was innocent as yet. She was here to champion morality and +purity, and the holy life of an English home. In the spring she had +sinned through ignorance; she was not ignorant now. “Help me!” she +cried, and shut the window as if there was magic in the encircling air. +But the tunes would not go out of her head, and all night long she was +troubled by torrents of music, and by applause and laughter, and angry +young men who shouted the distich out of Baedeker:-- + + Poggibonizzi fatti in la, + Che Monteriano si fa citta! + +Poggibonsi was revealed to her as they sang--a joyless, straggling +place, full of people who pretended. When she woke up she knew that it +had been Sawston. + + + +Chapter 7 + +At about nine o’clock next morning Perfetta went out on to the loggia, +not to look at the view, but to throw some dirty water at it. “Scusi +tanto!” she wailed, for the water spattered a tall young lady who had +for some time been tapping at the lower door. + +“Is Signor Carella in?” the young lady asked. It was no business of +Perfetta’s to be shocked, and the style of the visitor seemed to demand +the reception-room. Accordingly she opened its shutters, dusted a round +patch on one of the horsehair chairs, and bade the lady do herself the +inconvenience of sitting down. Then she ran into Monteriano and shouted +up and down its streets until such time as her young master should hear +her. + +The reception-room was sacred to the dead wife. Her shiny portrait hung +upon the wall--similar, doubtless, in all respects to the one which +would be pasted on her tombstone. A little piece of black drapery had +been tacked above the frame to lend a dignity to woe. But two of the +tacks had fallen out, and the effect was now rakish, as of a drunkard’s +bonnet. A coon song lay open on the piano, and of the two tables one +supported Baedeker’s “Central Italy,” the other Harriet’s inlaid box. +And over everything there lay a deposit of heavy white dust, which +was only blown off one moment to thicken on another. It is well to +be remembered with love. It is not so very dreadful to be forgotten +entirely. But if we shall resent anything on earth at all, we shall +resent the consecration of a deserted room. + +Miss Abbott did not sit down, partly because the antimacassars might +harbour fleas, partly because she had suddenly felt faint, and was glad +to cling on to the funnel of the stove. She struggled with herself, +for she had need to be very calm; only if she was very calm might her +behaviour be justified. She had broken faith with Philip and Harriet: +she was going to try for the baby before they did. If she failed she +could scarcely look them in the face again. + +“Harriet and her brother,” she reasoned, “don’t realize what is before +them. She would bluster and be rude; he would be pleasant and take it +as a joke. Both of them--even if they offered money--would fail. But I +begin to understand the man’s nature; he does not love the child, but he +will be touchy about it--and that is quite as bad for us. He’s charming, +but he’s no fool; he conquered me last year; he conquered Mr. Herriton +yesterday, and if I am not careful he will conquer us all today, and the +baby will grow up in Monteriano. He is terribly strong; Lilia found that +out, but only I remember it now.” + +This attempt, and this justification of it, were the results of the long +and restless night. Miss Abbott had come to believe that she alone could +do battle with Gino, because she alone understood him; and she had put +this, as nicely as she could, in a note which she had left for Philip. +It distressed her to write such a note, partly because her education +inclined her to reverence the male, partly because she had got to like +Philip a good deal after their last strange interview. His pettiness +would be dispersed, and as for his “unconventionality,” which was so +much gossiped about at Sawston, she began to see that it did not differ +greatly from certain familiar notions of her own. If only he would +forgive her for what she was doing now, there might perhaps be before +them a long and profitable friendship. But she must succeed. No one +would forgive her if she did not succeed. She prepared to do battle with +the powers of evil. + +The voice of her adversary was heard at last, singing fearlessly +from his expanded lungs, like a professional. Herein he differed from +Englishmen, who always have a little feeling against music, and sing +only from the throat, apologetically. He padded upstairs, and looked +in at the open door of the reception-room without seeing her. Her heart +leapt and her throat was dry when he turned away and passed, still +singing, into the room opposite. It is alarming not to be seen. + +He had left the door of this room open, and she could see into it, +right across the landing. It was in a shocking mess. Food, bedclothes, +patent-leather boots, dirty plates, and knives lay strewn over a large +table and on the floor. But it was the mess that comes of life, not of +desolation. It was preferable to the charnel-chamber in which she was +standing now, and the light in it was soft and large, as from some +gracious, noble opening. + +He stopped singing, and cried “Where is Perfetta?” + +His back was turned, and he was lighting a cigar. He was not speaking +to Miss Abbott. He could not even be expecting her. The vista of the +landing and the two open doors made him both remote and significant, +like an actor on the stage, intimate and unapproachable at the same +time. She could no more call out to him than if he was Hamlet. + +“You know!” he continued, “but you will not tell me. Exactly like you.” + He reclined on the table and blew a fat smoke-ring. “And why won’t you +tell me the numbers? I have dreamt of a red hen--that is two hundred and +five, and a friend unexpected--he means eighty-two. But I try for the +Terno this week. So tell me another number.” + +Miss Abbott did not know of the Tombola. His speech terrified her. She +felt those subtle restrictions which come upon us in fatigue. Had she +slept well she would have greeted him as soon as she saw him. Now it was +impossible. He had got into another world. + +She watched his smoke-ring. The air had carried it slowly away from him, +and brought it out intact upon the landing. + +“Two hundred and five--eighty-two. In any case I shall put them on Bari, +not on Florence. I cannot tell you why; I have a feeling this week for +Bari.” Again she tried to speak. But the ring mesmerized her. It had +become vast and elliptical, and floated in at the reception-room door. + +“Ah! you don’t care if you get the profits. You won’t even say ‘Thank +you, Gino.’ Say it, or I’ll drop hot, red-hot ashes on you. ‘Thank you, +Gino--’” + +The ring had extended its pale blue coils towards her. She lost +self-control. It enveloped her. As if it was a breath from the pit, she +screamed. + +There he was, wanting to know what had frightened her, how she had got +here, why she had never spoken. He made her sit down. He brought her +wine, which she refused. She had not one word to say to him. + +“What is it?” he repeated. “What has frightened you?” + +He, too, was frightened, and perspiration came starting through the tan. +For it is a serious thing to have been watched. We all radiate something +curiously intimate when we believe ourselves to be alone. + +“Business--” she said at last. + +“Business with me?” + +“Most important business.” She was lying, white and limp, in the dusty +chair. + +“Before business you must get well; this is the best wine.” + +She refused it feebly. He poured out a glass. She drank it. As she did +so she became self-conscious. However important the business, it was not +proper of her to have called on him, or to accept his hospitality. + +“Perhaps you are engaged,” she said. “And as I am not very well--” + +“You are not well enough to go back. And I am not engaged.” + +She looked nervously at the other room. + +“Ah, now I understand,” he exclaimed. “Now I see what frightened you. +But why did you never speak?” And taking her into the room where he +lived, he pointed to--the baby. + +She had thought so much about this baby, of its welfare, its soul, its +morals, its probable defects. But, like most unmarried people, she had +only thought of it as a word--just as the healthy man only thinks of the +word death, not of death itself. The real thing, lying asleep on a dirty +rug, disconcerted her. It did not stand for a principle any longer. +It was so much flesh and blood, so many inches and ounces of life--a +glorious, unquestionable fact, which a man and another woman had given +to the world. You could talk to it; in time it would answer you; in time +it would not answer you unless it chose, but would secrete, within the +compass of its body, thoughts and wonderful passions of its own. And +this was the machine on which she and Mrs. Herriton and Philip and +Harriet had for the last month been exercising their various ideals--had +determined that in time it should move this way or that way, should +accomplish this and not that. It was to be Low Church, it was to be +high-principled, it was to be tactful, gentlemanly, artistic--excellent +things all. Yet now that she saw this baby, lying asleep on a dirty rug, +she had a great disposition not to dictate one of them, and to exert +no more influence than there may be in a kiss or in the vaguest of the +heartfelt prayers. + +But she had practised self-discipline, and her thoughts and actions were +not yet to correspond. To recover her self-esteem she tried to imagine +that she was in her district, and to behave accordingly. + +“What a fine child, Signor Carella. And how nice of you to talk to it. +Though I see that the ungrateful little fellow is asleep! Seven months? +No, eight; of course eight. Still, he is a remarkably fine child for his +age.” + +Italian is a bad medium for condescension. The patronizing words came +out gracious and sincere, and he smiled with pleasure. + +“You must not stand. Let us sit on the loggia, where it is cool. I am +afraid the room is very untidy,” he added, with the air of a hostess who +apologizes for a stray thread on the drawing-room carpet. Miss Abbott +picked her way to the chair. He sat near her, astride the parapet, with +one foot in the loggia and the other dangling into the view. His face +was in profile, and its beautiful contours drove artfully against +the misty green of the opposing hills. “Posing!” said Miss Abbott to +herself. “A born artist’s model.” + +“Mr. Herriton called yesterday,” she began, “but you were out.” + +He started an elaborate and graceful explanation. He had gone for the +day to Poggibonsi. Why had the Herritons not written to him, so that he +could have received them properly? Poggibonsi would have done any day; +not but what his business there was fairly important. What did she +suppose that it was? + +Naturally she was not greatly interested. She had not come from Sawston +to guess why he had been to Poggibonsi. She answered politely that she +had no idea, and returned to her mission. + +“But guess!” he persisted, clapping the balustrade between his hands. + +She suggested, with gentle sarcasm, that perhaps he had gone to +Poggibonsi to find something to do. + +He intimated that it was not as important as all that. Something to +do--an almost hopeless quest! “E manca questo!” He rubbed his thumb and +forefinger together, to indicate that he had no money. Then he +sighed, and blew another smoke-ring. Miss Abbott took heart and turned +diplomatic. + +“This house,” she said, “is a large house.” + +“Exactly,” was his gloomy reply. “And when my poor wife died--” He got +up, went in, and walked across the landing to the reception-room door, +which he closed reverently. Then he shut the door of the living-room +with his foot, returned briskly to his seat, and continued his sentence. +“When my poor wife died I thought of having my relatives to live here. +My father wished to give up his practice at Empoli; my mother and +sisters and two aunts were also willing. But it was impossible. They +have their ways of doing things, and when I was younger I was content +with them. But now I am a man. I have my own ways. Do you understand?” + +“Yes, I do,” said Miss Abbott, thinking of her own dear father, whose +tricks and habits, after twenty-five years spent in their company, were +beginning to get on her nerves. She remembered, though, that she was +not here to sympathize with Gino--at all events, not to show that +she sympathized. She also reminded herself that he was not worthy of +sympathy. “It is a large house,” she repeated. + +“Immense; and the taxes! But it will be better when--Ah! but you have +never guessed why I went to Poggibonsi--why it was that I was out when +he called.” + +“I cannot guess, Signor Carella. I am here on business.” + +“But try.” + +“I cannot; I hardly know you.” + +“But we are old friends,” he said, “and your approval will be grateful +to me. You gave it me once before. Will you give it now?” + +“I have not come as a friend this time,” she answered stiffly. “I am not +likely, Signor Carella, to approve of anything you do.” + +“Oh, Signorina!” He laughed, as if he found her piquant and amusing. +“Surely you approve of marriage?” + +“Where there is love,” said Miss Abbott, looking at him hard. His face +had altered in the last year, but not for the worse, which was baffling. + +“Where there is love,” said he, politely echoing the English view. Then +he smiled on her, expecting congratulations. + +“Do I understand that you are proposing to marry again?” + +He nodded. + +“I forbid you, then!” + +He looked puzzled, but took it for some foreign banter, and laughed. + +“I forbid you!” repeated Miss Abbott, and all the indignation of her sex +and her nationality went thrilling through the words. + +“But why?” He jumped up, frowning. His voice was squeaky and petulant, +like that of a child who is suddenly forbidden a toy. + +“You have ruined one woman; I forbid you to ruin another. It is not a +year since Lilia died. You pretended to me the other day that you loved +her. It is a lie. You wanted her money. Has this woman money too?” + +“Why, yes!” he said irritably. “A little.” + +“And I suppose you will say that you love her.” + +“I shall not say it. It will be untrue. Now my poor wife--” He stopped, +seeing that the comparison would involve him in difficulties. And indeed +he had often found Lilia as agreeable as any one else. + +Miss Abbott was furious at this final insult to her dead acquaintance. +She was glad that after all she could be so angry with the boy. She +glowed and throbbed; her tongue moved nimbly. At the finish, if the +real business of the day had been completed, she could have swept +majestically from the house. But the baby still remained, asleep on a +dirty rug. + +Gino was thoughtful, and stood scratching his head. He respected Miss +Abbott. He wished that she would respect him. “So you do not advise me?” + he said dolefully. “But why should it be a failure?” + +Miss Abbott tried to remember that he was really a child still--a child +with the strength and the passions of a disreputable man. “How can it +succeed,” she said solemnly, “where there is no love?” + +“But she does love me! I forgot to tell you that.” + +“Indeed.” + +“Passionately.” He laid his hand upon his own heart. + +“Then God help her!” + +He stamped impatiently. “Whatever I say displeases you, Signorina. God +help you, for you are most unfair. You say that I ill-treated my dear +wife. It is not so. I have never ill-treated any one. You complain that +there is no love in this marriage. I prove that there is, and you become +still more angry. What do you want? Do you suppose she will not be +contented? Glad enough she is to get me, and she will do her duty well.” + +“Her duty!” cried Miss Abbott, with all the bitterness of which she was +capable. + +“Why, of course. She knows why I am marrying her.” + +“To succeed where Lilia failed! To be your housekeeper, your slave, +you--” The words she would like to have said were too violent for her. + +“To look after the baby, certainly,” said he. + +“The baby--?” She had forgotten it. + +“It is an English marriage,” he said proudly. “I do not care about the +money. I am having her for my son. Did you not understand that?” + +“No,” said Miss Abbott, utterly bewildered. Then, for a moment, she saw +light. “It is not necessary, Signor Carella. Since you are tired of the +baby--” + +Ever after she remembered it to her credit that she saw her mistake at +once. “I don’t mean that,” she added quickly. + +“I know,” was his courteous response. “Ah, in a foreign language (and +how perfectly you speak Italian) one is certain to make slips.” + +She looked at his face. It was apparently innocent of satire. + +“You meant that we could not always be together yet, he and I. You are +right. What is to be done? I cannot afford a nurse, and Perfetta is too +rough. When he was ill I dare not let her touch him. When he has to +be washed, which happens now and then, who does it? I. I feed him, or +settle what he shall have. I sleep with him and comfort him when he is +unhappy in the night. No one talks, no one may sing to him but I. Do not +be unfair this time; I like to do these things. But nevertheless (his +voice became pathetic) they take up a great deal of time, and are not +all suitable for a young man.” + +“Not at all suitable,” said Miss Abbott, and closed her eyes wearily. +Each moment her difficulties were increasing. She wished that she was +not so tired, so open to contradictory impressions. She longed for +Harriet’s burly obtuseness or for the soulless diplomacy of Mrs. +Herriton. + +“A little more wine?” asked Gino kindly. + +“Oh, no, thank you! But marriage, Signor Carella, is a very serious +step. Could you not manage more simply? Your relative, for example--” + +“Empoli! I would as soon have him in England!” + +“England, then--” + +He laughed. + +“He has a grandmother there, you know--Mrs. Theobald.” + +“He has a grandmother here. No, he is troublesome, but I must have him +with me. I will not even have my father and mother too. For they would +separate us,” he added. + +“How?” + +“They would separate our thoughts.” + +She was silent. This cruel, vicious fellow knew of strange refinements. +The horrible truth, that wicked people are capable of love, stood naked +before her, and her moral being was abashed. It was her duty to rescue +the baby, to save it from contagion, and she still meant to do her duty. +But the comfortable sense of virtue left her. She was in the presence of +something greater than right or wrong. + +Forgetting that this was an interview, he had strolled back into the +room, driven by the instinct she had aroused in him. “Wake up!” he cried +to his baby, as if it was some grown-up friend. Then he lifted his foot +and trod lightly on its stomach. + +Miss Abbott cried, “Oh, take care!” She was unaccustomed to this method +of awakening the young. + +“He is not much longer than my boot, is he? Can you believe that in time +his own boots will be as large? And that he also--” + +“But ought you to treat him like that?” + +He stood with one foot resting on the little body, suddenly musing, +filled with the desire that his son should be like him, and should have +sons like him, to people the earth. It is the strongest desire that can +come to a man--if it comes to him at all--stronger even than love or the +desire for personal immortality. All men vaunt it, and declare that it +is theirs; but the hearts of most are set elsewhere. It is the exception +who comprehends that physical and spiritual life may stream out of him +for ever. Miss Abbott, for all her goodness, could not comprehend it, +though such a thing is more within the comprehension of women. And +when Gino pointed first to himself and then to his baby and said +“father-son,” she still took it as a piece of nursery prattle, and +smiled mechanically. + +The child, the first fruits, woke up and glared at her. Gino did not +greet it, but continued the exposition of his policy. + +“This woman will do exactly what I tell her. She is fond of children. +She is clean; she has a pleasant voice. She is not beautiful; I cannot +pretend that to you for a moment. But she is what I require.” + +The baby gave a piercing yell. + +“Oh, do take care!” begged Miss Abbott. “You are squeezing it.” + +“It is nothing. If he cries silently then you may be frightened. He +thinks I am going to wash him, and he is quite right.” + +“Wash him!” she cried. “You? Here?” The homely piece of news seemed +to shatter all her plans. She had spent a long half-hour in elaborate +approaches, in high moral attacks; she had neither frightened her enemy +nor made him angry, nor interfered with the least detail of his domestic +life. + +“I had gone to the Farmacia,” he continued, “and was sitting there +comfortably, when suddenly I remembered that Perfetta had heated water +an hour ago--over there, look, covered with a cushion. I came away at +once, for really he must be washed. You must excuse me. I can put it off +no longer.” + +“I have wasted your time,” she said feebly. + +He walked sternly to the loggia and drew from it a large earthenware +bowl. It was dirty inside; he dusted it with a tablecloth. Then he +fetched the hot water, which was in a copper pot. He poured it out. He +added cold. He felt in his pocket and brought out a piece of soap. Then +he took up the baby, and, holding his cigar between his teeth, began to +unwrap it. Miss Abbott turned to go. + +“But why are you going? Excuse me if I wash him while we talk.” + +“I have nothing more to say,” said Miss Abbott. All she could do now +was to find Philip, confess her miserable defeat, and bid him go in +her stead and prosper better. She cursed her feebleness; she longed to +expose it, without apologies or tears. + +“Oh, but stop a moment!” he cried. “You have not seen him yet.” + +“I have seen as much as I want, thank you.” + +The last wrapping slid off. He held out to her in his two hands a little +kicking image of bronze. + +“Take him!” + +She would not touch the child. + +“I must go at once,” she cried; for the tears--the wrong tears--were +hurrying to her eyes. + +“Who would have believed his mother was blonde? For he is brown all +over--brown every inch of him. Ah, but how beautiful he is! And he is +mine; mine for ever. Even if he hates me he will be mine. He cannot help +it; he is made out of me; I am his father.” + +It was too late to go. She could not tell why, but it was too late. +She turned away her head when Gino lifted his son to his lips. This was +something too remote from the prettiness of the nursery. The man was +majestic; he was a part of Nature; in no ordinary love scene could he +ever be so great. For a wonderful physical tie binds the parents to the +children; and--by some sad, strange irony--it does not bind us children +to our parents. For if it did, if we could answer their love not with +gratitude but with equal love, life would lose much of its pathos +and much of its squalor, and we might be wonderfully happy. Gino +passionately embracing, Miss Abbott reverently averting her eyes--both +of them had parents whom they did not love so very much. + +“May I help you to wash him?” she asked humbly. + +He gave her his son without speaking, and they knelt side by side, +tucking up their sleeves. The child had stopped crying, and his arms and +legs were agitated by some overpowering joy. Miss Abbott had a woman’s +pleasure in cleaning anything--more especially when the thing was human. +She understood little babies from long experience in a district, and +Gino soon ceased to give her directions, and only gave her thanks. + +“It is very kind of you,” he murmured, “especially in your beautiful +dress. He is nearly clean already. Why, I take the whole morning! There +is so much more of a baby than one expects. And Perfetta washes him just +as she washes clothes. Then he screams for hours. My wife is to have a +light hand. Ah, how he kicks! Has he splashed you? I am very sorry.” + +“I am ready for a soft towel now,” said Miss Abbott, who was strangely +exalted by the service. + +“Certainly! certainly!” He strode in a knowing way to a cupboard. But +he had no idea where the soft towel was. Generally he dabbed the baby on +the first dry thing he found. + +“And if you had any powder.” + +He struck his forehead despairingly. Apparently the stock of powder was +just exhausted. + +She sacrificed her own clean handkerchief. He put a chair for her on the +loggia, which faced westward, and was still pleasant and cool. There she +sat, with twenty miles of view behind her, and he placed the dripping +baby on her knee. It shone now with health and beauty: it seemed to +reflect light, like a copper vessel. Just such a baby Bellini sets +languid on his mother’s lap, or Signorelli flings wriggling on pavements +of marble, or Lorenzo di Credi, more reverent but less divine, lays +carefully among flowers, with his head upon a wisp of golden straw. For +a time Gino contemplated them standing. Then, to get a better view, he +knelt by the side of the chair, with his hands clasped before him. + +So they were when Philip entered, and saw, to all intents and purposes, +the Virgin and Child, with Donor. + +“Hullo!” he exclaimed; for he was glad to find things in such cheerful +trim. + +She did not greet him, but rose up unsteadily and handed the baby to his +father. + +“No, do stop!” whispered Philip. “I got your note. I’m not offended; +you’re quite right. I really want you; I could never have done it +alone.” + +No words came from her, but she raised her hands to her mouth, like one +who is in sudden agony. + +“Signorina, do stop a little--after all your kindness.” + +She burst into tears. + +“What is it?” said Philip kindly. + +She tried to speak, and then went away weeping bitterly. + +The two men stared at each other. By a common impulse they ran on to the +loggia. They were just in time to see Miss Abbott disappear among the +trees. + +“What is it?” asked Philip again. There was no answer, and somehow he +did not want an answer. Some strange thing had happened which he could +not presume to understand. He would find out from Miss Abbott, if ever +he found out at all. + +“Well, your business,” said Gino, after a puzzled sigh. + +“Our business--Miss Abbott has told you of that.” + +“No.” + +“But surely--” + +“She came for business. But she forgot about it; so did I.” + +Perfetta, who had a genius for missing people, now returned, loudly +complaining of the size of Monteriano and the intricacies of its +streets. Gino told her to watch the baby. Then he offered Philip a +cigar, and they proceeded to the business. + + + +Chapter 8 + +“Mad!” screamed Harriet,--“absolutely stark, staring, raving mad!” + +Philip judged it better not to contradict her. + +“What’s she here for? Answer me that. What’s she doing in Monteriano in +August? Why isn’t she in Normandy? Answer that. She won’t. I can: she’s +come to thwart us; she’s betrayed us--got hold of mother’s plans. Oh, +goodness, my head!” + +He was unwise enough to reply, “You mustn’t accuse her of that. Though +she is exasperating, she hasn’t come here to betray us.” + +“Then why has she come here? Answer me that.” + +He made no answer. But fortunately his sister was too much agitated +to wait for one. “Bursting in on me--crying and looking a disgusting +sight--and says she has been to see the Italian. Couldn’t even talk +properly; pretended she had changed her opinions. What are her opinions +to us? I was very calm. I said: ‘Miss Abbott, I think there is a +little misapprehension in this matter. My mother, Mrs. Herriton--’ Oh, +goodness, my head! Of course you’ve failed--don’t trouble to answer--I +know you’ve failed. Where’s the baby, pray? Of course you haven’t got +it. Dear sweet Caroline won’t let you. Oh, yes, and we’re to go away at +once and trouble the father no more. Those are her commands. Commands! +COMMANDS!” And Harriet also burst into tears. + +Philip governed his temper. His sister was annoying, but quite +reasonable in her indignation. Moreover, Miss Abbott had behaved even +worse than she supposed. + +“I’ve not got the baby, Harriet, but at the same time I haven’t +exactly failed. I and Signor Carella are to have another interview +this afternoon, at the Caffe Garibaldi. He is perfectly reasonable and +pleasant. Should you be disposed to come with me, you would find him +quite willing to discuss things. He is desperately in want of money, and +has no prospect of getting any. I discovered that. At the same time, he +has a certain affection for the child.” For Philip’s insight, or perhaps +his opportunities, had not been equal to Miss Abbott’s. + +Harriet would only sob, and accuse her brother of insulting her; how +could a lady speak to such a horrible man? That, and nothing else, was +enough to stamp Caroline. Oh, poor Lilia! + +Philip drummed on the bedroom window-sill. He saw no escape from the +deadlock. For though he spoke cheerfully about his second interview with +Gino, he felt at the bottom of his heart that it would fail. Gino was +too courteous: he would not break off negotiations by sharp denial; he +loved this civil, half-humorous bargaining. And he loved fooling his +opponent, and did it so nicely that his opponent did not mind being +fooled. + +“Miss Abbott has behaved extraordinarily,” he said at last; “but at the +same time--” + +His sister would not hear him. She burst forth again on the madness, the +interference, the intolerable duplicity of Caroline. + +“Harriet, you must listen. My dear, you must stop crying. I have +something quite important to say.” + +“I shall not stop crying,” said she. But in time, finding that he would +not speak to her, she did stop. + +“Remember that Miss Abbott has done us no harm. She said nothing to him +about the matter. He assumes that she is working with us: I gathered +that.” + +“Well, she isn’t.” + +“Yes; but if you’re careful she may be. I interpret her behaviour thus: +She went to see him, honestly intending to get the child away. In the +note she left me she says so, and I don’t believe she’d lie.” + +“I do.” + +“When she got there, there was some pretty domestic scene between him +and the baby, and she has got swept off in a gush of sentimentalism. +Before very long, if I know anything about psychology, there will be a +reaction. She’ll be swept back.” + +“I don’t understand your long words. Say plainly--” + +“When she’s swept back, she’ll be invaluable. For she has made quite an +impression on him. He thinks her so nice with the baby. You know, she +washed it for him.” + +“Disgusting!” + +Harriet’s ejaculations were more aggravating than the rest of her. But +Philip was averse to losing his temper. The access of joy that had come +to him yesterday in the theatre promised to be permanent. He was more +anxious than heretofore to be charitable towards the world. + +“If you want to carry off the baby, keep your peace with Miss Abbott. +For if she chooses, she can help you better than I can.” + +“There can be no peace between me and her,” said Harriet gloomily. + +“Did you--” + +“Oh, not all I wanted. She went away before I had finished +speaking--just like those cowardly people!--into the church.” + +“Into Santa Deodata’s?” + +“Yes; I’m sure she needs it. Anything more unchristian--” + +In time Philip went to the church also, leaving his sister a little +calmer and a little disposed to think over his advice. What had come +over Miss Abbott? He had always thought her both stable and sincere. +That conversation he had had with her last Christmas in the train to +Charing Cross--that alone furnished him with a parallel. For the second +time, Monteriano must have turned her head. He was not angry with her, +for he was quite indifferent to the outcome of their expedition. He was +only extremely interested. + +It was now nearly midday, and the streets were clearing. But the intense +heat had broken, and there was a pleasant suggestion of rain. The +Piazza, with its three great attractions--the Palazzo Pubblico, the +Collegiate Church, and the Caffe Garibaldi: the intellect, the soul, and +the body--had never looked more charming. For a moment Philip stood in +its centre, much inclined to be dreamy, and thinking how wonderful it +must feel to belong to a city, however mean. He was here, however, as +an emissary of civilization and as a student of character, and, after a +sigh, he entered Santa Deodata’s to continue his mission. + +There had been a FESTA two days before, and the church still smelt of +incense and of garlic. The little son of the sacristan was sweeping the +nave, more for amusement than for cleanliness, sending great clouds +of dust over the frescoes and the scattered worshippers. The sacristan +himself had propped a ladder in the centre of the Deluge--which fills +one of the nave spandrels--and was freeing a column from its wealth of +scarlet calico. Much scarlet calico also lay upon the floor--for the +church can look as fine as any theatre--and the sacristan’s little +daughter was trying to fold it up. She was wearing a tinsel crown. The +crown really belonged to St. Augustine. But it had been cut too big: +it fell down over his cheeks like a collar: you never saw anything so +absurd. One of the canons had unhooked it just before the FIESTA began, +and had given it to the sacristan’s daughter. + +“Please,” cried Philip, “is there an English lady here?” + +The man’s mouth was full of tin-tacks, but he nodded cheerfully towards +a kneeling figure. In the midst of this confusion Miss Abbott was +praying. + +He was not much surprised: a spiritual breakdown was quite to be +expected. For though he was growing more charitable towards mankind, +he was still a little jaunty, and too apt to stake out beforehand the +course that will be pursued by the wounded soul. It did not surprise +him, however, that she should greet him naturally, with none of the sour +self-consciousness of a person who had just risen from her knees. This +was indeed the spirit of Santa Deodata’s, where a prayer to God is +thought none the worse of because it comes next to a pleasant word to +a neighbour. “I am sure that I need it,” said she; and he, who had +expected her to be ashamed, became confused, and knew not what to reply. + +“I’ve nothing to tell you,” she continued. “I have simply changed +straight round. If I had planned the whole thing out, I could not have +treated you worse. I can talk it over now; but please believe that I +have been crying.” + +“And please believe that I have not come to scold you,” said Philip. “I +know what has happened.” + +“What?” asked Miss Abbott. Instinctively she led the way to the famous +chapel, the fifth chapel on the right, wherein Giovanni da Empoli has +painted the death and burial of the saint. Here they could sit out of +the dust and the noise, and proceed with a discussion which promised to +be important. + +“What might have happened to me--he had made you believe that he loved +the child.” + +“Oh, yes; he has. He will never give it up.” + +“At present it is still unsettled.” + +“It will never be settled.” + +“Perhaps not. Well, as I said, I know what has happened, and I am not +here to scold you. But I must ask you to withdraw from the thing for the +present. Harriet is furious. But she will calm down when she realizes +that you have done us no harm, and will do none.” + +“I can do no more,” she said. “But I tell you plainly I have changed +sides.” + +“If you do no more, that is all we want. You promise not to prejudice +our cause by speaking to Signor Carella?” + +“Oh, certainly. I don’t want to speak to him again; I shan’t ever see +him again.” + +“Quite nice, wasn’t he?” + +“Quite.” + +“Well, that’s all I wanted to know. I’ll go and tell Harriet of your +promise, and I think things’ll quiet down now.” + +But he did not move, for it was an increasing pleasure to him to be +near her, and her charm was at its strongest today. He thought less of +psychology and feminine reaction. The gush of sentimentalism which had +carried her away had only made her more alluring. He was content to +observe her beauty and to profit by the tenderness and the wisdom that +dwelt within her. + +“Why aren’t you angry with me?” she asked, after a pause. + +“Because I understand you--all sides, I think,--Harriet, Signor Carella, +even my mother.” + +“You do understand wonderfully. You are the only one of us who has a +general view of the muddle.” + +He smiled with pleasure. It was the first time she had ever praised +him. His eyes rested agreeably on Santa Deodata, who was dying in full +sanctity, upon her back. There was a window open behind her, revealing +just such a view as he had seen that morning, and on her widowed +mother’s dresser there stood just such another copper pot. The saint +looked neither at the view nor at the pot, and at her widowed mother +still less. For lo! she had a vision: the head and shoulders of St. +Augustine were sliding like some miraculous enamel along the rough-cast +wall. It is a gentle saint who is content with half another saint to see +her die. In her death, as in her life, Santa Deodata did not accomplish +much. + +“So what are you going to do?” said Miss Abbott. + +Philip started, not so much at the words as at the sudden change in the +voice. “Do?” he echoed, rather dismayed. “This afternoon I have another +interview.” + +“It will come to nothing. Well?” + +“Then another. If that fails I shall wire home for instructions. I dare +say we may fail altogether, but we shall fail honourably.” + +She had often been decided. But now behind her decision there was a note +of passion. She struck him not as different, but as more important, and +he minded it very much when she said-- + +“That’s not doing anything! You would be doing something if you +kidnapped the baby, or if you went straight away. But that! To fail +honourably! To come out of the thing as well as you can! Is that all you +are after?” + +“Why, yes,” he stammered. “Since we talk openly, that is all I am after +just now. What else is there? If I can persuade Signor Carella to give +in, so much the better. If he won’t, I must report the failure to my +mother and then go home. Why, Miss Abbott, you can’t expect me to follow +you through all these turns--” + +“I don’t! But I do expect you to settle what is right and to follow +that. Do you want the child to stop with his father, who loves him and +will bring him up badly, or do you want him to come to Sawston, where +no one loves him, but where he will be brought up well? There is the +question put dispassionately enough even for you. Settle it. Settle +which side you’ll fight on. But don’t go talking about an ‘honourable +failure,’ which means simply not thinking and not acting at all.” + +“Because I understand the position of Signor Carella and of you, it’s no +reason that--” + +“None at all. Fight as if you think us wrong. Oh, what’s the use of your +fair-mindedness if you never decide for yourself? Any one gets hold of +you and makes you do what they want. And you see through them and laugh +at them--and do it. It’s not enough to see clearly; I’m muddle-headed +and stupid, and not worth a quarter of you, but I have tried to do +what seemed right at the time. And you--your brain and your insight are +splendid. But when you see what’s right you’re too idle to do it. You +told me once that we shall be judged by our intentions, not by our +accomplishments. I thought it a grand remark. But we must intend to +accomplish--not sit intending on a chair.” + +“You are wonderful!” he said gravely. + +“Oh, you appreciate me!” she burst out again. “I wish you didn’t. You +appreciate us all--see good in all of us. And all the time you are +dead--dead--dead. Look, why aren’t you angry?” She came up to him, and +then her mood suddenly changed, and she took hold of both his hands. +“You are so splendid, Mr. Herriton, that I can’t bear to see you wasted. +I can’t bear--she has not been good to you--your mother.” + +“Miss Abbott, don’t worry over me. Some people are born not to do +things. I’m one of them; I never did anything at school or at the Bar. +I came out to stop Lilia’s marriage, and it was too late. I came out +intending to get the baby, and I shall return an ‘honourable failure.’ I +never expect anything to happen now, and so I am never disappointed. +You would be surprised to know what my great events are. Going to the +theatre yesterday, talking to you now--I don’t suppose I shall ever +meet anything greater. I seem fated to pass through the world without +colliding with it or moving it--and I’m sure I can’t tell you whether +the fate’s good or evil. I don’t die--I don’t fall in love. And if other +people die or fall in love they always do it when I’m just not there. +You are quite right; life to me is just a spectacle, which--thank God, +and thank Italy, and thank you--is now more beautiful and heartening +than it has ever been before.” + +She said solemnly, “I wish something would happen to you, my dear +friend; I wish something would happen to you.” + +“But why?” he asked, smiling. “Prove to me why I don’t do as I am.” + +She also smiled, very gravely. She could not prove it. No argument +existed. Their discourse, splendid as it had been, resulted in nothing, +and their respective opinions and policies were exactly the same when +they left the church as when they had entered it. + +Harriet was rude at lunch. She called Miss Abbott a turncoat and a +coward to her face. Miss Abbott resented neither epithet, feeling that +one was justified and the other not unreasonable. She tried to avoid +even the suspicion of satire in her replies. But Harriet was sure +that she was satirical because she was so calm. She got more and more +violent, and Philip at one time feared that she would come to blows. + +“Look here!” he cried, with something of the old manner, “it’s too +hot for this. We’ve been talking and interviewing each other all the +morning, and I have another interview this afternoon. I do stipulate for +silence. Let each lady retire to her bedroom with a book.” + +“I retire to pack,” said Harriet. “Please remind Signor Carella, Philip, +that the baby is to be here by half-past eight this evening.” + +“Oh, certainly, Harriet. I shall make a point of reminding him.” + +“And order a carriage to take us to the evening train.” + +“And please,” said Miss Abbott, “would you order a carriage for me too?” + +“You going?” he exclaimed. + +“Of course,” she replied, suddenly flushing. “Why not?” + +“Why, of course you would be going. Two carriages, then. Two carriages +for the evening train.” He looked at his sister hopelessly. “Harriet, +whatever are you up to? We shall never be ready.” + +“Order my carriage for the evening train,” said Harriet, and departed. + +“Well, I suppose I shall. And I shall also have my interview with Signor +Carella.” + +Miss Abbott gave a little sigh. + +“But why should you mind? Do you suppose that I shall have the slightest +influence over him?” + +“No. But--I can’t repeat all that I said in the church. You ought never +to see him again. You ought to bundle Harriet into a carriage, not this +evening, but now, and drive her straight away.” + +“Perhaps I ought. But it isn’t a very big ‘ought.’ Whatever Harriet and +I do the issue is the same. Why, I can see the splendour of it--even the +humour. Gino sitting up here on the mountain-top with his cub. We come +and ask for it. He welcomes us. We ask for it again. He is equally +pleasant. I’m agreeable to spend the whole week bargaining with him. But +I know that at the end of it I shall descend empty-handed to the +plains. It might be finer of me to make up my mind. But I’m not a fine +character. And nothing hangs on it.” + +“Perhaps I am extreme,” she said humbly. “I’ve been trying to run you, +just like your mother. I feel you ought to fight it out with Harriet. +Every little trifle, for some reason, does seem incalculably important +today, and when you say of a thing that ‘nothing hangs on it,’ it sounds +like blasphemy. There’s never any knowing--(how am I to put it?)--which +of our actions, which of our idlenesses won’t have things hanging on it +for ever.” + +He assented, but her remark had only an aesthetic value. He was not +prepared to take it to his heart. All the afternoon he rested--worried, +but not exactly despondent. The thing would jog out somehow. Probably +Miss Abbott was right. The baby had better stop where it was loved. And +that, probably, was what the fates had decreed. He felt little interest +in the matter, and he was sure that he had no influence. + +It was not surprising, therefore, that the interview at the Caffe +Garibaldi came to nothing. Neither of them took it very seriously. And +before long Gino had discovered how things lay, and was ragging his +companion hopelessly. Philip tried to look offended, but in the end +he had to laugh. “Well, you are right,” he said. “This affair is being +managed by the ladies.” + +“Ah, the ladies--the ladies!” cried the other, and then he roared like +a millionaire for two cups of black coffee, and insisted on treating his +friend, as a sign that their strife was over. + +“Well, I have done my best,” said Philip, dipping a long slice of sugar +into his cup, and watching the brown liquid ascend into it. “I shall +face my mother with a good conscience. Will you bear me witness that +I’ve done my best?” + +“My poor fellow, I will!” He laid a sympathetic hand on Philip’s knee. + +“And that I have--” The sugar was now impregnated with coffee, and he +bent forward to swallow it. As he did so his eyes swept the opposite of +the Piazza, and he saw there, watching them, Harriet. “Mia sorella!” he +exclaimed. Gino, much amused, laid his hand upon the little table, and +beat the marble humorously with his fists. Harriet turned away and began +gloomily to inspect the Palazzo Pubblico. + +“Poor Harriet!” said Philip, swallowing the sugar. “One more wrench and +it will all be over for her; we are leaving this evening.” + +Gino was sorry for this. “Then you will not be here this evening as you +promised us. All three leaving?” + +“All three,” said Philip, who had not revealed the secession of Miss +Abbott; “by the night train; at least, that is my sister’s plan. So I’m +afraid I shan’t be here.” + +They watched the departing figure of Harriet, and then entered upon the +final civilities. They shook each other warmly by both hands. Philip +was to come again next year, and to write beforehand. He was to be +introduced to Gino’s wife, for he was told of the marriage now. He was +to be godfather to his next baby. As for Gino, he would remember some +time that Philip liked vermouth. He begged him to give his love to Irma. +Mrs. Herriton--should he send her his sympathetic regards? No; perhaps +that would hardly do. + +So the two young men parted with a good deal of genuine affection. For +the barrier of language is sometimes a blessed barrier, which only lets +pass what is good. Or--to put the thing less cynically--we may be better +in new clean words, which have never been tainted by our pettiness or +vice. Philip, at all events, lived more graciously in Italian, the very +phrases of which entice one to be happy and kind. It was horrible to +think of the English of Harriet, whose every word would be as hard, as +distinct, and as unfinished as a lump of coal. + +Harriet, however, talked little. She had seen enough to know that her +brother had failed again, and with unwonted dignity she accepted the +situation. She did her packing, she wrote up her diary, she made a brown +paper cover for the new Baedeker. Philip, finding her so amenable, tried +to discuss their future plans. But she only said that they would sleep +in Florence, and told him to telegraph for rooms. They had supper +alone. Miss Abbott did not come down. The landlady told them that Signor +Carella had called on Miss Abbott to say good-bye, but she, though in, +had not been able to see him. She also told them that it had begun +to rain. Harriet sighed, but indicated to her brother that he was not +responsible. + +The carriages came round at a quarter past eight. It was not raining +much, but the night was extraordinarily dark, and one of the drivers +wanted to go slowly to the station. Miss Abbott came down and said that +she was ready, and would start at once. + +“Yes, do,” said Philip, who was standing in the hall. “Now that we have +quarrelled we scarcely want to travel in procession all the way down the +hill. Well, good-bye; it’s all over at last; another scene in my pageant +has shifted.” + +“Good-bye; it’s been a great pleasure to see you. I hope that won’t +shift, at all events.” She gripped his hand. + +“You sound despondent,” he said, laughing. “Don’t forget that you return +victorious.” + +“I suppose I do,” she replied, more despondently than ever, and got into +the carriage. He concluded that she was thinking of her reception at +Sawston, whither her fame would doubtless precede her. Whatever would +Mrs. Herriton do? She could make things quite unpleasant when she +thought it right. She might think it right to be silent, but then there +was Harriet. Who would bridle Harriet’s tongue? Between the two of +them Miss Abbott was bound to have a bad time. Her reputation, both for +consistency and for moral enthusiasm, would be lost for ever. + +“It’s hard luck on her,” he thought. “She is a good person. I must do +for her anything I can.” Their intimacy had been very rapid, but he too +hoped that it would not shift. He believed that he understood her, +and that she, by now, had seen the worst of him. What if after a +long time--if after all--he flushed like a boy as he looked after her +carriage. + +He went into the dining-room to look for Harriet. Harriet was not to +be found. Her bedroom, too, was empty. All that was left of her was +the purple prayer-book which lay open on the bed. Philip took it up +aimlessly, and saw--“Blessed be the Lord my God who teacheth my hands to +war and my fingers to fight.” He put the book in his pocket, and began +to brood over more profitable themes. + +Santa Deodata gave out half past eight. All the luggage was on, and +still Harriet had not appeared. “Depend upon it,” said the landlady, +“she has gone to Signor Carella’s to say good-bye to her little nephew.” + Philip did not think it likely. They shouted all over the house and +still there was no Harriet. He began to be uneasy. He was helpless +without Miss Abbott; her grave, kind face had cheered him wonderfully, +even when it looked displeased. Monteriano was sad without her; the rain +was thickening; the scraps of Donizetti floated tunelessly out of the +wineshops, and of the great tower opposite he could only see the base, +fresh papered with the advertisements of quacks. + +A man came up the street with a note. Philip read, “Start at once. Pick +me up outside the gate. Pay the bearer. H. H.” + +“Did the lady give you this note?” he cried. + +The man was unintelligible. + +“Speak up!” exclaimed Philip. “Who gave it you--and where?” + +Nothing but horrible sighings and bubblings came out of the man. + +“Be patient with him,” said the driver, turning round on the box. “It is +the poor idiot.” And the landlady came out of the hotel and echoed “The +poor idiot. He cannot speak. He takes messages for us all.” + +Philip then saw that the messenger was a ghastly creature, quite bald, +with trickling eyes and grey twitching nose. In another country he would +have been shut up; here he was accepted as a public institution, and +part of Nature’s scheme. + +“Ugh!” shuddered the Englishman. “Signora padrona, find out from him; +this note is from my sister. What does it mean? Where did he see her?” + +“It is no good,” said the landlady. “He understands everything but he +can explain nothing.” + +“He has visions of the saints,” said the man who drove the cab. + +“But my sister--where has she gone? How has she met him?” + +“She has gone for a walk,” asserted the landlady. It was a nasty +evening, but she was beginning to understand the English. “She has gone +for a walk--perhaps to wish good-bye to her little nephew. Preferring to +come back another way, she has sent you this note by the poor idiot and +is waiting for you outside the Siena gate. Many of my guests do this.” + +There was nothing to do but to obey the message. He shook hands with +the landlady, gave the messenger a nickel piece, and drove away. After +a dozen yards the carriage stopped. The poor idiot was running and +whimpering behind. + +“Go on,” cried Philip. “I have paid him plenty.” + +A horrible hand pushed three soldi into his lap. It was part of the +idiot’s malady only to receive what was just for his services. This was +the change out of the nickel piece. + +“Go on!” shouted Philip, and flung the money into the road. He was +frightened at the episode; the whole of life had become unreal. It was +a relief to be out of the Siena gate. They drew up for a moment on the +terrace. But there was no sign of Harriet. The driver called to the +Dogana men. But they had seen no English lady pass. + +“What am I to do?” he cried; “it is not like the lady to be late. We +shall miss the train.” + +“Let us drive slowly,” said the driver, “and you shall call her by name +as we go.” + +So they started down into the night, Philip calling “Harriet! Harriet! +Harriet!” And there she was, waiting for them in the wet, at the first +turn of the zigzag. + +“Harriet, why don’t you answer?” + +“I heard you coming,” said she, and got quickly in. Not till then did he +see that she carried a bundle. + +“What’s that?” + +“Hush--” + +“Whatever is that?” + +“Hush--sleeping.” + +Harriet had succeeded where Miss Abbott and Philip had failed. It was +the baby. + +She would not let him talk. The baby, she repeated, was asleep, and she +put up an umbrella to shield it and her from the rain. He should +hear all later, so he had to conjecture the course of the wonderful +interview--an interview between the South pole and the North. It was +quite easy to conjecture: Gino crumpling up suddenly before the intense +conviction of Harriet; being told, perhaps, to his face that he was a +villain; yielding his only son perhaps for money, perhaps for nothing. +“Poor Gino,” he thought. “He’s no greater than I am, after all.” + +Then he thought of Miss Abbott, whose carriage must be descending the +darkness some mile or two below them, and his easy self-accusation +failed. She, too, had conviction; he had felt its force; he would feel +it again when she knew this day’s sombre and unexpected close. + +“You have been pretty secret,” he said; “you might tell me a little now. +What do we pay for him? All we’ve got?” + +“Hush!” answered Harriet, and dandled the bundle laboriously, like some +bony prophetess--Judith, or Deborah, or Jael. He had last seen the baby +sprawling on the knees of Miss Abbott, shining and naked, with twenty +miles of view behind him, and his father kneeling by his feet. And +that remembrance, together with Harriet, and the darkness, and the +poor idiot, and the silent rain, filled him with sorrow and with the +expectation of sorrow to come. + +Monteriano had long disappeared, and he could see nothing but the +occasional wet stem of an olive, which their lamp illumined as they +passed it. They travelled quickly, for this driver did not care how fast +he went to the station, and would dash down each incline and scuttle +perilously round the curves. + +“Look here, Harriet,” he said at last, “I feel bad; I want to see the +baby.” + +“Hush!” + +“I don’t mind if I do wake him up. I want to see him. I’ve as much right +in him as you.” + +Harriet gave in. But it was too dark for him to see the child’s face. +“Wait a minute,” he whispered, and before she could stop him he had +lit a match under the shelter of her umbrella. “But he’s awake!” he +exclaimed. The match went out. + +“Good ickle quiet boysey, then.” + +Philip winced. “His face, do you know, struck me as all wrong.” + +“All wrong?” + +“All puckered queerly.” + +“Of course--with the shadows--you couldn’t see him.” + +“Well, hold him up again.” She did so. He lit another match. It went out +quickly, but not before he had seen that the baby was crying. + +“Nonsense,” said Harriet sharply. “We should hear him if he cried.” + +“No, he’s crying hard; I thought so before, and I’m certain now.” + +Harriet touched the child’s face. It was bathed in tears. “Oh, the night +air, I suppose,” she said, “or perhaps the wet of the rain.” + +“I say, you haven’t hurt it, or held it the wrong way, or anything; +it is too uncanny--crying and no noise. Why didn’t you get Perfetta to +carry it to the hotel instead of muddling with the messenger? It’s a +marvel he understood about the note.” + +“Oh, he understands.” And he could feel her shudder. “He tried to carry +the baby--” + +“But why not Gino or Perfetta?” + +“Philip, don’t talk. Must I say it again? Don’t talk. The baby wants +to sleep.” She crooned harshly as they descended, and now and then she +wiped up the tears which welled inexhaustibly from the little eyes. +Philip looked away, winking at times himself. It was as if they were +travelling with the whole world’s sorrow, as if all the mystery, all the +persistency of woe were gathered to a single fount. The roads were +now coated with mud, and the carriage went more quietly but not less +swiftly, sliding by long zigzags into the night. He knew the landmarks +pretty well: here was the crossroad to Poggibonsi; and the last view of +Monteriano, if they had light, would be from here. Soon they ought to +come to that little wood where violets were so plentiful in spring. He +wished the weather had not changed; it was not cold, but the air was +extraordinarily damp. It could not be good for the child. + +“I suppose he breathes, and all that sort of thing?” he said. + +“Of course,” said Harriet, in an angry whisper. “You’ve started him +again. I’m certain he was asleep. I do wish you wouldn’t talk; it makes +me so nervous.” + +“I’m nervous too. I wish he’d scream. It’s too uncanny. Poor Gino! I’m +terribly sorry for Gino.” + +“Are you?” + +“Because he’s weak--like most of us. He doesn’t know what he wants. He +doesn’t grip on to life. But I like that man, and I’m sorry for him.” + +Naturally enough she made no answer. + +“You despise him, Harriet, and you despise me. But you do us no good +by it. We fools want some one to set us on our feet. Suppose a really +decent woman had set up Gino--I believe Caroline Abbott might have done +it--mightn’t he have been another man?” + +“Philip,” she interrupted, with an attempt at nonchalance, “do you +happen to have those matches handy? We might as well look at the baby +again if you have.” + +The first match blew out immediately. So did the second. He suggested +that they should stop the carriage and borrow the lamp from the driver. + +“Oh, I don’t want all that bother. Try again.” + +They entered the little wood as he tried to strike the third match. +At last it caught. Harriet poised the umbrella rightly, and for a full +quarter minute they contemplated the face that trembled in the light of +the trembling flame. Then there was a shout and a crash. They were lying +in the mud in darkness. The carriage had overturned. + +Philip was a good deal hurt. He sat up and rocked himself to and fro, +holding his arm. He could just make out the outline of the carriage +above him, and the outlines of the carriage cushions and of their +luggage upon the grey road. The accident had taken place in the wood, +where it was even darker than in the open. + +“Are you all right?” he managed to say. Harriet was screaming, the horse +was kicking, the driver was cursing some other man. + +Harriet’s screams became coherent. “The baby--the baby--it slipped--it’s +gone from my arms--I stole it!” + +“God help me!” said Philip. A cold circle came round his mouth, and, he +fainted. + +When he recovered it was still the same confusion. The horse was +kicking, the baby had not been found, and Harriet still screamed like a +maniac, “I stole it! I stole it! I stole it! It slipped out of my arms!” + +“Keep still!” he commanded the driver. “Let no one move. We may tread on +it. Keep still.” + +For a moment they all obeyed him. He began to crawl through the mud, +touching first this, then that, grasping the cushions by mistake, +listening for the faintest whisper that might guide him. He tried to +light a match, holding the box in his teeth and striking at it with the +uninjured hand. At last he succeeded, and the light fell upon the bundle +which he was seeking. + +It had rolled off the road into the wood a little way, and had fallen +across a great rut. So tiny it was that had it fallen lengthways it +would have disappeared, and he might never have found it. + +“I stole it! I and the idiot--no one was there.” She burst out laughing. + +He sat down and laid it on his knee. Then he tried to cleanse the face +from the mud and the rain and the tears. His arm, he supposed, was +broken, but he could still move it a little, and for the moment he +forgot all pain. He was listening--not for a cry, but for the tick of a +heart or the slightest tremor of breath. + +“Where are you?” called a voice. It was Miss Abbott, against whose +carriage they had collided. She had relit one of the lamps, and was +picking her way towards him. + +“Silence!” he called again, and again they obeyed. He shook the bundle; +he breathed into it; he opened his coat and pressed it against him. Then +he listened, and heard nothing but the rain and the panting horses, and +Harriet, who was somewhere chuckling to herself in the dark. + +Miss Abbott approached, and took it gently from him. The face was +already chilly, but thanks to Philip it was no longer wet. Nor would it +again be wetted by any tear. + + + +Chapter 9 + +The details of Harriet’s crime were never known. In her illness +she spoke more of the inlaid box that she lent to Lilia--lent, not +given--than of recent troubles. It was clear that she had gone prepared +for an interview with Gino, and finding him out, she had yielded to a +grotesque temptation. But how far this was the result of ill-temper, to +what extent she had been fortified by her religion, when and how she had +met the poor idiot--these questions were never answered, nor did they +interest Philip greatly. Detection was certain: they would have been +arrested by the police of Florence or Milan, or at the frontier. As it +was, they had been stopped in a simpler manner a few miles out of the +town. + +As yet he could scarcely survey the thing. It was too great. Round the +Italian baby who had died in the mud there centred deep passions and +high hopes. People had been wicked or wrong in the matter; no one save +himself had been trivial. Now the baby had gone, but there remained this +vast apparatus of pride and pity and love. For the dead, who seemed +to take away so much, really take with them nothing that is ours. The +passion they have aroused lives after them, easy to transmute or to +transfer, but well-nigh impossible to destroy. And Philip knew that he +was still voyaging on the same magnificent, perilous sea, with the sun +or the clouds above him, and the tides below. + +The course of the moment--that, at all events, was certain. He and no +one else must take the news to Gino. It was easy to talk of Harriet’s +crime--easy also to blame the negligent Perfetta or Mrs. Herriton at +home. Every one had contributed--even Miss Abbott and Irma. If one +chose, one might consider the catastrophe composite or the work of fate. +But Philip did not so choose. It was his own fault, due to acknowledged +weakness in his own character. Therefore he, and no one else, must take +the news of it to Gino. + +Nothing prevented him. Miss Abbott was engaged with Harriet, and people +had sprung out of the darkness and were conducting them towards some +cottage. Philip had only to get into the uninjured carriage and order +the driver to return. He was back at Monteriano after a two hours’ +absence. Perfetta was in the house now, and greeted him cheerfully. +Pain, physical and mental, had made him stupid. It was some time before +he realized that she had never missed the child. + +Gino was still out. The woman took him to the reception-room, just as +she had taken Miss Abbott in the morning, and dusted a circle for him on +one of the horsehair chairs. But it was dark now, so she left the guest +a little lamp. + +“I will be as quick as I can,” she told him. “But there are many streets +in Monteriano; he is sometimes difficult to find. I could not find him +this morning.” + +“Go first to the Caffe Garibaldi,” said Philip, remembering that this +was the hour appointed by his friends of yesterday. + +He occupied the time he was left alone not in thinking--there was +nothing to think about; he simply had to tell a few facts--but in trying +to make a sling for his broken arm. The trouble was in the elbow-joint, +and as long as he kept this motionless he could go on as usual. But +inflammation was beginning, and the slightest jar gave him agony. The +sling was not fitted before Gino leapt up the stairs, crying-- + +“So you are back! How glad I am! We are all waiting--” + +Philip had seen too much to be nervous. In low, even tones he told what +had happened; and the other, also perfectly calm, heard him to the end. +In the silence Perfetta called up that she had forgotten the baby’s +evening milk; she must fetch it. When she had gone Gino took up the lamp +without a word, and they went into the other room. + +“My sister is ill,” said Philip, “and Miss Abbott is guiltless. I should +be glad if you did not have to trouble them.” + +Gino had stooped down by the way, and was feeling the place where his +son had lain. Now and then he frowned a little and glanced at Philip. + +“It is through me,” he continued. “It happened because I was cowardly +and idle. I have come to know what you will do.” + +Gino had left the rug, and began to pat the table from the end, as if +he was blind. The action was so uncanny that Philip was driven to +intervene. + +“Gently, man, gently; he is not here.” + +He went up and touched him on the shoulder. + +He twitched away, and began to pass his hands over things more +rapidly--over the table, the chairs, the entire floor, the walls as high +as he could reach them. Philip had not presumed to comfort him. But now +the tension was too great--he tried. + +“Break down, Gino; you must break down. Scream and curse and give in for +a little; you must break down.” + +There was no reply, and no cessation of the sweeping hands. + +“It is time to be unhappy. Break down or you will be ill like my sister. +You will go--” + +The tour of the room was over. He had touched everything in it except +Philip. Now he approached him. He face was that of a man who has lost +his old reason for life and seeks a new one. + +“Gino!” + +He stopped for a moment; then he came nearer. Philip stood his ground. + +“You are to do what you like with me, Gino. Your son is dead, Gino. He +died in my arms, remember. It does not excuse me; but he did die in my +arms.” + +The left hand came forward, slowly this time. It hovered before Philip +like an insect. Then it descended and gripped him by his broken elbow. + +Philip struck out with all the strength of his other arm. Gino fell to +the blow without a cry or a word. + +“You brute!” exclaimed the Englishman. “Kill me if you like! But just +you leave my broken arm alone.” + +Then he was seized with remorse, and knelt beside his adversary and +tried to revive him. He managed to raise him up, and propped his body +against his own. He passed his arm round him. Again he was filled with +pity and tenderness. He awaited the revival without fear, sure that both +of them were safe at last. + +Gino recovered suddenly. His lips moved. For one blessed moment it +seemed that he was going to speak. But he scrambled up in silence, +remembering everything, and he made not towards Philip, but towards the +lamp. + +“Do what you like; but think first--” + +The lamp was tossed across the room, out through the loggia. It broke +against one of the trees below. Philip began to cry out in the dark. + +Gino approached from behind and gave him a sharp pinch. Philip spun +round with a yell. He had only been pinched on the back, but he knew +what was in store for him. He struck out, exhorting the devil to fight +him, to kill him, to do anything but this. Then he stumbled to the door. +It was open. He lost his head, and, instead of turning down the stairs, +he ran across the landing into the room opposite. There he lay down on +the floor between the stove and the skirting-board. + +His senses grew sharper. He could hear Gino coming in on tiptoe. He even +knew what was passing in his mind, how now he was at fault, now he +was hopeful, now he was wondering whether after all the victim had not +escaped down the stairs. There was a quick swoop above him, and then +a low growl like a dog’s. Gino had broken his finger-nails against the +stove. + +Physical pain is almost too terrible to bear. We can just bear it when +it comes by accident or for our good--as it generally does in modern +life--except at school. But when it is caused by the malignity of a +man, full grown, fashioned like ourselves, all our control disappears. +Philip’s one thought was to get away from that room at whatever +sacrifice of nobility or pride. + +Gino was now at the further end of the room, groping by the little +tables. Suddenly the instinct came to him. He crawled quickly to where +Philip lay and had him clean by the elbow. + +The whole arm seemed red-hot, and the broken bone grated in the joint, +sending out shoots of the essence of pain. His other arm was pinioned +against the wall, and Gino had trampled in behind the stove and was +kneeling on his legs. For the space of a minute he yelled and yelled +with all the force of his lungs. Then this solace was denied him. The +other hand, moist and strong, began to close round his throat. + +At first he was glad, for here, he thought, was death at last. But +it was only a new torture; perhaps Gino inherited the skill of his +ancestors--and childlike ruffians who flung each other from the towers. +Just as the windpipe closed, the hand fell off, and Philip was revived +by the motion of his arm. And just as he was about to faint and gain at +last one moment of oblivion, the motion stopped, and he would struggle +instead against the pressure on his throat. + +Vivid pictures were dancing through the pain--Lilia dying some months +back in this very house, Miss Abbott bending over the baby, his mother +at home, now reading evening prayers to the servants. He felt that he +was growing weaker; his brain wandered; the agony did not seem so great. +Not all Gino’s care could indefinitely postpone the end. His yells and +gurgles became mechanical--functions of the tortured flesh rather than +true notes of indignation and despair. He was conscious of a horrid +tumbling. Then his arm was pulled a little too roughly, and everything +was quiet at last. + +“But your son is dead, Gino. Your son is dead, dear Gino. Your son is +dead.” + +The room was full of light, and Miss Abbott had Gino by the shoulders, +holding him down in a chair. She was exhausted with the struggle, and +her arms were trembling. + +“What is the good of another death? What is the good of more pain?” + +He too began to tremble. Then he turned and looked curiously at Philip, +whose face, covered with dust and foam, was visible by the stove. Miss +Abbott allowed him to get up, though she still held him firmly. He gave +a loud and curious cry--a cry of interrogation it might be called. Below +there was the noise of Perfetta returning with the baby’s milk. + +“Go to him,” said Miss Abbott, indicating Philip. “Pick him up. Treat +him kindly.” + +She released him, and he approached Philip slowly. His eyes were filling +with trouble. He bent down, as if he would gently raise him up. + +“Help! help!” moaned Philip. His body had suffered too much from Gino. +It could not bear to be touched by him. + +Gino seemed to understand. He stopped, crouched above him. Miss Abbott +herself came forward and lifted her friend in her arms. + +“Oh, the foul devil!” he murmured. “Kill him! Kill him for me.” + +Miss Abbott laid him tenderly on the couch and wiped his face. Then she +said gravely to them both, “This thing stops here.” + +“Latte! latte!” cried Perfetta, hilariously ascending the stairs. + +“Remember,” she continued, “there is to be no revenge. I will have no +more intentional evil. We are not to fight with each other any more.” + +“I shall never forgive him,” sighed Philip. + +“Latte! latte freschissima! bianca come neve!” Perfetta came in with +another lamp and a little jug. + +Gino spoke for the first time. “Put the milk on the table,” he said. +“It will not be wanted in the other room.” The peril was over at last. +A great sob shook the whole body, another followed, and then he gave a +piercing cry of woe, and stumbled towards Miss Abbott like a child and +clung to her. + +All through the day Miss Abbott had seemed to Philip like a goddess, and +more than ever did she seem so now. Many people look younger and more +intimate during great emotion. But some there are who look older, and +remote, and he could not think that there was little difference in +years, and none in composition, between her and the man whose head was +laid upon her breast. Her eyes were open, full of infinite pity and +full of majesty, as if they discerned the boundaries of sorrow, and saw +unimaginable tracts beyond. Such eyes he had seen in great pictures but +never in a mortal. Her hands were folded round the sufferer, stroking +him lightly, for even a goddess can do no more than that. And it seemed +fitting, too, that she should bend her head and touch his forehead with +her lips. + +Philip looked away, as he sometimes looked away from the great pictures +where visible forms suddenly become inadequate for the things they have +shown to us. He was happy; he was assured that there was greatness in +the world. There came to him an earnest desire to be good through the +example of this good woman. He would try henceforward to be worthy of +the things she had revealed. Quietly, without hysterical prayers or +banging of drums, he underwent conversion. He was saved. + +“That milk,” said she, “need not be wasted. Take it, Signor Carella, and +persuade Mr. Herriton to drink.” + +Gino obeyed her, and carried the child’s milk to Philip. And Philip +obeyed also and drank. + +“Is there any left?” + +“A little,” answered Gino. + +“Then finish it.” For she was determined to use such remnants as lie +about the world. + +“Will you not have some?” + +“I do not care for milk; finish it all.” + +“Philip, have you had enough milk?” + +“Yes, thank you, Gino; finish it all.” + +He drank the milk, and then, either by accident or in some spasm of +pain, broke the jug to pieces. Perfetta exclaimed in bewilderment. “It +does not matter,” he told her. “It does not matter. It will never be +wanted any more.” + + + +Chapter 10 + +“He will have to marry her,” said Philip. “I heard from him this +morning, just as we left Milan. He finds he has gone too far to back +out. It would be expensive. I don’t know how much he minds--not as much +as we suppose, I think. At all events there’s not a word of blame in the +letter. I don’t believe he even feels angry. I never was so completely +forgiven. Ever since you stopped him killing me, it has been a vision of +perfect friendship. He nursed me, he lied for me at the inquest, and at +the funeral, though he was crying, you would have thought it was my son +who had died. Certainly I was the only person he had to be kind to; +he was so distressed not to make Harriet’s acquaintance, and that he +scarcely saw anything of you. In his letter he says so again.” + +“Thank him, please, when you write,” said Miss Abbott, “and give him my +kindest regards.” + +“Indeed I will.” He was surprised that she could slide away from the +man so easily. For his own part, he was bound by ties of almost alarming +intimacy. Gino had the southern knack of friendship. In the intervals +of business he would pull out Philip’s life, turn it inside out, +remodel it, and advise him how to use it for the best. The sensation was +pleasant, for he was a kind as well as a skilful operator. But Philip +came away feeling that he had not a secret corner left. In that +very letter Gino had again implored him, as a refuge from domestic +difficulties, “to marry Miss Abbott, even if her dowry is small.” And +how Miss Abbott herself, after such tragic intercourse, could resume +the conventions and send calm messages of esteem, was more than he could +understand. + +“When will you see him again?” she asked. They were standing together in +the corridor of the train, slowly ascending out of Italy towards the San +Gothard tunnel. + +“I hope next spring. Perhaps we shall paint Siena red for a day or +two with some of the new wife’s money. It was one of the arguments for +marrying her.” + +“He has no heart,” she said severely. “He does not really mind about the +child at all.” + +“No; you’re wrong. He does. He is unhappy, like the rest of us. But he +doesn’t try to keep up appearances as we do. He knows that the things +that have made him happy once will probably make him happy again--” + +“He said he would never be happy again.” + +“In his passion. Not when he was calm. We English say it when we are +calm--when we do not really believe it any longer. Gino is not ashamed +of inconsistency. It is one of the many things I like him for.” + +“Yes; I was wrong. That is so.” + +“He’s much more honest with himself than I am,” continued Philip, “and +he is honest without an effort and without pride. But you, Miss Abbott, +what about you? Will you be in Italy next spring?” + +“No.” + +“I’m sorry. When will you come back, do you think?” + +“I think never.” + +“For whatever reason?” He stared at her as if she were some monstrosity. + +“Because I understand the place. There is no need.” + +“Understand Italy!” he exclaimed. + +“Perfectly.” + +“Well, I don’t. And I don’t understand you,” he murmured to himself, as +he paced away from her up the corridor. By this time he loved her very +much, and he could not bear to be puzzled. He had reached love by the +spiritual path: her thoughts and her goodness and her nobility had +moved him first, and now her whole body and all its gestures had become +transfigured by them. The beauties that are called obvious--the beauties +of her hair and her voice and her limbs--he had noticed these +last; Gino, who never traversed any path at all, had commended them +dispassionately to his friend. + +Why was he so puzzling? He had known so much about her once--what she +thought, how she felt, the reasons for her actions. And now he only knew +that he loved her, and all the other knowledge seemed passing from him +just as he needed it most. Why would she never come to Italy again? Why +had she avoided himself and Gino ever since the evening that she had +saved their lives? The train was nearly empty. Harriet slumbered in +a compartment by herself. He must ask her these questions now, and he +returned quickly to her down the corridor. + +She greeted him with a question of her own. “Are your plans decided?” + +“Yes. I can’t live at Sawston.” + +“Have you told Mrs. Herriton?” + +“I wrote from Monteriano. I tried to explain things; but she will +never understand me. Her view will be that the affair is settled--sadly +settled since the baby is dead. Still it’s over; our family circle need +be vexed no more. She won’t even be angry with you. You see, you have +done us no harm in the long run. Unless, of course, you talk about +Harriet and make a scandal. So that is my plan--London and work. What is +yours?” + +“Poor Harriet!” said Miss Abbott. “As if I dare judge Harriet! Or +anybody.” And without replying to Philip’s question she left him to +visit the other invalid. + +Philip gazed after her mournfully, and then he looked mournfully out of +the window at the decreasing streams. All the excitement was over--the +inquest, Harriet’s short illness, his own visit to the surgeon. He was +convalescent, both in body and spirit, but convalescence brought no joy. +In the looking-glass at the end of the corridor he saw his face haggard, +and his shoulders pulled forward by the weight of the sling. Life was +greater than he had supposed, but it was even less complete. He had seen +the need for strenuous work and for righteousness. And now he saw what a +very little way those things would go. + +“Is Harriet going to be all right?” he asked. Miss Abbott had come back +to him. + +“She will soon be her old self,” was the reply. For Harriet, after a +short paroxysm of illness and remorse, was quickly returning to her +normal state. She had been “thoroughly upset” as she phrased it, but +she soon ceased to realize that anything was wrong beyond the death of +a poor little child. Already she spoke of “this unlucky accident,” and +“the mysterious frustration of one’s attempts to make things better.” + Miss Abbott had seen that she was comfortable, and had given her a kind +kiss. But she returned feeling that Harriet, like her mother, considered +the affair as settled. + +“I’m clear enough about Harriet’s future, and about parts of my own. But +I ask again, What about yours?” + +“Sawston and work,” said Miss Abbott. + +“No.” + +“Why not?” she asked, smiling. + +“You’ve seen too much. You’ve seen as much and done more than I have.” + +“But it’s so different. Of course I shall go to Sawston. You forget +my father; and even if he wasn’t there, I’ve a hundred ties: my +district--I’m neglecting it shamefully--my evening classes, the St. +James’--” + +“Silly nonsense!” he exploded, suddenly moved to have the whole thing +out with her. “You’re too good--about a thousand times better than I am. +You can’t live in that hole; you must go among people who can hope to +understand you. I mind for myself. I want to see you often--again and +again.” + +“Of course we shall meet whenever you come down; and I hope that it will +mean often.” + +“It’s not enough; it’ll only be in the old horrible way, each with a +dozen relatives round us. No, Miss Abbott; it’s not good enough.” + +“We can write at all events.” + +“You will write?” he cried, with a flush of pleasure. At times his hopes +seemed so solid. + +“I will indeed.” + +“But I say it’s not enough--you can’t go back to the old life if you +wanted to. Too much has happened.” + +“I know that,” she said sadly. + +“Not only pain and sorrow, but wonderful things: that tower in the +sunlight--do you remember it, and all you said to me? The theatre, even. +And the next day--in the church; and our times with Gino.” + +“All the wonderful things are over,” she said. “That is just where it +is.” + +“I don’t believe it. At all events not for me. The most wonderful things +may be to come--” + +“The wonderful things are over,” she repeated, and looked at him so +mournfully that he dare not contradict her. The train was crawling up +the last ascent towards the Campanile of Airolo and the entrance of the +tunnel. + +“Miss Abbott,” he murmured, speaking quickly, as if their free +intercourse might soon be ended, “what is the matter with you? I +thought I understood you, and I don’t. All those two great first days at +Monteriano I read you as clearly as you read me still. I saw why you +had come, and why you changed sides, and afterwards I saw your wonderful +courage and pity. And now you’re frank with me one moment, as you used +to be, and the next moment you shut me up. You see I owe too much to +you--my life, and I don’t know what besides. I won’t stand it. You’ve +gone too far to turn mysterious. I’ll quote what you said to me: ‘Don’t +be mysterious; there isn’t the time.’ I’ll quote something else: ‘I and +my life must be where I live.’ You can’t live at Sawston.” + +He had moved her at last. She whispered to herself hurriedly. “It is +tempting--” And those three words threw him into a tumult of joy. What +was tempting to her? After all was the greatest of things possible? +Perhaps, after long estrangement, after much tragedy, the South had +brought them together in the end. That laughter in the theatre, those +silver stars in the purple sky, even the violets of a departed spring, +all had helped, and sorrow had helped also, and so had tenderness to +others. + +“It is tempting,” she repeated, “not to be mysterious. I’ve wanted often +to tell you, and then been afraid. I could never tell any one else, +certainly no woman, and I think you’re the one man who might understand +and not be disgusted.” + +“Are you lonely?” he whispered. “Is it anything like that?” + +“Yes.” The train seemed to shake him towards her. He was resolved that +though a dozen people were looking, he would yet take her in his +arms. “I’m terribly lonely, or I wouldn’t speak. I think you must know +already.” Their faces were crimson, as if the same thought was surging +through them both. + +“Perhaps I do.” He came close to her. “Perhaps I could speak instead. +But if you will say the word plainly you’ll never be sorry; I will thank +you for it all my life.” + +She said plainly, “That I love him.” Then she broke down. Her body was +shaken with sobs, and lest there should be any doubt she cried between +the sobs for Gino! Gino! Gino! + +He heard himself remark “Rather! I love him too! When I can forget how +he hurt me that evening. Though whenever we shake hands--” One of them +must have moved a step or two, for when she spoke again she was already +a little way apart. + +“You’ve upset me.” She stifled something that was perilously near +hysterics. “I thought I was past all this. You’re taking it wrongly. I’m +in love with Gino--don’t pass it off--I mean it crudely--you know what I +mean. So laugh at me.” + +“Laugh at love?” asked Philip. + +“Yes. Pull it to pieces. Tell me I’m a fool or worse--that he’s a cad. +Say all you said when Lilia fell in love with him. That’s the help +I want. I dare tell you this because I like you--and because you’re +without passion; you look on life as a spectacle; you don’t enter it; +you only find it funny or beautiful. So I can trust you to cure me. +Mr. Herriton, isn’t it funny?” She tried to laugh herself, but became +frightened and had to stop. “He’s not a gentleman, nor a Christian, nor +good in any way. He’s never flattered me nor honoured me. But because +he’s handsome, that’s been enough. The son of an Italian dentist, with +a pretty face.” She repeated the phrase as if it was a charm against +passion. “Oh, Mr. Herriton, isn’t it funny!” Then, to his relief, she +began to cry. “I love him, and I’m not ashamed of it. I love him, and +I’m going to Sawston, and if I mayn’t speak about him to you sometimes, +I shall die.” + +In that terrible discovery Philip managed to think not of himself but of +her. He did not lament. He did not even speak to her kindly, for he saw +that she could not stand it. A flippant reply was what she asked and +needed--something flippant and a little cynical. And indeed it was the +only reply he could trust himself to make. + +“Perhaps it is what the books call ‘a passing fancy’?” + +She shook her head. Even this question was too pathetic. For as far +as she knew anything about herself, she knew that her passions, once +aroused, were sure. “If I saw him often,” she said, “I might remember +what he is like. Or he might grow old. But I dare not risk it, so +nothing can alter me now.” + +“Well, if the fancy does pass, let me know.” After all, he could say +what he wanted. + +“Oh, you shall know quick enough--” + +“But before you retire to Sawston--are you so mighty sure?” + +“What of?” She had stopped crying. He was treating her exactly as she +had hoped. + +“That you and he--” He smiled bitterly at the thought of them together. +Here was the cruel antique malice of the gods, such as they once sent +forth against Pasiphae. Centuries of aspiration and culture--and the +world could not escape it. “I was going to say--whatever have you got in +common?” + +“Nothing except the times we have seen each other.” Again her face was +crimson. He turned his own face away. + +“Which--which times?” + +“The time I thought you weak and heedless, and went instead of you to +get the baby. That began it, as far as I know the beginning. Or it may +have begun when you took us to the theatre, and I saw him mixed up with +music and light. But didn’t understand till the morning. Then you opened +the door--and I knew why I had been so happy. Afterwards, in the church, +I prayed for us all; not for anything new, but that we might just be as +we were--he with the child he loved, you and I and Harriet safe out of +the place--and that I might never see him or speak to him again. I could +have pulled through then--the thing was only coming near, like a wreath +of smoke; it hadn’t wrapped me round.” + +“But through my fault,” said Philip solemnly, “he is parted from the +child he loves. And because my life was in danger you came and saw +him and spoke to him again.” For the thing was even greater than she +imagined. Nobody but himself would ever see round it now. And to see +round it he was standing at an immense distance. He could even be glad +that she had once held the beloved in her arms. + +“Don’t talk of ‘faults.’ You’re my friend for ever, Mr. Herriton, I +think. Only don’t be charitable and shift or take the blame. Get over +supposing I’m refined. That’s what puzzles you. Get over that.” + +As he spoke she seemed to be transfigured, and to have indeed no part +with refinement or unrefinement any longer. Out of this wreck there was +revealed to him something indestructible--something which she, who had +given it, could never take away. + +“I say again, don’t be charitable. If he had asked me, I might have +given myself body and soul. That would have been the end of my rescue +party. But all through he took me for a superior being--a goddess. I +who was worshipping every inch of him, and every word he spoke. And that +saved me.” + +Philip’s eyes were fixed on the Campanile of Airolo. But he saw instead +the fair myth of Endymion. This woman was a goddess to the end. For +her no love could be degrading: she stood outside all degradation. This +episode, which she thought so sordid, and which was so tragic for him, +remained supremely beautiful. To such a height was he lifted, that +without regret he could now have told her that he was her worshipper +too. But what was the use of telling her? For all the wonderful things +had happened. + +“Thank you,” was all that he permitted himself. “Thank you for +everything.” + +She looked at him with great friendliness, for he had made her life +endurable. At that moment the train entered the San Gothard tunnel. They +hurried back to the carriage to close the windows lest the smuts should +get into Harriet’s eyes. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s Where Angels Fear to Tread, by E. M. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/2948-0.zip b/2948-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9bfafbc --- /dev/null +++ b/2948-0.zip diff --git a/2948-h.zip b/2948-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..21502ed --- /dev/null +++ b/2948-h.zip diff --git a/2948-h/2948-h.htm b/2948-h/2948-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e25fe1b --- /dev/null +++ b/2948-h/2948-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7640 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Where Angels Fear to Tread, by E. M. Forster + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Where Angels Fear to Tread, by E. M. Forster + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Where Angels Fear to Tread + +Author: E. M. Forster + +Release Date: January 10, 2009 [EBook #2948] +Last Updated: October 14, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHERE ANGELS FEAR TO TREAD *** + + + + +Produced by Richard Fane, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + WHERE ANGELS FEAR TO TREAD + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By E. M. Forster + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> Chapter 1 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> Chapter 2 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> Chapter 3 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> Chapter 4 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> Chapter 5 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> Chapter 6 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> Chapter 7 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> Chapter 8 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> Chapter 9 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> Chapter 10 </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + Chapter 1 + </h2> + <p> + They were all at Charing Cross to see Lilia off—Philip, Harriet, + Irma, Mrs. Herriton herself. Even Mrs. Theobald, squired by Mr. Kingcroft, + had braved the journey from Yorkshire to bid her only daughter good-bye. + Miss Abbott was likewise attended by numerous relatives, and the sight of + so many people talking at once and saying such different things caused + Lilia to break into ungovernable peals of laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Quite an ovation,” she cried, sprawling out of her first-class carriage. + “They’ll take us for royalty. Oh, Mr. Kingcroft, get us foot-warmers.” + </p> + <p> + The good-natured young man hurried away, and Philip, taking his place, + flooded her with a final stream of advice and injunctions—where to + stop, how to learn Italian, when to use mosquito-nets, what pictures to + look at. “Remember,” he concluded, “that it is only by going off the track + that you get to know the country. See the little towns—Gubbio, + Pienza, Cortona, San Gemignano, Monteriano. And don’t, let me beg you, go + with that awful tourist idea that Italy’s only a museum of antiquities and + art. Love and understand the Italians, for the people are more marvellous + than the land.” + </p> + <p> + “How I wish you were coming, Philip,” she said, flattered at the unwonted + notice her brother-in-law was giving her. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I were.” He could have managed it without great difficulty, for + his career at the Bar was not so intense as to prevent occasional + holidays. But his family disliked his continual visits to the Continent, + and he himself often found pleasure in the idea that he was too busy to + leave town. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, dear every one. What a whirl!” She caught sight of her little + daughter Irma, and felt that a touch of maternal solemnity was required. + “Good-bye, darling. Mind you’re always good, and do what Granny tells + you.” + </p> + <p> + She referred not to her own mother, but to her mother-in-law, Mrs. + Herriton, who hated the title of Granny. + </p> + <p> + Irma lifted a serious face to be kissed, and said cautiously, “I’ll do my + best.” + </p> + <p> + “She is sure to be good,” said Mrs. Herriton, who was standing pensively a + little out of the hubbub. But Lilia was already calling to Miss Abbott, a + tall, grave, rather nice-looking young lady who was conducting her adieus + in a more decorous manner on the platform. + </p> + <p> + “Caroline, my Caroline! Jump in, or your chaperon will go off without + you.” + </p> + <p> + And Philip, whom the idea of Italy always intoxicated, had started again, + telling her of the supreme moments of her coming journey—the + Campanile of Airolo, which would burst on her when she emerged from the + St. Gothard tunnel, presaging the future; the view of the Ticino and Lago + Maggiore as the train climbed the slopes of Monte Cenere; the view of + Lugano, the view of Como—Italy gathering thick around her now—the + arrival at her first resting-place, when, after long driving through dark + and dirty streets, she should at last behold, amid the roar of trams and + the glare of arc lamps, the buttresses of the cathedral of Milan. + </p> + <p> + “Handkerchiefs and collars,” screamed Harriet, “in my inlaid box! I’ve + lent you my inlaid box.” + </p> + <p> + “Good old Harry!” She kissed every one again, and there was a moment’s + silence. They all smiled steadily, excepting Philip, who was choking in + the fog, and old Mrs. Theobald, who had begun to cry. Miss Abbott got into + the carriage. The guard himself shut the door, and told Lilia that she + would be all right. Then the train moved, and they all moved with it a + couple of steps, and waved their handkerchiefs, and uttered cheerful + little cries. At that moment Mr. Kingcroft reappeared, carrying a + footwarmer by both ends, as if it was a tea-tray. He was sorry that he was + too late, and called out in a quivering voice, “Good-bye, Mrs. Charles. + May you enjoy yourself, and may God bless you.” + </p> + <p> + Lilia smiled and nodded, and then the absurd position of the foot-warmer + overcame her, and she began to laugh again. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I am so sorry,” she cried back, “but you do look so funny. Oh, you + all look so funny waving! Oh, pray!” And laughing helplessly, she was + carried out into the fog. + </p> + <p> + “High spirits to begin so long a journey,” said Mrs. Theobald, dabbing her + eyes. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Kingcroft solemnly moved his head in token of agreement. “I wish,” + said he, “that Mrs. Charles had gotten the footwarmer. These London + porters won’t take heed to a country chap.” + </p> + <p> + “But you did your best,” said Mrs. Herriton. “And I think it simply noble + of you to have brought Mrs. Theobald all the way here on such a day as + this.” Then, rather hastily, she shook hands, and left him to take Mrs. + Theobald all the way back. + </p> + <p> + Sawston, her own home, was within easy reach of London, and they were not + late for tea. Tea was in the dining-room, with an egg for Irma, to keep up + the child’s spirits. The house seemed strangely quiet after a fortnight’s + bustle, and their conversation was spasmodic and subdued. They wondered + whether the travellers had got to Folkestone, whether it would be at all + rough, and if so what would happen to poor Miss Abbott. + </p> + <p> + “And, Granny, when will the old ship get to Italy?” asked Irma. + </p> + <p> + “‘Grandmother,’ dear; not ‘Granny,’” said Mrs. Herriton, giving her a + kiss. “And we say ‘a boat’ or ‘a steamer,’ not ‘a ship.’ Ships have sails. + And mother won’t go all the way by sea. You look at the map of Europe, and + you’ll see why. Harriet, take her. Go with Aunt Harriet, and she’ll show + you the map.” + </p> + <p> + “Righto!” said the little girl, and dragged the reluctant Harriet into the + library. Mrs. Herriton and her son were left alone. There was immediately + confidence between them. + </p> + <p> + “Here beginneth the New Life,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Poor child, how vulgar!” murmured Mrs. Herriton. “It’s surprising that + she isn’t worse. But she has got a look of poor Charles about her.” + </p> + <p> + “And—alas, alas!—a look of old Mrs. Theobald. What appalling + apparition was that! I did think the lady was bedridden as well as + imbecile. Why ever did she come?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Kingcroft made her. I am certain of it. He wanted to see Lilia again, + and this was the only way.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope he is satisfied. I did not think my sister-in-law distinguished + herself in her farewells.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Herriton shuddered. “I mind nothing, so long as she has gone—and + gone with Miss Abbott. It is mortifying to think that a widow of + thirty-three requires a girl ten years younger to look after her.” + </p> + <p> + “I pity Miss Abbott. Fortunately one admirer is chained to England. Mr. + Kingcroft cannot leave the crops or the climate or something. I don’t + think, either, he improved his chances today. He, as well as Lilia, has + the knack of being absurd in public.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Herriton replied, “When a man is neither well bred, nor well + connected, nor handsome, nor clever, nor rich, even Lilia may discard him + in time.” + </p> + <p> + “No. I believe she would take any one. Right up to the last, when her + boxes were packed, she was ‘playing’ the chinless curate. Both the curates + are chinless, but hers had the dampest hands. I came on them in the Park. + They were speaking of the Pentateuch.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear boy! If possible, she has got worse and worse. It was your idea + of Italian travel that saved us!” + </p> + <p> + Philip brightened at the little compliment. “The odd part is that she was + quite eager—always asking me for information; and of course I was + very glad to give it. I admit she is a Philistine, appallingly ignorant, + and her taste in art is false. Still, to have any taste at all is + something. And I do believe that Italy really purifies and ennobles all + who visit her. She is the school as well as the playground of the world. + It is really to Lilia’s credit that she wants to go there.” + </p> + <p> + “She would go anywhere,” said his mother, who had heard enough of the + praises of Italy. “I and Caroline Abbott had the greatest difficulty in + dissuading her from the Riviera.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Mother; no. She was really keen on Italy. This travel is quite a + crisis for her.” He found the situation full of whimsical romance: there + was something half attractive, half repellent in the thought of this + vulgar woman journeying to places he loved and revered. Why should she not + be transfigured? The same had happened to the Goths. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Herriton did not believe in romance nor in transfiguration, nor in + parallels from history, nor in anything else that may disturb domestic + life. She adroitly changed the subject before Philip got excited. Soon + Harriet returned, having given her lesson in geography. Irma went to bed + early, and was tucked up by her grandmother. Then the two ladies worked + and played cards. Philip read a book. And so they all settled down to + their quiet, profitable existence, and continued it without interruption + through the winter. + </p> + <p> + It was now nearly ten years since Charles had fallen in love with Lilia + Theobald because she was pretty, and during that time Mrs. Herriton had + hardly known a moment’s rest. For six months she schemed to prevent the + match, and when it had taken place she turned to another task—the + supervision of her daughter-in-law. Lilia must be pushed through life + without bringing discredit on the family into which she had married. She + was aided by Charles, by her daughter Harriet, and, as soon as he was old + enough, by the clever one of the family, Philip. The birth of Irma made + things still more difficult. But fortunately old Mrs. Theobald, who had + attempted interference, began to break up. It was an effort to her to + leave Whitby, and Mrs. Herriton discouraged the effort as far as possible. + That curious duel which is fought over every baby was fought and decided + early. Irma belonged to her father’s family, not to her mother’s. + </p> + <p> + Charles died, and the struggle recommenced. Lilia tried to assert herself, + and said that she should go to take care of Mrs. Theobald. It required all + Mrs. Herriton’s kindness to prevent her. A house was finally taken for her + at Sawston, and there for three years she lived with Irma, continually + subject to the refining influences of her late husband’s family. + </p> + <p> + During one of her rare Yorkshire visits trouble began again. Lilia + confided to a friend that she liked a Mr. Kingcroft extremely, but that + she was not exactly engaged to him. The news came round to Mrs. Herriton, + who at once wrote, begging for information, and pointing out that Lilia + must either be engaged or not, since no intermediate state existed. It was + a good letter, and flurried Lilia extremely. She left Mr. Kingcroft + without even the pressure of a rescue-party. She cried a great deal on her + return to Sawston, and said she was very sorry. Mrs. Herriton took the + opportunity of speaking more seriously about the duties of widowhood and + motherhood than she had ever done before. But somehow things never went + easily after. Lilia would not settle down in her place among Sawston + matrons. She was a bad housekeeper, always in the throes of some domestic + crisis, which Mrs. Herriton, who kept her servants for years, had to step + across and adjust. She let Irma stop away from school for insufficient + reasons, and she allowed her to wear rings. She learnt to bicycle, for the + purpose of waking the place up, and coasted down the High Street one + Sunday evening, falling off at the turn by the church. If she had not been + a relative, it would have been entertaining. But even Philip, who in + theory loved outraging English conventions, rose to the occasion, and gave + her a talking which she remembered to her dying day. It was just then, + too, that they discovered that she still allowed Mr. Kingcroft to write to + her “as a gentleman friend,” and to send presents to Irma. + </p> + <p> + Philip thought of Italy, and the situation was saved. Caroline, charming, + sober, Caroline Abbott, who lived two turnings away, was seeking a + companion for a year’s travel. Lilia gave up her house, sold half her + furniture, left the other half and Irma with Mrs. Herriton, and had now + departed, amid universal approval, for a change of scene. + </p> + <p> + She wrote to them frequently during the winter—more frequently than + she wrote to her mother. Her letters were always prosperous. Florence she + found perfectly sweet, Naples a dream, but very whiffy. In Rome one had + simply to sit still and feel. Philip, however, declared that she was + improving. He was particularly gratified when in the early spring she + began to visit the smaller towns that he had recommended. “In a place like + this,” she wrote, “one really does feel in the heart of things, and off + the beaten track. Looking out of a Gothic window every morning, it seems + impossible that the middle ages have passed away.” The letter was from + Monteriano, and concluded with a not unsuccessful description of the + wonderful little town. + </p> + <p> + “It is something that she is contented,” said Mrs. Herriton. “But no one + could live three months with Caroline Abbott and not be the better for + it.” + </p> + <p> + Just then Irma came in from school, and she read her mother’s letter to + her, carefully correcting any grammatical errors, for she was a loyal + supporter of parental authority—Irma listened politely, but soon + changed the subject to hockey, in which her whole being was absorbed. They + were to vote for colours that afternoon—yellow and white or yellow + and green. What did her grandmother think? + </p> + <p> + Of course Mrs. Herriton had an opinion, which she sedately expounded, in + spite of Harriet, who said that colours were unnecessary for children, and + of Philip, who said that they were ugly. She was getting proud of Irma, + who had certainly greatly improved, and could no longer be called that + most appalling of things—a vulgar child. She was anxious to form her + before her mother returned. So she had no objection to the leisurely + movements of the travellers, and even suggested that they should overstay + their year if it suited them. + </p> + <p> + Lilia’s next letter was also from Monteriano, and Philip grew quite + enthusiastic. + </p> + <p> + “They’ve stopped there over a week!” he cried. “Why! I shouldn’t have done + as much myself. They must be really keen, for the hotel’s none too + comfortable.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot understand people,” said Harriet. “What can they be doing all + day? And there is no church there, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “There is Santa Deodata, one of the most beautiful churches in Italy.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I mean an English church,” said Harriet stiffly. “Lilia + promised me that she would always be in a large town on Sundays.” + </p> + <p> + “If she goes to a service at Santa Deodata’s, she will find more beauty + and sincerity than there is in all the Back Kitchens of Europe.” + </p> + <p> + The Back Kitchen was his nickname for St. James’s, a small depressing + edifice much patronized by his sister. She always resented any slight on + it, and Mrs. Herriton had to intervene. + </p> + <p> + “Now, dears, don’t. Listen to Lilia’s letter. ‘We love this place, and I + do not know how I shall ever thank Philip for telling me it. It is not + only so quaint, but one sees the Italians unspoiled in all their + simplicity and charm here. The frescoes are wonderful. Caroline, who grows + sweeter every day, is very busy sketching.’” + </p> + <p> + “Every one to his taste!” said Harriet, who always delivered a platitude + as if it was an epigram. She was curiously virulent about Italy, which she + had never visited, her only experience of the Continent being an + occasional six weeks in the Protestant parts of Switzerland. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Harriet is a bad lot!” said Philip as soon as she left the room. His + mother laughed, and told him not to be naughty; and the appearance of + Irma, just off to school, prevented further discussion. Not only in Tracts + is a child a peacemaker. + </p> + <p> + “One moment, Irma,” said her uncle. “I’m going to the station. I’ll give + you the pleasure of my company.” + </p> + <p> + They started together. Irma was gratified; but conversation flagged, for + Philip had not the art of talking to the young. Mrs. Herriton sat a little + longer at the breakfast table, re-reading Lilia’s letter. Then she helped + the cook to clear, ordered dinner, and started the housemaid turning out + the drawing-room, Tuesday being its day. The weather was lovely, and she + thought she would do a little gardening, as it was quite early. She called + Harriet, who had recovered from the insult to St. James’s, and together + they went to the kitchen garden and began to sow some early vegetables. + </p> + <p> + “We will save the peas to the last; they are the greatest fun,” said Mrs. + Herriton, who had the gift of making work a treat. She and her elderly + daughter always got on very well, though they had not a great deal in + common. Harriet’s education had been almost too successful. As Philip once + said, she had “bolted all the cardinal virtues and couldn’t digest them.” + Though pious and patriotic, and a great moral asset for the house, she + lacked that pliancy and tact which her mother so much valued, and had + expected her to pick up for herself. Harriet, if she had been allowed, + would have driven Lilia to an open rupture, and, what was worse, she would + have done the same to Philip two years before, when he returned full of + passion for Italy, and ridiculing Sawston and its ways. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a shame, Mother!” she had cried. “Philip laughs at everything—the + Book Club, the Debating Society, the Progressive Whist, the bazaars. + People won’t like it. We have our reputation. A house divided against + itself cannot stand.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Herriton replied in the memorable words, “Let Philip say what he + likes, and he will let us do what we like.” And Harriet had acquiesced. + </p> + <p> + They sowed the duller vegetables first, and a pleasant feeling of + righteous fatigue stole over them as they addressed themselves to the + peas. Harriet stretched a string to guide the row straight, and Mrs. + Herriton scratched a furrow with a pointed stick. At the end of it she + looked at her watch. + </p> + <p> + “It’s twelve! The second post’s in. Run and see if there are any letters.” + </p> + <p> + Harriet did not want to go. “Let’s finish the peas. There won’t be any + letters.” + </p> + <p> + “No, dear; please go. I’ll sow the peas, but you shall cover them up—and + mind the birds don’t see ‘em!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Herriton was very careful to let those peas trickle evenly from her + hand, and at the end of the row she was conscious that she had never sown + better. They were expensive too. + </p> + <p> + “Actually old Mrs. Theobald!” said Harriet, returning. + </p> + <p> + “Read me the letter. My hands are dirty. How intolerable the crested paper + is.” + </p> + <p> + Harriet opened the envelope. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand,” she said; “it doesn’t make sense.” + </p> + <p> + “Her letters never did.” + </p> + <p> + “But it must be sillier than usual,” said Harriet, and her voice began to + quaver. “Look here, read it, Mother; I can’t make head or tail.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Herriton took the letter indulgently. “What is the difficulty?” she + said after a long pause. “What is it that puzzles you in this letter?” + </p> + <p> + “The meaning—” faltered Harriet. The sparrows hopped nearer and + began to eye the peas. + </p> + <p> + “The meaning is quite clear—Lilia is engaged to be married. Don’t + cry, dear; please me by not crying—don’t talk at all. It’s more than + I could bear. She is going to marry some one she has met in a hotel. Take + the letter and read for yourself.” Suddenly she broke down over what might + seem a small point. “How dare she not tell me direct! How dare she write + first to Yorkshire! Pray, am I to hear through Mrs. Theobald—a + patronizing, insolent letter like this? Have I no claim at all? Bear + witness, dear”—she choked with passion—“bear witness that for + this I’ll never forgive her!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what is to be done?” moaned Harriet. “What is to be done?” + </p> + <p> + “This first!” She tore the letter into little pieces and scattered it over + the mould. “Next, a telegram for Lilia! No! a telegram for Miss Caroline + Abbott. She, too, has something to explain.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what is to be done?” repeated Harriet, as she followed her mother to + the house. She was helpless before such effrontery. What awful thing—what + awful person had come to Lilia? “Some one in the hotel.” The letter only + said that. What kind of person? A gentleman? An Englishman? The letter did + not say. + </p> + <p> + “Wire reason of stay at Monteriano. Strange rumours,” read Mrs. Herriton, + and addressed the telegram to Abbott, Stella d’Italia, Monteriano, Italy. + “If there is an office there,” she added, “we might get an answer this + evening. Since Philip is back at seven, and the eight-fifteen catches the + midnight boat at Dover—Harriet, when you go with this, get 100 + pounds in 5 pound notes at the bank.” + </p> + <p> + “Go, dear, at once; do not talk. I see Irma coming back; go quickly.... + Well, Irma dear, and whose team are you in this afternoon—Miss + Edith’s or Miss May’s?” + </p> + <p> + But as soon as she had behaved as usual to her grand-daughter, she went to + the library and took out the large atlas, for she wanted to know about + Monteriano. The name was in the smallest print, in the midst of a + woolly-brown tangle of hills which were called the “Sub-Apennines.” It was + not so very far from Siena, which she had learnt at school. Past it there + wandered a thin black line, notched at intervals like a saw, and she knew + that this was a railway. But the map left a good deal to imagination, and + she had not got any. She looked up the place in “Childe Harold,” but Byron + had not been there. Nor did Mark Twain visit it in the “Tramp Abroad.” The + resources of literature were exhausted: she must wait till Philip came + home. And the thought of Philip made her try Philip’s room, and there she + found “Central Italy,” by Baedeker, and opened it for the first time in + her life and read in it as follows:— + </p> + <p> + MONTERIANO (pop. 4800). Hotels: Stella d’Italia, moderate only; Globo, + dirty. * Caffe Garibaldi. Post and Telegraph office in Corso Vittorio + Emmanuele, next to theatre. Photographs at Seghena’s (cheaper in + Florence). Diligence (1 lira) meets principal trains. + </p> + <p> + Chief attractions (2-3 hours): Santa Deodata, Palazzo Pubblico, Sant’ + Agostino, Santa Caterina, Sant’ Ambrogio, Palazzo Capocchi. Guide (2 lire) + unnecessary. A walk round the Walls should on no account be omitted. The + view from the Rocca (small gratuity) is finest at sunset. + </p> + <p> + History: Monteriano, the Mons Rianus of Antiquity, whose Ghibelline + tendencies are noted by Dante (Purg. xx.), definitely emancipated itself + from Poggibonsi in 1261. Hence the distich, “POGGIBONIZZI, FAUI IN LA, CHE + MONTERIANO SI FA CITTA!” till recently enscribed over the Siena gate. It + remained independent till 1530, when it was sacked by the Papal troops and + became part of the Grand Duchy of Tuscany. It is now of small importance, + and seat of the district prison. The inhabitants are still noted for their + agreeable manners. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The traveller will proceed direct from the Siena gate to the Collegiate + Church of Santa Deodata, and inspect (5th chapel on right) the charming + Frescoes.... + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Herriton did not proceed. She was not one to detect the hidden charms + of Baedeker. Some of the information seemed to her unnecessary, all of it + was dull. Whereas Philip could never read “The view from the Rocca (small + gratuity) is finest at sunset” without a catching at the heart. Restoring + the book to its place, she went downstairs, and looked up and down the + asphalt paths for her daughter. She saw her at last, two turnings away, + vainly trying to shake off Mr. Abbott, Miss Caroline Abbott’s father. + Harriet was always unfortunate. At last she returned, hot, agitated, + crackling with bank-notes, and Irma bounced to greet her, and trod heavily + on her corn. + </p> + <p> + “Your feet grow larger every day,” said the agonized Harriet, and gave her + niece a violent push. Then Irma cried, and Mrs. Herriton was annoyed with + Harriet for betraying irritation. Lunch was nasty; and during pudding news + arrived that the cook, by sheer dexterity, had broken a very vital knob + off the kitchen-range. “It is too bad,” said Mrs. Herriton. Irma said it + was three bad, and was told not to be rude. After lunch Harriet would get + out Baedeker, and read in injured tones about Monteriano, the Mons Rianus + of Antiquity, till her mother stopped her. + </p> + <p> + “It’s ridiculous to read, dear. She’s not trying to marry any one in the + place. Some tourist, obviously, who’s stopping in the hotel. The place has + nothing to do with it at all.” + </p> + <p> + “But what a place to go to! What nice person, too, do you meet in a + hotel?” + </p> + <p> + “Nice or nasty, as I have told you several times before, is not the point. + Lilia has insulted our family, and she shall suffer for it. And when you + speak against hotels, I think you forget that I met your father at + Chamounix. You can contribute nothing, dear, at present, and I think you + had better hold your tongue. I am going to the kitchen, to speak about the + range.” + </p> + <p> + She spoke just too much, and the cook said that if she could not give + satisfaction—she had better leave. A small thing at hand is greater + than a great thing remote, and Lilia, misconducting herself upon a + mountain in Central Italy, was immediately hidden. Mrs. Herriton flew to a + registry office, failed; flew to another, failed again; came home, was + told by the housemaid that things seemed so unsettled that she had better + leave as well; had tea, wrote six letters, was interrupted by cook and + housemaid, both weeping, asking her pardon, and imploring to be taken + back. In the flush of victory the door-bell rang, and there was the + telegram: “Lilia engaged to Italian nobility. Writing. Abbott.” + </p> + <p> + “No answer,” said Mrs. Herriton. “Get down Mr. Philip’s Gladstone from the + attic.” + </p> + <p> + She would not allow herself to be frightened by the unknown. Indeed she + knew a little now. The man was not an Italian noble, otherwise the + telegram would have said so. It must have been written by Lilia. None but + she would have been guilty of the fatuous vulgarity of “Italian nobility.” + She recalled phrases of this morning’s letter: “We love this place—Caroline + is sweeter than ever, and busy sketching—Italians full of simplicity + and charm.” And the remark of Baedeker, “The inhabitants are still noted + for their agreeable manners,” had a baleful meaning now. If Mrs. Herriton + had no imagination, she had intuition, a more useful quality, and the + picture she made to herself of Lilia’s FIANCE did not prove altogether + wrong. + </p> + <p> + So Philip was received with the news that he must start in half an hour + for Monteriano. He was in a painful position. For three years he had sung + the praises of the Italians, but he had never contemplated having one as a + relative. He tried to soften the thing down to his mother, but in his + heart of hearts he agreed with her when she said, “The man may be a duke + or he may be an organ-grinder. That is not the point. If Lilia marries him + she insults the memory of Charles, she insults Irma, she insults us. + Therefore I forbid her, and if she disobeys we have done with her for + ever.” + </p> + <p> + “I will do all I can,” said Philip in a low voice. It was the first time + he had had anything to do. He kissed his mother and sister and puzzled + Irma. The hall was warm and attractive as he looked back into it from the + cold March night, and he departed for Italy reluctantly, as for something + commonplace and dull. + </p> + <p> + Before Mrs. Herriton went to bed she wrote to Mrs. Theobald, using plain + language about Lilia’s conduct, and hinting that it was a question on + which every one must definitely choose sides. She added, as if it was an + afterthought, that Mrs. Theobald’s letter had arrived that morning. + </p> + <p> + Just as she was going upstairs she remembered that she never covered up + those peas. It upset her more than anything, and again and again she + struck the banisters with vexation. Late as it was, she got a lantern from + the tool-shed and went down the garden to rake the earth over them. The + sparrows had taken every one. But countless fragments of the letter + remained, disfiguring the tidy ground. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 2 + </h2> + <p> + When the bewildered tourist alights at the station of Monteriano, he finds + himself in the middle of the country. There are a few houses round the + railway, and many more dotted over the plain and the slopes of the hills, + but of a town, mediaeval or otherwise, not the slightest sign. He must + take what is suitably termed a “legno”—a piece of wood—and + drive up eight miles of excellent road into the middle ages. For it is + impossible, as well as sacrilegious, to be as quick as Baedeker. + </p> + <p> + It was three in the afternoon when Philip left the realms of commonsense. + He was so weary with travelling that he had fallen asleep in the train. + His fellow-passengers had the usual Italian gift of divination, and when + Monteriano came they knew he wanted to go there, and dropped him out. His + feet sank into the hot asphalt of the platform, and in a dream he watched + the train depart, while the porter who ought to have been carrying his + bag, ran up the line playing touch-you-last with the guard. Alas! he was + in no humour for Italy. Bargaining for a legno bored him unutterably. The + man asked six lire; and though Philip knew that for eight miles it should + scarcely be more than four, yet he was about to give what he was asked, + and so make the man discontented and unhappy for the rest of the day. He + was saved from this social blunder by loud shouts, and looking up the road + saw one cracking his whip and waving his reins and driving two horses + furiously, and behind him there appeared the swaying figure of a woman, + holding star-fish fashion on to anything she could touch. It was Miss + Abbott, who had just received his letter from Milan announcing the time of + his arrival, and had hurried down to meet him. + </p> + <p> + He had known Miss Abbott for years, and had never had much opinion about + her one way or the other. She was good, quiet, dull, and amiable, and + young only because she was twenty-three: there was nothing in her + appearance or manner to suggest the fire of youth. All her life had been + spent at Sawston with a dull and amiable father, and her pleasant, pallid + face, bent on some respectable charity, was a familiar object of the + Sawston streets. Why she had ever wished to leave them was surprising; but + as she truly said, “I am John Bull to the backbone, yet I do want to see + Italy, just once. Everybody says it is marvellous, and that one gets no + idea of it from books at all.” The curate suggested that a year was a long + time; and Miss Abbott, with decorous playfulness, answered him, “Oh, but + you must let me have my fling! I promise to have it once, and once only. + It will give me things to think about and talk about for the rest of my + life.” The curate had consented; so had Mr. Abbott. And here she was in a + legno, solitary, dusty, frightened, with as much to answer and to answer + for as the most dashing adventuress could desire. + </p> + <p> + They shook hands without speaking. She made room for Philip and his + luggage amidst the loud indignation of the unsuccessful driver, whom it + required the combined eloquence of the station-master and the station + beggar to confute. The silence was prolonged until they started. For three + days he had been considering what he should do, and still more what he + should say. He had invented a dozen imaginary conversations, in all of + which his logic and eloquence procured him certain victory. But how to + begin? He was in the enemy’s country, and everything—the hot sun, + the cold air behind the heat, the endless rows of olive-trees, regular yet + mysterious—seemed hostile to the placid atmosphere of Sawston in + which his thoughts took birth. At the outset he made one great concession. + If the match was really suitable, and Lilia were bent on it, he would give + in, and trust to his influence with his mother to set things right. He + would not have made the concession in England; but here in Italy, Lilia, + however wilful and silly, was at all events growing to be a human being. + </p> + <p> + “Are we to talk it over now?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, please,” said Miss Abbott, in great agitation. “If you will be + so very kind.” + </p> + <p> + “Then how long has she been engaged?” + </p> + <p> + Her face was that of a perfect fool—a fool in terror. + </p> + <p> + “A short time—quite a short time,” she stammered, as if the + shortness of the time would reassure him. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to know how long, if you can remember.” + </p> + <p> + She entered into elaborate calculations on her fingers. “Exactly eleven + days,” she said at last. + </p> + <p> + “How long have you been here?” + </p> + <p> + More calculations, while he tapped irritably with his foot. “Close on + three weeks.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you know him before you came?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Who is he?” + </p> + <p> + “A native of the place.” + </p> + <p> + The second silence took place. They had left the plain now and were + climbing up the outposts of the hills, the olive-trees still accompanying. + The driver, a jolly fat man, had got out to ease the horses, and was + walking by the side of the carriage. + </p> + <p> + “I understood they met at the hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “It was a mistake of Mrs. Theobald’s.” + </p> + <p> + “I also understand that he is a member of the Italian nobility.” + </p> + <p> + She did not reply. + </p> + <p> + “May I be told his name?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Abbott whispered, “Carella.” But the driver heard her, and a grin + split over his face. The engagement must be known already. + </p> + <p> + “Carella? Conte or Marchese, or what?” + </p> + <p> + “Signor,” said Miss Abbott, and looked helplessly aside. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I bore you with these questions. If so, I will stop.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, please; not at all. I am here—my own idea—to give all + information which you very naturally—and to see if somehow—please + ask anything you like.” + </p> + <p> + “Then how old is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, quite young. Twenty-one, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + There burst from Philip the exclamation, “Good Lord!” + </p> + <p> + “One would never believe it,” said Miss Abbott, flushing. “He looks much + older.” + </p> + <p> + “And is he good-looking?” he asked, with gathering sarcasm. + </p> + <p> + She became decisive. “Very good-looking. All his features are good, and he + is well built—though I dare say English standards would find him too + short.” + </p> + <p> + Philip, whose one physical advantage was his height, felt annoyed at her + implied indifference to it. + </p> + <p> + “May I conclude that you like him?” + </p> + <p> + She replied decisively again, “As far as I have seen him, I do.” + </p> + <p> + At that moment the carriage entered a little wood, which lay brown and + sombre across the cultivated hill. The trees of the wood were small and + leafless, but noticeable for this—that their stems stood in violets + as rocks stand in the summer sea. There are such violets in England, but + not so many. Nor are there so many in Art, for no painter has the courage. + The cart-ruts were channels, the hollow lagoons; even the dry white margin + of the road was splashed, like a causeway soon to be submerged under the + advancing tide of spring. Philip paid no attention at the time: he was + thinking what to say next. But his eyes had registered the beauty, and + next March he did not forget that the road to Monteriano must traverse + innumerable flowers. + </p> + <p> + “As far as I have seen him, I do like him,” repeated Miss Abbott, after a + pause. + </p> + <p> + He thought she sounded a little defiant, and crushed her at once. + </p> + <p> + “What is he, please? You haven’t told me that. What’s his position?” + </p> + <p> + She opened her mouth to speak, and no sound came from it. Philip waited + patiently. She tried to be audacious, and failed pitiably. + </p> + <p> + “No position at all. He is kicking his heels, as my father would say. You + see, he has only just finished his military service.” + </p> + <p> + “As a private?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so. There is general conscription. He was in the Bersaglieri, I + think. Isn’t that the crack regiment?” + </p> + <p> + “The men in it must be short and broad. They must also be able to walk six + miles an hour.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him wildly, not understanding all that he said, but feeling + that he was very clever. Then she continued her defence of Signor Carella. + </p> + <p> + “And now, like most young men, he is looking out for something to do.” + </p> + <p> + “Meanwhile?” + </p> + <p> + “Meanwhile, like most young men, he lives with his people—father, + mother, two sisters, and a tiny tot of a brother.” + </p> + <p> + There was a grating sprightliness about her that drove him nearly mad. He + determined to silence her at last. + </p> + <p> + “One more question, and only one more. What is his father?” + </p> + <p> + “His father,” said Miss Abbott. “Well, I don’t suppose you’ll think it a + good match. But that’s not the point. I mean the point is not—I mean + that social differences—love, after all—not but what—I—” + </p> + <p> + Philip ground his teeth together and said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen sometimes judge hardly. But I feel that you, and at all events + your mother—so really good in every sense, so really unworldly—after + all, love-marriages are made in heaven.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Miss Abbott, I know. But I am anxious to hear heaven’s choice. You + arouse my curiosity. Is my sister-in-law to marry an angel?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Herriton, don’t—please, Mr. Herriton—a dentist. His + father’s a dentist.” + </p> + <p> + Philip gave a cry of personal disgust and pain. He shuddered all over, and + edged away from his companion. A dentist! A dentist at Monteriano. A + dentist in fairyland! False teeth and laughing gas and the tilting chair + at a place which knew the Etruscan League, and the Pax Romana, and Alaric + himself, and the Countess Matilda, and the Middle Ages, all fighting and + holiness, and the Renaissance, all fighting and beauty! He thought of + Lilia no longer. He was anxious for himself: he feared that Romance might + die. + </p> + <p> + Romance only dies with life. No pair of pincers will ever pull it out of + us. But there is a spurious sentiment which cannot resist the unexpected + and the incongruous and the grotesque. A touch will loosen it, and the + sooner it goes from us the better. It was going from Philip now, and + therefore he gave the cry of pain. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot think what is in the air,” he began. “If Lilia was determined to + disgrace us, she might have found a less repulsive way. A boy of medium + height with a pretty face, the son of a dentist at Monteriano. Have I put + it correctly? May I surmise that he has not got one penny? May I also + surmise that his social position is nil? Furthermore—” + </p> + <p> + “Stop! I’ll tell you no more.” + </p> + <p> + “Really, Miss Abbott, it is a little late for reticence. You have equipped + me admirably!” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell you not another word!” she cried, with a spasm of terror. Then + she got out her handkerchief, and seemed as if she would shed tears. After + a silence, which he intended to symbolize to her the dropping of a curtain + on the scene, he began to talk of other subjects. + </p> + <p> + They were among olives again, and the wood with its beauty and wildness + had passed away. But as they climbed higher the country opened out, and + there appeared, high on a hill to the right, Monteriano. The hazy green of + the olives rose up to its walls, and it seemed to float in isolation + between trees and sky, like some fantastic ship city of a dream. Its + colour was brown, and it revealed not a single house—nothing but the + narrow circle of the walls, and behind them seventeen towers—all + that was left of the fifty-two that had filled the city in her prime. Some + were only stumps, some were inclining stiffly to their fall, some were + still erect, piercing like masts into the blue. It was impossible to + praise it as beautiful, but it was also impossible to damn it as quaint. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Philip talked continually, thinking this to be great evidence of + resource and tact. It showed Miss Abbott that he had probed her to the + bottom, but was able to conquer his disgust, and by sheer force of + intellect continue to be as agreeable and amusing as ever. He did not know + that he talked a good deal of nonsense, and that the sheer force of his + intellect was weakened by the sight of Monteriano, and by the thought of + dentistry within those walls. + </p> + <p> + The town above them swung to the left, to the right, to the left again, as + the road wound upward through the trees, and the towers began to glow in + the descending sun. As they drew near, Philip saw the heads of people + gathering black upon the walls, and he knew well what was happening—how + the news was spreading that a stranger was in sight, and the beggars were + aroused from their content and bid to adjust their deformities; how the + alabaster man was running for his wares, and the Authorized Guide running + for his peaked cap and his two cards of recommendation—one from Miss + M’Gee, Maida Vale, the other, less valuable, from an Equerry to the Queen + of Peru; how some one else was running to tell the landlady of the Stella + d’Italia to put on her pearl necklace and brown boots and empty the slops + from the spare bedroom; and how the landlady was running to tell Lilia and + her boy that their fate was at hand. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps it was a pity Philip had talked so profusely. He had driven Miss + Abbott half demented, but he had given himself no time to concert a plan. + The end came so suddenly. They emerged from the trees on to the terrace + before the walk, with the vision of half Tuscany radiant in the sun behind + them, and then they turned in through the Siena gate, and their journey + was over. The Dogana men admitted them with an air of gracious welcome, + and they clattered up the narrow dark street, greeted by that mixture of + curiosity and kindness which makes each Italian arrival so wonderful. + </p> + <p> + He was stunned and knew not what to do. At the hotel he received no + ordinary reception. The landlady wrung him by the hand; one person + snatched his umbrella, another his bag; people pushed each other out of + his way. The entrance seemed blocked with a crowd. Dogs were barking, + bladder whistles being blown, women waving their handkerchiefs, excited + children screaming on the stairs, and at the top of the stairs was Lilia + herself, very radiant, with her best blouse on. + </p> + <p> + “Welcome!” she cried. “Welcome to Monteriano!” He greeted her, for he did + not know what else to do, and a sympathetic murmur rose from the crowd + below. + </p> + <p> + “You told me to come here,” she continued, “and I don’t forget it. Let me + introduce Signor Carella!” + </p> + <p> + Philip discerned in the corner behind her a young man who might eventually + prove handsome and well-made, but certainly did not seem so then. He was + half enveloped in the drapery of a cold dirty curtain, and nervously stuck + out a hand, which Philip took and found thick and damp. There were more + murmurs of approval from the stairs. + </p> + <p> + “Well, din-din’s nearly ready,” said Lilia. “Your room’s down the passage, + Philip. You needn’t go changing.” + </p> + <p> + He stumbled away to wash his hands, utterly crushed by her effrontery. + </p> + <p> + “Dear Caroline!” whispered Lilia as soon as he had gone. “What an angel + you’ve been to tell him! He takes it so well. But you must have had a + MAUVAIS QUART D’HEURE.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Abbott’s long terror suddenly turned into acidity. “I’ve told + nothing,” she snapped. “It’s all for you—and if it only takes a + quarter of an hour you’ll be lucky!” + </p> + <p> + Dinner was a nightmare. They had the smelly dining-room to themselves. + Lilia, very smart and vociferous, was at the head of the table; Miss + Abbott, also in her best, sat by Philip, looking, to his irritated nerves, + more like the tragedy confidante every moment. That scion of the Italian + nobility, Signor Carella, sat opposite. Behind him loomed a bowl of + goldfish, who swam round and round, gaping at the guests. + </p> + <p> + The face of Signor Carella was twitching too much for Philip to study it. + But he could see the hands, which were not particularly clean, and did not + get cleaner by fidgeting amongst the shining slabs of hair. His starched + cuffs were not clean either, and as for his suit, it had obviously been + bought for the occasion as something really English—a gigantic + check, which did not even fit. His handkerchief he had forgotten, but + never missed it. Altogether, he was quite unpresentable, and very lucky to + have a father who was a dentist in Monteriano. And why, even Lilia—But + as soon as the meal began it furnished Philip with an explanation. + </p> + <p> + For the youth was hungry, and his lady filled his plate with spaghetti, + and when those delicious slippery worms were flying down his throat, his + face relaxed and became for a moment unconscious and calm. And Philip had + seen that face before in Italy a hundred times—seen it and loved it, + for it was not merely beautiful, but had the charm which is the rightful + heritage of all who are born on that soil. But he did not want to see it + opposite him at dinner. It was not the face of a gentleman. + </p> + <p> + Conversation, to give it that name, was carried on in a mixture of English + and Italian. Lilia had picked up hardly any of the latter language, and + Signor Carella had not yet learnt any of the former. Occasionally Miss + Abbott had to act as interpreter between the lovers, and the situation + became uncouth and revolting in the extreme. Yet Philip was too cowardly + to break forth and denounce the engagement. He thought he should be more + effective with Lilia if he had her alone, and pretended to himself that he + must hear her defence before giving judgment. + </p> + <p> + Signor Carella, heartened by the spaghetti and the throat-rasping wine, + attempted to talk, and, looking politely towards Philip, said, “England is + a great country. The Italians love England and the English.” + </p> + <p> + Philip, in no mood for international amenities, merely bowed. + </p> + <p> + “Italy too,” the other continued a little resentfully, “is a great + country. She has produced many famous men—for example Garibaldi and + Dante. The latter wrote the ‘Inferno,’ the ‘Purgatorio,’ the ‘Paradiso.’ + The ‘Inferno’ is the most beautiful.” And with the complacent tone of one + who has received a solid education, he quoted the opening lines— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita + Mi ritrovai per una selva oscura + Che la diritta via era smarrita— +</pre> + <p> + a quotation which was more apt than he supposed. + </p> + <p> + Lilia glanced at Philip to see whether he noticed that she was marrying no + ignoramus. Anxious to exhibit all the good qualities of her betrothed, she + abruptly introduced the subject of pallone, in which, it appeared, he was + a proficient player. He suddenly became shy and developed a conceited grin—the + grin of the village yokel whose cricket score is mentioned before a + stranger. Philip himself had loved to watch pallone, that entrancing + combination of lawn-tennis and fives. But he did not expect to love it + quite so much again. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, look!” exclaimed Lilia, “the poor wee fish!” + </p> + <p> + A starved cat had been worrying them all for pieces of the purple + quivering beef they were trying to swallow. Signor Carella, with the + brutality so common in Italians, had caught her by the paw and flung her + away from him. Now she had climbed up to the bowl and was trying to hook + out the fish. He got up, drove her off, and finding a large glass stopper + by the bowl, entirely plugged up the aperture with it. + </p> + <p> + “But may not the fish die?” said Miss Abbott. “They have no air.” + </p> + <p> + “Fish live on water, not on air,” he replied in a knowing voice, and sat + down. Apparently he was at his ease again, for he took to spitting on the + floor. Philip glanced at Lilia but did not detect her wincing. She talked + bravely till the end of the disgusting meal, and then got up saying, + “Well, Philip, I am sure you are ready for by-bye. We shall meet at twelve + o’clock lunch tomorrow, if we don’t meet before. They give us caffe later + in our rooms.” + </p> + <p> + It was a little too impudent. Philip replied, “I should like to see you + now, please, in my room, as I have come all the way on business.” He heard + Miss Abbott gasp. Signor Carella, who was lighting a rank cigar, had not + understood. + </p> + <p> + It was as he expected. When he was alone with Lilia he lost all + nervousness. The remembrance of his long intellectual supremacy + strengthened him, and he began volubly— + </p> + <p> + “My dear Lilia, don’t let’s have a scene. Before I arrived I thought I + might have to question you. It is unnecessary. I know everything. Miss + Abbott has told me a certain amount, and the rest I see for myself.” + </p> + <p> + “See for yourself?” she exclaimed, and he remembered afterwards that she + had flushed crimson. + </p> + <p> + “That he is probably a ruffian and certainly a cad.” + </p> + <p> + “There are no cads in Italy,” she said quickly. + </p> + <p> + He was taken aback. It was one of his own remarks. And she further upset + him by adding, “He is the son of a dentist. Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you for the information. I know everything, as I told you before. I + am also aware of the social position of an Italian who pulls teeth in a + minute provincial town.” + </p> + <p> + He was not aware of it, but he ventured to conclude that it was pretty, + low. Nor did Lilia contradict him. But she was sharp enough to say, + “Indeed, Philip, you surprise me. I understood you went in for equality + and so on.” + </p> + <p> + “And I understood that Signor Carella was a member of the Italian + nobility.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we put it like that in the telegram so as not to shock dear Mrs. + Herriton. But it is true. He is a younger branch. Of course families + ramify—just as in yours there is your cousin Joseph.” She adroitly + picked out the only undesirable member of the Herriton clan. “Gino’s + father is courtesy itself, and rising rapidly in his profession. This very + month he leaves Monteriano, and sets up at Poggibonsi. And for my own poor + part, I think what people are is what matters, but I don’t suppose you’ll + agree. And I should like you to know that Gino’s uncle is a priest—the + same as a clergyman at home.” + </p> + <p> + Philip was aware of the social position of an Italian priest, and said so + much about it that Lilia interrupted him with, “Well, his cousin’s a + lawyer at Rome.” + </p> + <p> + “What kind of ‘lawyer’?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, a lawyer just like you are—except that he has lots to do and + can never get away.” + </p> + <p> + The remark hurt more than he cared to show. He changed his method, and in + a gentle, conciliating tone delivered the following speech:— + </p> + <p> + “The whole thing is like a bad dream—so bad that it cannot go on. If + there was one redeeming feature about the man I might be uneasy. As it is + I can trust to time. For the moment, Lilia, he has taken you in, but you + will find him out soon. It is not possible that you, a lady, accustomed to + ladies and gentlemen, will tolerate a man whose position is—well, + not equal to the son of the servants’ dentist in Coronation Place. I am + not blaming you now. But I blame the glamour of Italy—I have felt it + myself, you know—and I greatly blame Miss Abbott.” + </p> + <p> + “Caroline! Why blame her? What’s all this to do with Caroline?” + </p> + <p> + “Because we expected her to—” He saw that the answer would involve + him in difficulties, and, waving his hand, continued, “So I am confident, + and you in your heart agree, that this engagement will not last. Think of + your life at home—think of Irma! And I’ll also say think of us; for + you know, Lilia, that we count you more than a relation. I should feel I + was losing my own sister if you did this, and my mother would lose a + daughter.” + </p> + <p> + She seemed touched at last, for she turned away her face and said, “I + can’t break it off now!” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Lilia,” said he, genuinely moved. “I know it may be painful. But I + have come to rescue you, and, book-worm though I may be, I am not + frightened to stand up to a bully. He’s merely an insolent boy. He thinks + he can keep you to your word by threats. He will be different when he sees + he has a man to deal with.” + </p> + <p> + What follows should be prefaced with some simile—the simile of a + powder-mine, a thunderbolt, an earthquake—for it blew Philip up in + the air and flattened him on the ground and swallowed him up in the + depths. Lilia turned on her gallant defender and said— + </p> + <p> + “For once in my life I’ll thank you to leave me alone. I’ll thank your + mother too. For twelve years you’ve trained me and tortured me, and I’ll + stand it no more. Do you think I’m a fool? Do you think I never felt? Ah! + when I came to your house a poor young bride, how you all looked me over—never + a kind word—and discussed me, and thought I might just do; and your + mother corrected me, and your sister snubbed me, and you said funny things + about me to show how clever you were! And when Charles died I was still to + run in strings for the honour of your beastly family, and I was to be + cooped up at Sawston and learn to keep house, and all my chances spoilt of + marrying again. No, thank you! No, thank you! ‘Bully?’ ‘Insolent boy?’ + Who’s that, pray, but you? But, thank goodness, I can stand up against the + world now, for I’ve found Gino, and this time I marry for love!” + </p> + <p> + The coarseness and truth of her attack alike overwhelmed him. But her + supreme insolence found him words, and he too burst forth. + </p> + <p> + “Yes! and I forbid you to do it! You despise me, perhaps, and think I’m + feeble. But you’re mistaken. You are ungrateful and impertinent and + contemptible, but I will save you in order to save Irma and our name. + There is going to be such a row in this town that you and he’ll be sorry + you came to it. I shall shrink from nothing, for my blood is up. It is + unwise of you to laugh. I forbid you to marry Carella, and I shall tell + him so now.” + </p> + <p> + “Do,” she cried. “Tell him so now. Have it out with him. Gino! Gino! Come + in! Avanti! Fra Filippo forbids the banns!” + </p> + <p> + Gino appeared so quickly that he must have been listening outside the + door. + </p> + <p> + “Fra Filippo’s blood’s up. He shrinks from nothing. Oh, take care he + doesn’t hurt you!” She swayed about in vulgar imitation of Philip’s walk, + and then, with a proud glance at the square shoulders of her betrothed, + flounced out of the room. + </p> + <p> + Did she intend them to fight? Philip had no intention of doing so; and no + more, it seemed, had Gino, who stood nervously in the middle of the room + with twitching lips and eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Please sit down, Signor Carella,” said Philip in Italian. “Mrs. Herriton + is rather agitated, but there is no reason we should not be calm. Might I + offer you a cigarette? Please sit down.” + </p> + <p> + He refused the cigarette and the chair, and remained standing in the full + glare of the lamp. Philip, not averse to such assistance, got his own face + into shadow. + </p> + <p> + For a long time he was silent. It might impress Gino, and it also gave him + time to collect himself. He would not this time fall into the error of + blustering, which he had caught so unaccountably from Lilia. He would make + his power felt by restraint. + </p> + <p> + Why, when he looked up to begin, was Gino convulsed with silent laughter? + It vanished immediately; but he became nervous, and was even more pompous + than he intended. + </p> + <p> + “Signor Carella, I will be frank with you. I have come to prevent you + marrying Mrs. Herriton, because I see you will both be unhappy together. + She is English, you are Italian; she is accustomed to one thing, you to + another. And—pardon me if I say it—she is rich and you are + poor.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not marrying her because she is rich,” was the sulky reply. + </p> + <p> + “I never suggested that for a moment,” said Philip courteously. “You are + honourable, I am sure; but are you wise? And let me remind you that we + want her with us at home. Her little daughter will be motherless, our home + will be broken up. If you grant my request you will earn our thanks—and + you will not be without a reward for your disappointment.” + </p> + <p> + “Reward—what reward?” He bent over the back of a chair and looked + earnestly at Philip. They were coming to terms pretty quickly. Poor Lilia! + </p> + <p> + Philip said slowly, “What about a thousand lire?” + </p> + <p> + His soul went forth into one exclamation, and then he was silent, with + gaping lips. Philip would have given double: he had expected a bargain. + </p> + <p> + “You can have them tonight.” + </p> + <p> + He found words, and said, “It is too late.” + </p> + <p> + “But why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because—” His voice broke. Philip watched his face,—a face + without refinement perhaps, but not without expression,—watched it + quiver and re-form and dissolve from emotion into emotion. There was + avarice at one moment, and insolence, and politeness, and stupidity, and + cunning—and let us hope that sometimes there was love. But gradually + one emotion dominated, the most unexpected of all; for his chest began to + heave and his eyes to wink and his mouth to twitch, and suddenly he stood + erect and roared forth his whole being in one tremendous laugh. + </p> + <p> + Philip sprang up, and Gino, who had flung wide his arms to let the + glorious creature go, took him by the shoulders and shook him, and said, + “Because we are married—married—married as soon as I knew you + were, coming. There was no time to tell you. Oh. oh! You have come all the + way for nothing. Oh! And oh, your generosity!” Suddenly he became grave, + and said, “Please pardon me; I am rude. I am no better than a peasant, and + I—” Here he saw Philip’s face, and it was too much for him. He + gasped and exploded and crammed his hands into his mouth and spat them out + in another explosion, and gave Philip an aimless push, which toppled him + on to the bed. He uttered a horrified Oh! and then gave up, and bolted + away down the passage, shrieking like a child, to tell the joke to his + wife. + </p> + <p> + For a time Philip lay on the bed, pretending to himself that he was hurt + grievously. He could scarcely see for temper, and in the passage he ran + against Miss Abbott, who promptly burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + “I sleep at the Globo,” he told her, “and start for Sawston tomorrow + morning early. He has assaulted me. I could prosecute him. But shall not.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t stop here,” she sobbed. “I daren’t stop here. You will have to + take me with you!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 3 + </h2> + <p> + Opposite the Volterra gate of Monteriano, outside the city, is a very + respectable white-washed mud wall, with a coping of red crinkled tiles to + keep it from dissolution. It would suggest a gentleman’s garden if there + was not in its middle a large hole, which grows larger with every + rain-storm. Through the hole is visible, firstly, the iron gate that is + intended to close it; secondly, a square piece of ground which, though not + quite, mud, is at the same time not exactly grass; and finally, another + wall, stone this time, which has a wooden door in the middle and two + wooden-shuttered windows each side, and apparently forms the facade of a + one-storey house. + </p> + <p> + This house is bigger than it looks, for it slides for two storeys down the + hill behind, and the wooden door, which is always locked, really leads + into the attic. The knowing person prefers to follow the precipitous + mule-track round the turn of the mud wall till he can take the edifice in + the rear. Then—being now on a level with the cellars—he lifts + up his head and shouts. If his voice sounds like something light—a + letter, for example, or some vegetables, or a bunch of flowers—a + basket is let out of the first-floor windows by a string, into which he + puts his burdens and departs. But if he sounds like something heavy, such + as a log of wood, or a piece of meat, or a visitor, he is interrogated, + and then bidden or forbidden to ascend. The ground floor and the upper + floor of that battered house are alike deserted, and the inmates keep the + central portion, just as in a dying body all life retires to the heart. + There is a door at the top of the first flight of stairs, and if the + visitor is admitted he will find a welcome which is not necessarily cold. + There are several rooms, some dark and mostly stuffy—a + reception-room adorned with horsehair chairs, wool-work stools, and a + stove that is never lit—German bad taste without German domesticity + broods over that room; also a living-room, which insensibly glides into a + bedroom when the refining influence of hospitality is absent, and real + bedrooms; and last, but not least, the loggia, where you can live day and + night if you feel inclined, drinking vermouth and smoking cigarettes, with + leagues of olive-trees and vineyards and blue-green hills to watch you. + </p> + <p> + It was in this house that the brief and inevitable tragedy of Lilia’s + married life took place. She made Gino buy it for her, because it was + there she had first seen him sitting on the mud wall that faced the + Volterra gate. She remembered how the evening sun had struck his hair, and + how he had smiled down at her, and being both sentimental and unrefined, + was determined to have the man and the place together. Things in Italy are + cheap for an Italian, and, though he would have preferred a house in the + piazza, or better still a house at Siena, or, bliss above bliss, a house + at Leghorn, he did as she asked, thinking that perhaps she showed her good + taste in preferring so retired an abode. + </p> + <p> + The house was far too big for them, and there was a general concourse of + his relatives to fill it up. His father wished to make it a patriarchal + concern, where all the family should have their rooms and meet together + for meals, and was perfectly willing to give up the new practice at + Poggibonsi and preside. Gino was quite willing too, for he was an + affectionate youth who liked a large home-circle, and he told it as a + pleasant bit of news to Lilia, who did not attempt to conceal her horror. + </p> + <p> + At once he was horrified too; saw that the idea was monstrous; abused + himself to her for having suggested it; rushed off to tell his father that + it was impossible. His father complained that prosperity was already + corrupting him and making him unsympathetic and hard; his mother cried; + his sisters accused him of blocking their social advance. He was + apologetic, and even cringing, until they turned on Lilia. Then he turned + on them, saying that they could not understand, much less associate with, + the English lady who was his wife; that there should be one master in that + house—himself. + </p> + <p> + Lilia praised and petted him on his return, calling him brave and a hero + and other endearing epithets. But he was rather blue when his clan left + Monteriano in much dignity—a dignity which was not at all impaired + by the acceptance of a cheque. They took the cheque not to Poggibonsi, + after all, but to Empoli—a lively, dusty town some twenty miles off. + There they settled down in comfort, and the sisters said they had been + driven to it by Gino. + </p> + <p> + The cheque was, of course, Lilia’s, who was extremely generous, and was + quite willing to know anybody so long as she had not to live with them, + relations-in-law being on her nerves. She liked nothing better than + finding out some obscure and distant connection—there were several + of them—and acting the lady bountiful, leaving behind her + bewilderment, and too often discontent. Gino wondered how it was that all + his people, who had formerly seemed so pleasant, had suddenly become + plaintive and disagreeable. He put it down to his lady wife’s + magnificence, in comparison with which all seemed common. Her money flew + apace, in spite of the cheap living. She was even richer than he expected; + and he remembered with shame how he had once regretted his inability to + accept the thousand lire that Philip Herriton offered him in exchange for + her. It would have been a shortsighted bargain. + </p> + <p> + Lilia enjoyed settling into the house, with nothing to do except give + orders to smiling workpeople, and a devoted husband as interpreter. She + wrote a jaunty account of her happiness to Mrs. Herriton, and Harriet + answered the letter, saying (1) that all future communications should be + addressed to the solicitors; (2) would Lilia return an inlaid box which + Harriet had lent her—but not given—to keep handkerchiefs and + collars in? + </p> + <p> + “Look what I am giving up to live with you!” she said to Gino, never + omitting to lay stress on her condescension. He took her to mean the + inlaid box, and said that she need not give it up at all. + </p> + <p> + “Silly fellow, no! I mean the life. Those Herritons are very well + connected. They lead Sawston society. But what do I care, so long as I + have my silly fellow!” She always treated him as a boy, which he was, and + as a fool, which he was not, thinking herself so immeasurably superior to + him that she neglected opportunity after opportunity of establishing her + rule. He was good-looking and indolent; therefore he must be stupid. He + was poor; therefore he would never dare to criticize his benefactress. He + was passionately in love with her; therefore she could do exactly as she + liked. + </p> + <p> + “It mayn’t be heaven below,” she thought, “but it’s better than Charles.” + </p> + <p> + And all the time the boy was watching her, and growing up. + </p> + <p> + She was reminded of Charles by a disagreeable letter from the solicitors, + bidding her disgorge a large sum of money for Irma, in accordance with her + late husband’s will. It was just like Charles’s suspicious nature to have + provided against a second marriage. Gino was equally indignant, and + between them they composed a stinging reply, which had no effect. He then + said that Irma had better come out and live with them. “The air is good, + so is the food; she will be happy here, and we shall not have to part with + the money.” But Lilia had not the courage even to suggest this to the + Herritons, and an unexpected terror seized her at the thought of Irma or + any English child being educated at Monteriano. + </p> + <p> + Gino became terribly depressed over the solicitors’ letter, more depressed + than she thought necessary. There was no more to do in the house, and he + spent whole days in the loggia leaning over the parapet or sitting astride + it disconsolately. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you idle boy!” she cried, pinching his muscles. “Go and play + pallone.” + </p> + <p> + “I am a married man,” he answered, without raising his head. “I do not + play games any more.” + </p> + <p> + “Go and see your friends then.” + </p> + <p> + “I have no friends now.” + </p> + <p> + “Silly, silly, silly! You can’t stop indoors all day!” + </p> + <p> + “I want to see no one but you.” He spat on to an olive-tree. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Gino, don’t be silly. Go and see your friends, and bring them to see + me. We both of us like society.” + </p> + <p> + He looked puzzled, but allowed himself to be persuaded, went out, found + that he was not as friendless as he supposed, and returned after several + hours in altered spirits. Lilia congratulated herself on her good + management. + </p> + <p> + “I’m ready, too, for people now,” she said. “I mean to wake you all up, + just as I woke up Sawston. Let’s have plenty of men—and make them + bring their womenkind. I mean to have real English tea-parties.” + </p> + <p> + “There is my aunt and her husband; but I thought you did not want to + receive my relatives.” + </p> + <p> + “I never said such a—” + </p> + <p> + “But you would be right,” he said earnestly. “They are not for you. Many + of them are in trade, and even we are little more; you should have + gentlefolk and nobility for your friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor fellow,” thought Lilia. “It is sad for him to discover that his + people are vulgar.” She began to tell him that she loved him just for his + silly self, and he flushed and began tugging at his moustache. + </p> + <p> + “But besides your relatives I must have other people here. Your friends + have wives and sisters, haven’t they?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes; but of course I scarcely know them.” + </p> + <p> + “Not know your friends’ people?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, no. If they are poor and have to work for their living I may see + them—but not otherwise. Except—” He stopped. The chief + exception was a young lady, to whom he had once been introduced for + matrimonial purposes. But the dowry had proved inadequate, and the + acquaintance terminated. + </p> + <p> + “How funny! But I mean to change all that. Bring your friends to see me, + and I will make them bring their people.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her rather hopelessly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, who are the principal people here? Who leads society?” + </p> + <p> + The governor of the prison, he supposed, and the officers who assisted + him. + </p> + <p> + “Well, are they married?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “There we are. Do you know them?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—in a way.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” she exclaimed angrily. “They look down on you, do they, poor boy? + Wait!” He assented. “Wait! I’ll soon stop that. Now, who else is there?” + </p> + <p> + “The marchese, sometimes, and the canons of the Collegiate Church.” + </p> + <p> + “Married?” + </p> + <p> + “The canons—” he began with twinkling eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I forgot your horrid celibacy. In England they would be the centre of + everything. But why shouldn’t I know them? Would it make it easier if I + called all round? Isn’t that your foreign way?” + </p> + <p> + He did not think it would make it easier. + </p> + <p> + “But I must know some one! Who were the men you were talking to this + afternoon?” + </p> + <p> + Low-class men. He could scarcely recollect their names. + </p> + <p> + “But, Gino dear, if they’re low class, why did you talk to them? Don’t you + care about your position?” + </p> + <p> + All Gino cared about at present was idleness and pocket-money, and his way + of expressing it was to exclaim, “Ouf-pouf! How hot it is in here. No air; + I sweat all over. I expire. I must cool myself, or I shall never get to + sleep.” In his funny abrupt way he ran out on to the loggia, where he lay + full length on the parapet, and began to smoke and spit under the silence + of the stars. + </p> + <p> + Lilia gathered somehow from this conversation that Continental society was + not the go-as-you-please thing she had expected. Indeed she could not see + where Continental society was. Italy is such a delightful place to live in + if you happen to be a man. There one may enjoy that exquisite luxury of + Socialism—that true Socialism which is based not on equality of + income or character, but on the equality of manners. In the democracy of + the caffe or the street the great question of our life has been solved, + and the brotherhood of man is a reality. But is accomplished at the + expense of the sisterhood of women. Why should you not make friends with + your neighbour at the theatre or in the train, when you know and he knows + that feminine criticism and feminine insight and feminine prejudice will + never come between you? Though you become as David and Jonathan, you need + never enter his home, nor he yours. All your lives you will meet under the + open air, the only roof-tree of the South, under which he will spit and + swear, and you will drop your h’s, and nobody will think the worse of + either. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile the women—they have, of course, their house and their + church, with its admirable and frequent services, to which they are + escorted by the maid. Otherwise they do not go out much, for it is not + genteel to walk, and you are too poor to keep a carriage. Occasionally you + will take them to the caffe or theatre, and immediately all your wonted + acquaintance there desert you, except those few who are expecting and + expected to marry into your family. It is all very sad. But one + consolation emerges—life is very pleasant in Italy if you are a man. + </p> + <p> + Hitherto Gino had not interfered with Lilia. She was so much older than he + was, and so much richer, that he regarded her as a superior being who + answered to other laws. He was not wholly surprised, for strange rumours + were always blowing over the Alps of lands where men and women had the + same amusements and interests, and he had often met that privileged + maniac, the lady tourist, on her solitary walks. Lilia took solitary walks + too, and only that week a tramp had grabbed at her watch—an episode + which is supposed to be indigenous in Italy, though really less frequent + there than in Bond Street. Now that he knew her better, he was inevitably + losing his awe: no one could live with her and keep it, especially when + she had been so silly as to lose a gold watch and chain. As he lay + thoughtful along the parapet, he realized for the first time the + responsibilities of monied life. He must save her from dangers, physical + and social, for after all she was a woman. “And I,” he reflected, “though + I am young, am at all events a man, and know what is right.” + </p> + <p> + He found her still in the living-room, combing her hair, for she had + something of the slattern in her nature, and there was no need to keep up + appearances. + </p> + <p> + “You must not go out alone,” he said gently. “It is not safe. If you want + to walk, Perfetta shall accompany you.” Perfetta was a widowed cousin, too + humble for social aspirations, who was living with them as factotum. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” smiled Lilia, “very well”—as if she were addressing a + solicitous kitten. But for all that she never took a solitary walk again, + with one exception, till the day of her death. + </p> + <p> + Days passed, and no one called except poor relatives. She began to feel + dull. Didn’t he know the Sindaco or the bank manager? Even the landlady of + the Stella d’Italia would be better than no one. She, when she went into + the town, was pleasantly received; but people naturally found a difficulty + in getting on with a lady who could not learn their language. And the + tea-party, under Gino’s adroit management, receded ever and ever before + her. + </p> + <p> + He had a good deal of anxiety over her welfare, for she did not settle + down in the house at all. But he was comforted by a welcome and unexpected + visitor. As he was going one afternoon for the letters—they were + delivered at the door, but it took longer to get them at the office—some + one humorously threw a cloak over his head, and when he disengaged himself + he saw his very dear friend Spiridione Tesi of the custom-house at + Chiasso, whom he had not met for two years. What joy! what salutations! so + that all the passersby smiled with approval on the amiable scene. + Spiridione’s brother was now station-master at Bologna, and thus he + himself could spend his holiday travelling over Italy at the public + expense. Hearing of Gino’s marriage, he had come to see him on his way to + Siena, where lived his own uncle, lately monied too. + </p> + <p> + “They all do it,” he exclaimed, “myself excepted.” He was not quite + twenty-three. “But tell me more. She is English. That is good, very good. + An English wife is very good indeed. And she is rich?” + </p> + <p> + “Immensely rich.” + </p> + <p> + “Blonde or dark?” + </p> + <p> + “Blonde.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible!” + </p> + <p> + “It pleases me very much,” said Gino simply. “If you remember, I always + desired a blonde.” Three or four men had collected, and were listening. + </p> + <p> + “We all desire one,” said Spiridione. “But you, Gino, deserve your good + fortune, for you are a good son, a brave man, and a true friend, and from + the very first moment I saw you I wished you well.” + </p> + <p> + “No compliments, I beg,” said Gino, standing with his hands crossed on his + chest and a smile of pleasure on his face. + </p> + <p> + Spiridione addressed the other men, none of whom he had ever seen before. + “Is it not true? Does not he deserve this wealthy blonde?” + </p> + <p> + “He does deserve her,” said all the men. + </p> + <p> + It is a marvellous land, where you love it or hate it. + </p> + <p> + There were no letters, and of course they sat down at the Caffe Garibaldi, + by the Collegiate Church—quite a good caffe that for so small a + city. There were marble-topped tables, and pillars terra-cotta below and + gold above, and on the ceiling was a fresco of the battle of Solferino. + One could not have desired a prettier room. They had vermouth and little + cakes with sugar on the top, which they chose gravely at the counter, + pinching them first to be sure they were fresh. And though vermouth is + barely alcoholic, Spiridione drenched his with soda-water to be sure that + it should not get into his head. + </p> + <p> + They were in high spirits, and elaborate compliments alternated curiously + with gentle horseplay. But soon they put up their legs on a pair of chairs + and began to smoke. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” said Spiridione—“I forgot to ask—is she young?” + </p> + <p> + “Thirty-three.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, well, we cannot have everything.” + </p> + <p> + “But you would be surprised. Had she told me twenty-eight, I should not + have disbelieved her.” + </p> + <p> + “Is she SIMPATICA?” (Nothing will translate that word.) + </p> + <p> + Gino dabbed at the sugar and said after a silence, “Sufficiently so.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a most important thing.” + </p> + <p> + “She is rich, she is generous, she is affable, she addresses her inferiors + without haughtiness.” + </p> + <p> + There was another silence. “It is not sufficient,” said the other. “One + does not define it thus.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Last month a + German was smuggling cigars. The custom-house was dark. Yet I refused + because I did not like him. The gifts of such men do not bring happiness. + NON ERA SIMPATICO. He paid for every one, and the fine for deception + besides.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you gain much beyond your pay?” asked Gino, diverted for an instant. + </p> + <p> + “I do not accept small sums now. It is not worth the risk. But the German + was another matter. But listen, my Gino, for I am older than you and more + full of experience. The person who understands us at first sight, who + never irritates us, who never bores, to whom we can pour forth every + thought and wish, not only in speech but in silence—that is what I + mean by SIMPATICO.” + </p> + <p> + “There are such men, I know,” said Gino. “And I have heard it said of + children. But where will you find such a woman?” + </p> + <p> + “That is true. Here you are wiser than I. SONO POCO SIMPATICHE LE DONNE. + And the time we waste over them is much.” He sighed dolefully, as if he + found the nobility of his sex a burden. + </p> + <p> + “One I have seen who may be so. She spoke very little, but she was a young + lady—different to most. She, too, was English, the companion of my + wife here. But Fra Filippo, the brother-in-law, took her back with him. I + saw them start. He was very angry.” + </p> + <p> + Then he spoke of his exciting and secret marriage, and they made fun of + the unfortunate Philip, who had travelled over Europe to stop it. + </p> + <p> + “I regret though,” said Gino, when they had finished laughing, “that I + toppled him on to the bed. A great tall man! And when I am really amused I + am often impolite.” + </p> + <p> + “You will never see him again,” said Spiridione, who carried plenty of + philosophy about him. “And by now the scene will have passed from his + mind.” + </p> + <p> + “It sometimes happens that such things are recollected longest. I shall + never see him again, of course; but it is no benefit to me that he should + wish me ill. And even if he has forgotten, I am still sorry that I toppled + him on to the bed.” + </p> + <p> + So their talk continued, at one moment full of childishness and tender + wisdom, the next moment scandalously gross. The shadows of the terra-cotta + pillars lengthened, and tourists, flying through the Palazzo Pubblico + opposite, could observe how the Italians wasted time. + </p> + <p> + The sight of tourists reminded Gino of something he might say. “I want to + consult you since you are so kind as to take an interest in my affairs. My + wife wishes to take solitary walks.” + </p> + <p> + Spiridione was shocked. + </p> + <p> + “But I have forbidden her.” + </p> + <p> + “Naturally.” + </p> + <p> + “She does not yet understand. She asked me to accompany her sometimes—to + walk without object! You know, she would like me to be with her all day.” + </p> + <p> + “I see. I see.” He knitted his brows and tried to think how he could help + his friend. “She needs employment. Is she a Catholic?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “That is a pity. She must be persuaded. It will be a great solace to her + when she is alone.” + </p> + <p> + “I am a Catholic, but of course I never go to church.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not. Still, you might take her at first. That is what my + brother has done with his wife at Bologna and he has joined the Free + Thinkers. He took her once or twice himself, and now she has acquired the + habit and continues to go without him.” + </p> + <p> + “Most excellent advice, and I thank you for it. But she wishes to give + tea-parties—men and women together whom she has never seen.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the English! they are always thinking of tea. They carry it by the + kilogramme in their trunks, and they are so clumsy that they always pack + it at the top. But it is absurd!” + </p> + <p> + “What am I to do about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Do nothing. Or ask me!” + </p> + <p> + “Come!” cried Gino, springing up. “She will be quite pleased.” + </p> + <p> + The dashing young fellow coloured crimson. “Of course I was only joking.” + </p> + <p> + “I know. But she wants me to take my friends. Come now! Waiter!” + </p> + <p> + “If I do come,” cried the other, “and take tea with you, this bill must be + my affair.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not; you are in my country!” + </p> + <p> + A long argument ensued, in which the waiter took part, suggesting various + solutions. At last Gino triumphed. The bill came to eightpence-halfpenny, + and a halfpenny for the waiter brought it up to ninepence. Then there was + a shower of gratitude on one side and of deprecation on the other, and + when courtesies were at their height they suddenly linked arms and swung + down the street, tickling each other with lemonade straws as they went. + </p> + <p> + Lilia was delighted to see them, and became more animated than Gino had + known her for a long time. The tea tasted of chopped hay, and they asked + to be allowed to drink it out of a wine-glass, and refused milk; but, as + she repeatedly observed, this was something like. Spiridione’s manners + were very agreeable. He kissed her hand on introduction, and as his + profession had taught him a little English, conversation did not flag. + </p> + <p> + “Do you like music?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Passionately,” he replied. “I have not studied scientific music, but the + music of the heart, yes.” + </p> + <p> + So she played on the humming piano very badly, and he sang, not so badly. + Gino got out a guitar and sang too, sitting out on the loggia. It was a + most agreeable visit. + </p> + <p> + Gino said he would just walk his friend back to his lodgings. As they went + he said, without the least trace of malice or satire in his voice, “I + think you are quite right. I shall not bring people to the house any more. + I do not see why an English wife should be treated differently. This is + Italy.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very wise,” exclaimed the other; “very wise indeed. The more + precious a possession the more carefully it should be guarded.” + </p> + <p> + They had reached the lodging, but went on as far as the Caffe Garibaldi, + where they spent a long and most delightful evening. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 4 + </h2> + <p> + The advance of regret can be so gradual that it is impossible to say + “yesterday I was happy, today I am not.” At no one moment did Lilia + realize that her marriage was a failure; yet during the summer and autumn + she became as unhappy as it was possible for her nature to be. She had no + unkind treatment, and few unkind words, from her husband. He simply left + her alone. In the morning he went out to do “business,” which, as far as + she could discover, meant sitting in the Farmacia. He usually returned to + lunch, after which he retired to another room and slept. In the evening he + grew vigorous again, and took the air on the ramparts, often having his + dinner out, and seldom returning till midnight or later. There were, of + course, the times when he was away altogether—at Empoli, Siena, + Florence, Bologna—for he delighted in travel, and seemed to pick up + friends all over the country. Lilia often heard what a favorite he was. + </p> + <p> + She began to see that she must assert herself, but she could not see how. + Her self-confidence, which had overthrown Philip, had gradually oozed + away. If she left the strange house there was the strange little town. If + she were to disobey her husband and walk in the country, that would be + stranger still—vast slopes of olives and vineyards, with chalk-white + farms, and in the distance other slopes, with more olives and more farms, + and more little towns outlined against the cloudless sky. “I don’t call + this country,” she would say. “Why, it’s not as wild as Sawston Park!” + And, indeed, there was scarcely a touch of wildness in it—some of + those slopes had been under cultivation for two thousand years. But it was + terrible and mysterious all the same, and its continued presence made + Lilia so uncomfortable that she forgot her nature and began to reflect. + </p> + <p> + She reflected chiefly about her marriage. The ceremony had been hasty and + expensive, and the rites, whatever they were, were not those of the Church + of England. Lilia had no religion in her; but for hours at a time she + would be seized with a vulgar fear that she was not “married properly,” + and that her social position in the next world might be as obscure as it + was in this. It might be safer to do the thing thoroughly, and one day she + took the advice of Spiridione and joined the Roman Catholic Church, or as + she called it, “Santa Deodata’s.” Gino approved; he, too, thought it + safer, and it was fun confessing, though the priest was a stupid old man, + and the whole thing was a good slap in the face for the people at home. + </p> + <p> + The people at home took the slap very soberly; indeed, there were few left + for her to give it to. The Herritons were out of the question; they would + not even let her write to Irma, though Irma was occasionally allowed to + write to her. Mrs. Theobald was rapidly subsiding into dotage, and, as far + as she could be definite about anything, had definitely sided with the + Herritons. And Miss Abbott did likewise. Night after night did Lilia curse + this false friend, who had agreed with her that the marriage would “do,” + and that the Herritons would come round to it, and then, at the first hint + of opposition, had fled back to England shrieking and distraught. Miss + Abbott headed the long list of those who should never be written to, and + who should never be forgiven. Almost the only person who was not on that + list was Mr. Kingcroft, who had unexpectedly sent an affectionate and + inquiring letter. He was quite sure never to cross the Channel, and Lilia + drew freely on her fancy in the reply. + </p> + <p> + At first she had seen a few English people, for Monteriano was not the end + of the earth. One or two inquisitive ladies, who had heard at home of her + quarrel with the Herritons, came to call. She was very sprightly, and they + thought her quite unconventional, and Gino a charming boy, so all that was + to the good. But by May the season, such as it was, had finished, and + there would be no one till next spring. As Mrs. Herriton had often + observed, Lilia had no resources. She did not like music, or reading, or + work. Her one qualification for life was rather blowsy high spirits, which + turned querulous or boisterous according to circumstances. She was not + obedient, but she was cowardly, and in the most gentle way, which Mrs. + Herriton might have envied, Gino made her do what he wanted. At first it + had been rather fun to let him get the upper hand. But it was galling to + discover that he could not do otherwise. He had a good strong will when he + chose to use it, and would not have had the least scruple in using bolts + and locks to put it into effect. There was plenty of brutality deep down + in him, and one day Lilia nearly touched it. + </p> + <p> + It was the old question of going out alone. + </p> + <p> + “I always do it in England.” + </p> + <p> + “This is Italy.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but I’m older than you, and I’ll settle.” + </p> + <p> + “I am your husband,” he said, smiling. They had finished their mid-day + meal, and he wanted to go and sleep. Nothing would rouse him up, until at + last Lilia, getting more and more angry, said, “And I’ve got the money.” + </p> + <p> + He looked horrified. + </p> + <p> + Now was the moment to assert herself. She made the statement again. He got + up from his chair. + </p> + <p> + “And you’d better mend your manners,” she continued, “for you’d find it + awkward if I stopped drawing cheques.” + </p> + <p> + She was no reader of character, but she quickly became alarmed. As she + said to Perfetta afterwards, “None of his clothes seemed to fit—too + big in one place, too small in another.” His figure rather than his face + altered, the shoulders falling forward till his coat wrinkled across the + back and pulled away from his wrists. He seemed all arms. He edged round + the table to where she was sitting, and she sprang away and held the chair + between them, too frightened to speak or to move. He looked at her with + round, expressionless eyes, and slowly stretched out his left hand. + </p> + <p> + Perfetta was heard coming up from the kitchen. It seemed to wake him up, + and he turned away and went to his room without a word. + </p> + <p> + “What has happened?” cried Lilia, nearly fainting. “He is ill—ill.” + </p> + <p> + Perfetta looked suspicious when she heard the account. “What did you say + to him?” She crossed herself. + </p> + <p> + “Hardly anything,” said Lilia and crossed herself also. Thus did the two + women pay homage to their outraged male. + </p> + <p> + It was clear to Lilia at last that Gino had married her for money. But he + had frightened her too much to leave any place for contempt. His return + was terrifying, for he was frightened too, imploring her pardon, lying at + her feet, embracing her, murmuring “It was not I,” striving to define + things which he did not understand. He stopped in the house for three + days, positively ill with physical collapse. But for all his suffering he + had tamed her, and she never threatened to cut off supplies again. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps he kept her even closer than convention demanded. But he was very + young, and he could not bear it to be said of him that he did not know how + to treat a lady—or to manage a wife. And his own social position was + uncertain. Even in England a dentist is a troublesome creature, whom + careful people find difficult to class. He hovers between the professions + and the trades; he may be only a little lower than the doctors, or he may + be down among the chemists, or even beneath them. The son of the Italian + dentist felt this too. For himself nothing mattered; he made friends with + the people he liked, for he was that glorious invariable creature, a man. + But his wife should visit nowhere rather than visit wrongly: seclusion was + both decent and safe. The social ideals of North and South had had their + brief contention, and this time the South had won. + </p> + <p> + It would have been well if he had been as strict over his own behaviour as + he was over hers. But the incongruity never occurred to him for a moment. + His morality was that of the average Latin, and as he was suddenly placed + in the position of a gentleman, he did not see why he should not behave as + such. Of course, had Lilia been different—had she asserted herself + and got a grip on his character—he might possibly—though not + probably—have been made a better husband as well as a better man, + and at all events he could have adopted the attitude of the Englishman, + whose standard is higher even when his practice is the same. But had Lilia + been different she might not have married him. + </p> + <p> + The discovery of his infidelity—which she made by accident—destroyed + such remnants of self-satisfaction as her life might yet possess. She + broke down utterly and sobbed and cried in Perfetta’s arms. Perfetta was + kind and even sympathetic, but cautioned her on no account to speak to + Gino, who would be furious if he was suspected. And Lilia agreed, partly + because she was afraid of him, partly because it was, after all, the best + and most dignified thing to do. She had given up everything for him—her + daughter, her relatives, her friends, all the little comforts and luxuries + of a civilized life—and even if she had the courage to break away, + there was no one who would receive her now. The Herritons had been almost + malignant in their efforts against her, and all her friends had one by one + fallen off. So it was better to live on humbly, trying not to feel, + endeavouring by a cheerful demeanour to put things right. “Perhaps,” she + thought, “if I have a child he will be different. I know he wants a son.” + </p> + <p> + Lilia had achieved pathos despite herself, for there are some situations + in which vulgarity counts no longer. Not Cordelia nor Imogen more deserves + our tears. + </p> + <p> + She herself cried frequently, making herself look plain and old, which + distressed her husband. He was particularly kind to her when he hardly + ever saw her, and she accepted his kindness without resentment, even with + gratitude, so docile had she become. She did not hate him, even as she had + never loved him; with her it was only when she was excited that the + semblance of either passion arose. People said she was headstrong, but + really her weak brain left her cold. + </p> + <p> + Suffering, however, is more independent of temperament, and the wisest of + women could hardly have suffered more. + </p> + <p> + As for Gino, he was quite as boyish as ever, and carried his iniquities + like a feather. A favourite speech of his was, “Ah, one ought to marry! + Spiridione is wrong; I must persuade him. Not till marriage does one + realize the pleasures and the possibilities of life.” So saying, he would + take down his felt hat, strike it in the right place as infallibly as a + German strikes his in the wrong place, and leave her. + </p> + <p> + One evening, when he had gone out thus, Lilia could stand it no longer. It + was September. Sawston would be just filling up after the summer holidays. + People would be running in and out of each other’s houses all along the + road. There were bicycle gymkhanas, and on the 30th Mrs. Herriton would be + holding the annual bazaar in her garden for the C.M.S. It seemed + impossible that such a free, happy life could exist. She walked out on to + the loggia. Moonlight and stars in a soft purple sky. The walls of + Monteriano should be glorious on such a night as this. But the house faced + away from them. + </p> + <p> + Perfetta was banging in the kitchen, and the stairs down led past the + kitchen door. But the stairs up to the attic—the stairs no one ever + used—opened out of the living-room, and by unlocking the door at the + top one might slip out to the square terrace above the house, and thus for + ten minutes walk in freedom and peace. + </p> + <p> + The key was in the pocket of Gino’s best suit—the English check—which + he never wore. The stairs creaked and the key-hole screamed; but Perfetta + was growing deaf. The walls were beautiful, but as they faced west they + were in shadow. To see the light upon them she must walk round the town a + little, till they were caught by the beams of the rising moon. She looked + anxiously at the house, and started. + </p> + <p> + It was easy walking, for a little path ran all outside the ramparts. The + few people she met wished her a civil good-night, taking her, in her + hatless condition, for a peasant. The walls trended round towards the + moon; and presently she came into its light, and saw all the rough towers + turn into pillars of silver and black, and the ramparts into cliffs of + pearl. She had no great sense of beauty, but she was sentimental, and she + began to cry; for here, where a great cypress interrupted the monotony of + the girdle of olives, she had sat with Gino one afternoon in March, her + head upon his shoulder, while Caroline was looking at the view and + sketching. Round the corner was the Siena gate, from which the road to + England started, and she could hear the rumble of the diligence which was + going down to catch the night train to Empoli. The next moment it was upon + her, for the highroad came towards her a little before it began its long + zigzag down the hill. + </p> + <p> + The driver slackened, and called to her to get in. He did not know who she + was. He hoped she might be coming to the station. + </p> + <p> + “Non vengo!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + He wished her good-night, and turned his horses down the corner. As the + diligence came round she saw that it was empty. + </p> + <p> + “Vengo...” + </p> + <p> + Her voice was tremulous, and did not carry. The horses swung off. + </p> + <p> + “Vengo! Vengo!” + </p> + <p> + He had begun to sing, and heard nothing. She ran down the road screaming + to him to stop—that she was coming; while the distance grew greater + and the noise of the diligence increased. The man’s back was black and + square against the moon, and if he would but turn for an instant she would + be saved. She tried to cut off the corner of the zigzag, stumbling over + the great clods of earth, large and hard as rocks, which lay between the + eternal olives. She was too late; for, just before she regained the road, + the thing swept past her, thunderous, ploughing up choking clouds of + moonlit dust. + </p> + <p> + She did not call any more, for she felt very ill, and fainted; and when + she revived she was lying in the road, with dust in her eyes, and dust in + her mouth, and dust down her ears. There is something very terrible in + dust at night-time. + </p> + <p> + “What shall I do?” she moaned. “He will be so angry.” + </p> + <p> + And without further effort she slowly climbed back to captivity, shaking + her garments as she went. + </p> + <p> + Ill luck pursued her to the end. It was one of the nights when Gino + happened to come in. He was in the kitchen, swearing and smashing plates, + while Perfetta, her apron over her head, was weeping violently. At the + sight of Lilia he turned upon her and poured forth a flood of + miscellaneous abuse. He was far more angry but much less alarming than he + had been that day when he edged after her round the table. And Lilia + gained more courage from her bad conscience than she ever had from her + good one, for as he spoke she was seized with indignation and feared him + no longer, and saw him for a cruel, worthless, hypocritical, dissolute + upstart, and spoke in return. + </p> + <p> + Perfetta screamed for she told him everything—all she knew and all + she thought. He stood with open mouth, all the anger gone out of him, + feeling ashamed, and an utter fool. He was fairly and rightfully cornered. + When had a husband so given himself away before? She finished; and he was + dumb, for she had spoken truly. Then, alas! the absurdity of his own + position grew upon him, and he laughed—as he would have laughed at + the same situation on the stage. + </p> + <p> + “You laugh?” stammered Lilia. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he cried, “who could help it? I, who thought you knew and saw + nothing—I am tricked—I am conquered. I give in. Let us talk of + it no more.” + </p> + <p> + He touched her on the shoulder like a good comrade, half amused and half + penitent, and then, murmuring and smiling to himself, ran quietly out of + the room. + </p> + <p> + Perfetta burst into congratulations. “What courage you have!” she cried; + “and what good fortune! He is angry no longer! He has forgiven you!” + </p> + <p> + Neither Perfetta, nor Gino, nor Lilia herself knew the true reason of all + the misery that followed. To the end he thought that kindness and a little + attention would be enough to set things straight. His wife was a very + ordinary woman, and why should her ideas differ from his own? No one + realized that more than personalities were engaged; that the struggle was + national; that generations of ancestors, good, bad, or indifferent, forbad + the Latin man to be chivalrous to the northern woman, the northern woman + to forgive the Latin man. All this might have been foreseen: Mrs. Herriton + foresaw it from the first. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Lilia prided herself on her high personal standard, and Gino + simply wondered why she did not come round. He hated discomfort and + yearned for sympathy, but shrank from mentioning his difficulties in the + town in case they were put down to his own incompetence. Spiridione was + told, and replied in a philosophical but not very helpful letter. His + other great friend, whom he trusted more, was still serving in Eritrea or + some other desolate outpost. And, besides, what was the good of letters? + Friends cannot travel through the post. + </p> + <p> + Lilia, so similar to her husband in many ways, yearned for comfort and + sympathy too. The night he laughed at her she wildly took up paper and pen + and wrote page after page, analysing his character, enumerating his + iniquities, reporting whole conversations, tracing all the causes and the + growth of her misery. She was beside herself with passion, and though she + could hardly think or see, she suddenly attained to magnificence and + pathos which a practised stylist might have envied. It was written like a + diary, and not till its conclusion did she realize for whom it was meant. + </p> + <p> + “Irma, darling Irma, this letter is for you. I almost forgot I have a + daughter. It will make you unhappy, but I want you to know everything, and + you cannot learn things too soon. God bless you, my dearest, and save you. + God bless your miserable mother.” + </p> + <p> + Fortunately Mrs. Herriton was in when the letter arrived. She seized it + and opened it in her bedroom. Another moment, and Irma’s placid childhood + would have been destroyed for ever. + </p> + <p> + Lilia received a brief note from Harriet, again forbidding direct + communication between mother and daughter, and concluding with formal + condolences. It nearly drove her mad. + </p> + <p> + “Gently! gently!” said her husband. They were sitting together on the + loggia when the letter arrived. He often sat with her now, watching her + for hours, puzzled and anxious, but not contrite. + </p> + <p> + “It’s nothing.” She went in and tore it up, and then began to write—a + very short letter, whose gist was “Come and save me.” + </p> + <p> + It is not good to see your wife crying when she writes—especially if + you are conscious that, on the whole, your treatment of her has been + reasonable and kind. It is not good, when you accidentally look over her + shoulder, to see that she is writing to a man. Nor should she shake her + fist at you when she leaves the room, under the impression that you are + engaged in lighting a cigar and cannot see her. + </p> + <p> + Lilia went to the post herself. But in Italy so many things can be + arranged. The postman was a friend of Gino’s, and Mr. Kingcroft never got + his letter. + </p> + <p> + So she gave up hope, became ill, and all through the autumn lay in bed. + Gino was distracted. She knew why; he wanted a son. He could talk and + think of nothing else. His one desire was to become the father of a man + like himself, and it held him with a grip he only partially understood, + for it was the first great desire, the first great passion of his life. + Falling in love was a mere physical triviality, like warm sun or cool + water, beside this divine hope of immortality: “I continue.” He gave + candles to Santa Deodata, for he was always religious at a crisis, and + sometimes he went to her himself and prayed the crude uncouth demands of + the simple. Impetuously he summoned all his relatives back to bear him + company in his time of need, and Lilia saw strange faces flitting past her + in the darkened room. + </p> + <p> + “My love!” he would say, “my dearest Lilia! Be calm. I have never loved + any one but you.” + </p> + <p> + She, knowing everything, would only smile gently, too broken by suffering + to make sarcastic repartees. + </p> + <p> + Before the child was born he gave her a kiss, and said, “I have prayed all + night for a boy.” + </p> + <p> + Some strangely tender impulse moved her, and she said faintly, “You are a + boy yourself, Gino.” + </p> + <p> + He answered, “Then we shall be brothers.” + </p> + <p> + He lay outside the room with his head against the door like a dog. When + they came to tell him the glad news they found him half unconscious, and + his face was wet with tears. + </p> + <p> + As for Lilia, some one said to her, “It is a beautiful boy!” But she had + died in giving birth to him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 5 + </h2> + <p> + At the time of Lilia’s death Philip Herriton was just twenty-four years of + age—indeed the news reached Sawston on his birthday. He was a tall, + weakly-built young man, whose clothes had to be judiciously padded on the + shoulders in order to make him pass muster. His face was plain rather than + not, and there was a curious mixture in it of good and bad. He had a fine + forehead and a good large nose, and both observation and sympathy were in + his eyes. But below the nose and eyes all was confusion, and those people + who believe that destiny resides in the mouth and chin shook their heads + when they looked at him. + </p> + <p> + Philip himself, as a boy, had been keenly conscious of these defects. + Sometimes when he had been bullied or hustled about at school he would + retire to his cubicle and examine his features in a looking-glass, and he + would sigh and say, “It is a weak face. I shall never carve a place for + myself in the world.” But as years went on he became either less + self-conscious or more self-satisfied. The world, he found, made a niche + for him as it did for every one. Decision of character might come later—or + he might have it without knowing. At all events he had got a sense of + beauty and a sense of humour, two most desirable gifts. The sense of + beauty developed first. It caused him at the age of twenty to wear + parti-coloured ties and a squashy hat, to be late for dinner on account of + the sunset, and to catch art from Burne-Jones to Praxiteles. At twenty-two + he went to Italy with some cousins, and there he absorbed into one + aesthetic whole olive-trees, blue sky, frescoes, country inns, saints, + peasants, mosaics, statues, beggars. He came back with the air of a + prophet who would either remodel Sawston or reject it. All the energies + and enthusiasms of a rather friendless life had passed into the + championship of beauty. + </p> + <p> + In a short time it was over. Nothing had happened either in Sawston or + within himself. He had shocked half-a-dozen people, squabbled with his + sister, and bickered with his mother. He concluded that nothing could + happen, not knowing that human love and love of truth sometimes conquer + where love of beauty fails. + </p> + <p> + A little disenchanted, a little tired, but aesthetically intact, he + resumed his placid life, relying more and more on his second gift, the + gift of humour. If he could not reform the world, he could at all events + laugh at it, thus attaining at least an intellectual superiority. + Laughter, he read and believed, was a sign of good moral health, and he + laughed on contentedly, till Lilia’s marriage toppled contentment down for + ever. Italy, the land of beauty, was ruined for him. She had no power to + change men and things who dwelt in her. She, too, could produce avarice, + brutality, stupidity—and, what was worse, vulgarity. It was on her + soil and through her influence that a silly woman had married a cad. He + hated Gino, the betrayer of his life’s ideal, and now that the sordid + tragedy had come, it filled him with pangs, not of sympathy, but of final + disillusion. + </p> + <p> + The disillusion was convenient for Mrs. Herriton, who saw a trying little + period ahead of her, and was glad to have her family united. + </p> + <p> + “Are we to go into mourning, do you think?” She always asked her + children’s advice where possible. + </p> + <p> + Harriet thought that they should. She had been detestable to Lilia while + she lived, but she always felt that the dead deserve attention and + sympathy. “After all she has suffered. That letter kept me awake for + nights. The whole thing is like one of those horrible modern plays where + no one is in ‘the right.’ But if we have mourning, it will mean telling + Irma.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course we must tell Irma!” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said his mother. “But I think we can still not tell her about + Lilia’s marriage.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think that. And she must have suspected something by now.” + </p> + <p> + “So one would have supposed. But she never cared for her mother, and + little girls of nine don’t reason clearly. She looks on it as a long + visit. And it is important, most important, that she should not receive a + shock. All a child’s life depends on the ideal it has of its parents. + Destroy that and everything goes—morals, behaviour, everything. + Absolute trust in some one else is the essence of education. That is why I + have been so careful about talking of poor Lilia before her.” + </p> + <p> + “But you forget this wretched baby. Waters and Adamson write that there is + a baby.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Theobald must be told. But she doesn’t count. She is breaking up + very quickly. She doesn’t even see Mr. Kingcroft now. He, thank goodness, + I hear, has at last consoled himself with someone else.” + </p> + <p> + “The child must know some time,” persisted Philip, who felt a little + displeased, though he could not tell with what. + </p> + <p> + “The later the better. Every moment she is developing.” + </p> + <p> + “I must say it seems rather hard luck, doesn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “On Irma? Why?” + </p> + <p> + “On us, perhaps. We have morals and behaviour also, and I don’t think this + continual secrecy improves them.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s no need to twist the thing round to that,” said Harriet, rather + disturbed. + </p> + <p> + “Of course there isn’t,” said her mother. “Let’s keep to the main issue. + This baby’s quite beside the point. Mrs. Theobald will do nothing, and + it’s no concern of ours.” + </p> + <p> + “It will make a difference in the money, surely,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “No, dear; very little. Poor Charles provided for every kind of + contingency in his will. The money will come to you and Harriet, as Irma’s + guardians.” + </p> + <p> + “Good. Does the Italian get anything?” + </p> + <p> + “He will get all hers. But you know what that is.” + </p> + <p> + “Good. So those are our tactics—to tell no one about the baby, not + even Miss Abbott.” + </p> + <p> + “Most certainly this is the proper course,” said Mrs. Herriton, preferring + “course” to “tactics” for Harriet’s sake. “And why ever should we tell + Caroline?” + </p> + <p> + “She was so mixed up in the affair.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor silly creature. The less she hears about it the better she will be + pleased. I have come to be very sorry for Caroline. She, if any one, has + suffered and been penitent. She burst into tears when I told her a little, + only a little, of that terrible letter. I never saw such genuine remorse. + We must forgive her and forget. Let the dead bury their dead. We will not + trouble her with them.” + </p> + <p> + Philip saw that his mother was scarcely logical. But there was no + advantage in saying so. “Here beginneth the New Life, then. Do you + remember, mother, that was what we said when we saw Lilia off?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear; but now it is really a New Life, because we are all at accord. + Then you were still infatuated with Italy. It may be full of beautiful + pictures and churches, but we cannot judge a country by anything but its + men.” + </p> + <p> + “That is quite true,” he said sadly. And as the tactics were now settled, + he went out and took an aimless and solitary walk. + </p> + <p> + By the time he came back two important things had happened. Irma had been + told of her mother’s death, and Miss Abbott, who had called for a + subscription, had been told also. + </p> + <p> + Irma had wept loudly, had asked a few sensible questions and a good many + silly ones, and had been content with evasive answers. Fortunately the + school prize-giving was at hand, and that, together with the prospect of + new black clothes, kept her from meditating on the fact that Lilia, who + had been absent so long, would now be absent for ever. + </p> + <p> + “As for Caroline,” said Mrs. Herriton, “I was almost frightened. She broke + down utterly. She cried even when she left the house. I comforted her as + best I could, and I kissed her. It is something that the breach between + her and ourselves is now entirely healed.” + </p> + <p> + “Did she ask no questions—as to the nature of Lilia’s death, I + mean?” + </p> + <p> + “She did. But she has a mind of extraordinary delicacy. She saw that I was + reticent, and she did not press me. You see, Philip, I can say to you what + I could not say before Harriet. Her ideas are so crude. Really we do not + want it known in Sawston that there is a baby. All peace and comfort would + be lost if people came inquiring after it.” + </p> + <p> + His mother knew how to manage him. He agreed enthusiastically. And a few + days later, when he chanced to travel up to London with Miss Abbott, he + had all the time the pleasant thrill of one who is better informed. Their + last journey together had been from Monteriano back across Europe. It had + been a ghastly journey, and Philip, from the force of association, rather + expected something ghastly now. + </p> + <p> + He was surprised. Miss Abbott, between Sawston and Charing Cross, revealed + qualities which he had never guessed her to possess. Without being exactly + original, she did show a commendable intelligence, and though at times she + was gauche and even uncourtly, he felt that here was a person whom it + might be well to cultivate. + </p> + <p> + At first she annoyed him. They were talking, of course, about Lilia, when + she broke the thread of vague commiseration and said abruptly, “It is all + so strange as well as so tragic. And what I did was as strange as + anything.” + </p> + <p> + It was the first reference she had ever made to her contemptible + behaviour. “Never mind,” he said. “It’s all over now. Let the dead bury + their dead. It’s fallen out of our lives.” + </p> + <p> + “But that’s why I can talk about it and tell you everything I have always + wanted to. You thought me stupid and sentimental and wicked and mad, but + you never really knew how much I was to blame.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I never think about it now,” said Philip gently. He knew that her + nature was in the main generous and upright: it was unnecessary for her to + reveal her thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “The first evening we got to Monteriano,” she persisted, “Lilia went out + for a walk alone, saw that Italian in a picturesque position on a wall, + and fell in love. He was shabbily dressed, and she did not even know he + was the son of a dentist. I must tell you I was used to this sort of + thing. Once or twice before I had had to send people about their + business.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; we counted on you,” said Philip, with sudden sharpness. After all, + if she would reveal her thoughts, she must take the consequences. + </p> + <p> + “I know you did,” she retorted with equal sharpness. “Lilia saw him + several times again, and I knew I ought to interfere. I called her to my + bedroom one night. She was very frightened, for she knew what it was about + and how severe I could be. ‘Do you love this man?’ I asked. ‘Yes or no?’ + She said ‘Yes.’ And I said, ‘Why don’t you marry him if you think you’ll + be happy?’” + </p> + <p> + “Really—really,” exploded Philip, as exasperated as if the thing had + happened yesterday. “You knew Lilia all your life. Apart from everything + else—as if she could choose what could make her happy!” + </p> + <p> + “Had you ever let her choose?” she flashed out. “I’m afraid that’s rude,” + she added, trying to calm herself. + </p> + <p> + “Let us rather say unhappily expressed,” said Philip, who always adopted a + dry satirical manner when he was puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “I want to finish. Next morning I found Signor Carella and said the same + to him. He—well, he was willing. That’s all.” + </p> + <p> + “And the telegram?” He looked scornfully out of the window. + </p> + <p> + Hitherto her voice had been hard, possibly in self-accusation, possibly in + defiance. Now it became unmistakably sad. “Ah, the telegram! That was + wrong. Lilia there was more cowardly than I was. We should have told the + truth. It lost me my nerve, at all events. I came to the station meaning + to tell you everything then. But we had started with a lie, and I got + frightened. And at the end, when you left, I got frightened again and came + with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you really mean to stop?” + </p> + <p> + “For a time, at all events.” + </p> + <p> + “Would that have suited a newly married pair?” + </p> + <p> + “It would have suited them. Lilia needed me. And as for him—I can’t + help feeling I might have got influence over him.” + </p> + <p> + “I am ignorant of these matters,” said Philip; “but I should have thought + that would have increased the difficulty of the situation.” + </p> + <p> + The crisp remark was wasted on her. She looked hopelessly at the raw + over-built country, and said, “Well, I have explained.” + </p> + <p> + “But pardon me, Miss Abbott; of most of your conduct you have given a + description rather than an explanation.” + </p> + <p> + He had fairly caught her, and expected that she would gape and collapse. + To his surprise she answered with some spirit, “An explanation may bore + you, Mr. Herriton: it drags in other topics.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, never mind.” + </p> + <p> + “I hated Sawston, you see.” + </p> + <p> + He was delighted. “So did and do I. That’s splendid. Go on.” + </p> + <p> + “I hated the idleness, the stupidity, the respectability, the petty + unselfishness.” + </p> + <p> + “Petty selfishness,” he corrected. Sawston psychology had long been his + specialty. + </p> + <p> + “Petty unselfishness,” she repeated. “I had got an idea that every one + here spent their lives in making little sacrifices for objects they didn’t + care for, to please people they didn’t love; that they never learnt to be + sincere—and, what’s as bad, never learnt how to enjoy themselves. + That’s what I thought—what I thought at Monteriano.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Miss Abbott,” he cried, “you should have told me this before! Think + it still! I agree with lots of it. Magnificent!” + </p> + <p> + “Now Lilia,” she went on, “though there were things about her I didn’t + like, had somehow kept the power of enjoying herself with sincerity. And + Gino, I thought, was splendid, and young, and strong not only in body, and + sincere as the day. If they wanted to marry, why shouldn’t they do so? Why + shouldn’t she break with the deadening life where she had got into a + groove, and would go on in it, getting more and more—worse than + unhappy—apathetic till she died? Of course I was wrong. She only + changed one groove for another—a worse groove. And as for him—well, + you know more about him than I do. I can never trust myself to judge + characters again. But I still feel he cannot have been quite bad when we + first met him. Lilia—that I should dare to say it!—must have + been cowardly. He was only a boy—just going to turn into something + fine, I thought—and she must have mismanaged him. So that is the one + time I have gone against what is proper, and there are the results. You + have an explanation now.” + </p> + <p> + “And much of it has been most interesting, though I don’t understand + everything. Did you never think of the disparity of their social + position?” + </p> + <p> + “We were mad—drunk with rebellion. We had no common-sense. As soon + as you came, you saw and foresaw everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t think that.” He was vaguely displeased at being credited with + common-sense. For a moment Miss Abbott had seemed to him more + unconventional than himself. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you see,” she concluded, “why I have troubled you with this long + story. Women—I heard you say the other day—are never at ease + till they tell their faults out loud. Lilia is dead and her husband gone + to the bad—all through me. You see, Mr. Herriton, it makes me + specially unhappy; it’s the only time I’ve ever gone into what my father + calls ‘real life’—and look what I’ve made of it! All that winter I + seemed to be waking up to beauty and splendour and I don’t know what; and + when the spring came, I wanted to fight against the things I hated—mediocrity + and dulness and spitefulness and society. I actually hated society for a + day or two at Monteriano. I didn’t see that all these things are + invincible, and that if we go against them they will break us to pieces. + Thank you for listening to so much nonsense.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I quite sympathize with what you say,” said Philip encouragingly; “it + isn’t nonsense, and a year or two ago I should have been saying it too. + But I feel differently now, and I hope that you also will change. Society + is invincible—to a certain degree. But your real life is your own, + and nothing can touch it. There is no power on earth that can prevent your + criticizing and despising mediocrity—nothing that can stop you + retreating into splendour and beauty—into the thoughts and beliefs + that make the real life—the real you.” + </p> + <p> + “I have never had that experience yet. Surely I and my life must be where + I live.” + </p> + <p> + Evidently she had the usual feminine incapacity for grasping philosophy. + But she had developed quite a personality, and he must see more of her. + “There is another great consolation against invincible mediocrity,” he + said—“the meeting a fellow-victim. I hope that this is only the + first of many discussions that we shall have together.” + </p> + <p> + She made a suitable reply. The train reached Charing Cross, and they + parted,—he to go to a matinee, she to buy petticoats for the + corpulent poor. Her thoughts wandered as she bought them: the gulf between + herself and Mr. Herriton, which she had always known to be great, now + seemed to her immeasurable. + </p> + <p> + These events and conversations took place at Christmas-time. The New Life + initiated by them lasted some seven months. Then a little incident—a + mere little vexatious incident—brought it to its close. + </p> + <p> + Irma collected picture post-cards, and Mrs. Herriton or Harriet always + glanced first at all that came, lest the child should get hold of + something vulgar. On this occasion the subject seemed perfectly + inoffensive—a lot of ruined factory chimneys—and Harriet was + about to hand it to her niece when her eye was caught by the words on the + margin. She gave a shriek and flung the card into the grate. Of course no + fire was alight in July, and Irma only had to run and pick it out again. + </p> + <p> + “How dare you!” screamed her aunt. “You wicked girl! Give it here!” + </p> + <p> + Unfortunately Mrs. Herriton was out of the room. Irma, who was not in awe + of Harriet, danced round the table, reading as she did so, “View of the + superb city of Monteriano—from your lital brother.” + </p> + <p> + Stupid Harriet caught her, boxed her ears, and tore the post-card into + fragments. Irma howled with pain, and began shouting indignantly, “Who is + my little brother? Why have I never heard of him before? Grandmamma! + Grandmamma! Who is my little brother? Who is my—” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Herriton swept into the room, saying, “Come with me, dear, and I will + tell you. Now it is time for you to know.” + </p> + <p> + Irma returned from the interview sobbing, though, as a matter of fact, she + had learnt very little. But that little took hold of her imagination. She + had promised secrecy—she knew not why. But what harm in talking of + the little brother to those who had heard of him already? + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Harriet!” she would say. “Uncle Phil! Grandmamma! What do you + suppose my little brother is doing now? Has he begun to play? Do Italian + babies talk sooner than us, or would he be an English baby born abroad? + Oh, I do long to see him, and be the first to teach him the Ten + Commandments and the Catechism.” + </p> + <p> + The last remark always made Harriet look grave. + </p> + <p> + “Really,” exclaimed Mrs. Herriton, “Irma is getting too tiresome. She + forgot poor Lilia soon enough.” + </p> + <p> + “A living brother is more to her than a dead mother,” said Philip + dreamily. “She can knit him socks.” + </p> + <p> + “I stopped that. She is bringing him in everywhere. It is most vexatious. + The other night she asked if she might include him in the people she + mentions specially in her prayers.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I allowed her,” she replied coldly. “She has a right to mention + any one she chooses. But I was annoyed with her this morning, and I fear + that I showed it.” + </p> + <p> + “And what happened this morning?” + </p> + <p> + “She asked if she could pray for her ‘new father’—for the Italian!” + </p> + <p> + “Did you let her?” + </p> + <p> + “I got up without saying anything.” + </p> + <p> + “You must have felt just as you did when I wanted to pray for the devil.” + </p> + <p> + “He is the devil,” cried Harriet. + </p> + <p> + “No, Harriet; he is too vulgar.” + </p> + <p> + “I will thank you not to scoff against religion!” was Harriet’s retort. + “Think of that poor baby. Irma is right to pray for him. What an entrance + into life for an English child!” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sister, I can reassure you. Firstly, the beastly baby is Italian. + Secondly, it was promptly christened at Santa Deodata’s, and a powerful + combination of saints watch over—” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t, dear. And, Harriet, don’t be so serious—I mean not so + serious when you are with Irma. She will be worse than ever if she thinks + we have something to hide.” + </p> + <p> + Harriet’s conscience could be quite as tiresome as Philip’s + unconventionality. Mrs. Herriton soon made it easy for her daughter to go + for six weeks to the Tirol. Then she and Philip began to grapple with Irma + alone. + </p> + <p> + Just as they had got things a little quiet the beastly baby sent another + picture post-card—a comic one, not particularly proper. Irma + received it while they were out, and all the trouble began again. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot think,” said Mrs. Herriton, “what his motive is in sending + them.” + </p> + <p> + Two years before, Philip would have said that the motive was to give + pleasure. Now he, like his mother, tried to think of something sinister + and subtle. + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose that he guesses the situation—how anxious we are to + hush the scandal up?” + </p> + <p> + “That is quite possible. He knows that Irma will worry us about the baby. + Perhaps he hopes that we shall adopt it to quiet her.” + </p> + <p> + “Hopeful indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “At the same time he has the chance of corrupting the child’s morals.” She + unlocked a drawer, took out the post-card, and regarded it gravely. “He + entreats her to send the baby one,” was her next remark. + </p> + <p> + “She might do it too!” + </p> + <p> + “I told her not to; but we must watch her carefully, without, of course, + appearing to be suspicious.” + </p> + <p> + Philip was getting to enjoy his mother’s diplomacy. He did not think of + his own morals and behaviour any more. + </p> + <p> + “Who’s to watch her at school, though? She may bubble out any moment.” + </p> + <p> + “We can but trust to our influence,” said Mrs. Herriton. + </p> + <p> + Irma did bubble out, that very day. She was proof against a single + post-card, not against two. A new little brother is a valuable sentimental + asset to a school-girl, and her school was then passing through an acute + phase of baby-worship. Happy the girl who had her quiver full of them, who + kissed them when she left home in the morning, who had the right to + extricate them from mail-carts in the interval, who dangled them at tea + ere they retired to rest! That one might sing the unwritten song of + Miriam, blessed above all school-girls, who was allowed to hide her baby + brother in a squashy place, where none but herself could find him! + </p> + <p> + How could Irma keep silent when pretentious girls spoke of baby cousins + and baby visitors—she who had a baby brother, who wrote her + post-cards through his dear papa? She had promised not to tell about him—she + knew not why—and she told. And one girl told another, and one girl + told her mother, and the thing was out. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is all very sad,” Mrs. Herriton kept saying. “My daughter-in-law + made a very unhappy marriage, as I dare say you know. I suppose that the + child will be educated in Italy. Possibly his grandmother may be doing + something, but I have not heard of it. I do not expect that she will have + him over. She disapproves of the father. It is altogether a painful + business for her.” + </p> + <p> + She was careful only to scold Irma for disobedience—that eighth + deadly sin, so convenient to parents and guardians. Harriet would have + plunged into needless explanations and abuse. The child was ashamed, and + talked about the baby less. The end of the school year was at hand, and + she hoped to get another prize. But she also had put her hand to the + wheel. + </p> + <p> + It was several days before they saw Miss Abbott. Mrs. Herriton had not + come across her much since the kiss of reconciliation, nor Philip since + the journey to London. She had, indeed, been rather a disappointment to + him. Her creditable display of originality had never been repeated: he + feared she was slipping back. Now she came about the Cottage Hospital—her + life was devoted to dull acts of charity—and though she got money + out of him and out of his mother, she still sat tight in her chair, + looking graver and more wooden than ever. + </p> + <p> + “I dare say you have heard,” said Mrs. Herriton, well knowing what the + matter was. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have. I came to ask you; have any steps been taken?” + </p> + <p> + Philip was astonished. The question was impertinent in the extreme. He had + a regard for Miss Abbott, and regretted that she had been guilty of it. + </p> + <p> + “About the baby?” asked Mrs. Herriton pleasantly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “As far as I know, no steps. Mrs. Theobald may have decided on something, + but I have not heard of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I was meaning, had you decided on anything?” + </p> + <p> + “The child is no relation of ours,” said Philip. “It is therefore scarcely + for us to interfere.” + </p> + <p> + His mother glanced at him nervously. “Poor Lilia was almost a daughter to + me once. I know what Miss Abbott means. But now things have altered. Any + initiative would naturally come from Mrs. Theobald.” + </p> + <p> + “But does not Mrs. Theobald always take any initiative from you?” asked + Miss Abbott. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Herriton could not help colouring. “I sometimes have given her advice + in the past. I should not presume to do so now.” + </p> + <p> + “Then is nothing to be done for the child at all?” + </p> + <p> + “It is extraordinarily good of you to take this unexpected interest,” said + Philip. + </p> + <p> + “The child came into the world through my negligence,” replied Miss + Abbott. “It is natural I should take an interest in it.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Caroline,” said Mrs. Herriton, “you must not brood over the + thing. Let bygones be bygones. The child should worry you even less than + it worries us. We never even mention it. It belongs to another world.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Abbott got up without replying and turned to go. Her extreme gravity + made Mrs. Herriton uneasy. “Of course,” she added, “if Mrs. Theobald + decides on any plan that seems at all practicable—I must say I don’t + see any such—I shall ask if I may join her in it, for Irma’s sake, + and share in any possible expenses.” + </p> + <p> + “Please would you let me know if she decides on anything. I should like to + join as well.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear, how you throw about your money! We would never allow it.” + </p> + <p> + “And if she decides on nothing, please also let me know. Let me know in + any case.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Herriton made a point of kissing her. + </p> + <p> + “Is the young person mad?” burst out Philip as soon as she had departed. + “Never in my life have I seen such colossal impertinence. She ought to be + well smacked, and sent back to Sunday-school.” + </p> + <p> + His mother said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “But don’t you see—she is practically threatening us? You can’t put + her off with Mrs. Theobald; she knows as well as we do that she is a + nonentity. If we don’t do anything she’s going to raise a scandal—that + we neglect our relatives, &c., which is, of course, a lie. Still + she’ll say it. Oh, dear, sweet, sober Caroline Abbott has a screw loose! + We knew it at Monteriano. I had my suspicions last year one day in the + train; and here it is again. The young person is mad.” + </p> + <p> + She still said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I go round at once and give it her well? I’d really enjoy it.” + </p> + <p> + In a low, serious voice—such a voice as she had not used to him for + months—Mrs. Herriton said, “Caroline has been extremely impertinent. + Yet there may be something in what she says after all. Ought the child to + grow up in that place—and with that father?” + </p> + <p> + Philip started and shuddered. He saw that his mother was not sincere. Her + insincerity to others had amused him, but it was disheartening when used + against himself. + </p> + <p> + “Let us admit frankly,” she continued, “that after all we may have + responsibilities.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand you, Mother. You are turning absolutely round. What + are you up to?” + </p> + <p> + In one moment an impenetrable barrier had been erected between them. They + were no longer in smiling confidence. Mrs. Herriton was off on tactics of + her own—tactics which might be beyond or beneath him. + </p> + <p> + His remark offended her. “Up to? I am wondering whether I ought not to + adopt the child. Is that sufficiently plain?” + </p> + <p> + “And this is the result of half-a-dozen idiocies of Miss Abbott?” + </p> + <p> + “It is. I repeat, she has been extremely impertinent. None the less she is + showing me my duty. If I can rescue poor Lilia’s baby from that horrible + man, who will bring it up either as Papist or infidel—who will + certainly bring it up to be vicious—I shall do it.” + </p> + <p> + “You talk like Harriet.” + </p> + <p> + “And why not?” said she, flushing at what she knew to be an insult. “Say, + if you choose, that I talk like Irma. That child has seen the thing more + clearly than any of us. She longs for her little brother. She shall have + him. I don’t care if I am impulsive.” + </p> + <p> + He was sure that she was not impulsive, but did not dare to say so. Her + ability frightened him. All his life he had been her puppet. She let him + worship Italy, and reform Sawston—just as she had let Harriet be Low + Church. She had let him talk as much as he liked. But when she wanted a + thing she always got it. + </p> + <p> + And though she was frightening him, she did not inspire him with + reverence. Her life, he saw, was without meaning. To what purpose was her + diplomacy, her insincerity, her continued repression of vigour? Did they + make any one better or happier? Did they even bring happiness to herself? + Harriet with her gloomy peevish creed, Lilia with her clutches after + pleasure, were after all more divine than this well-ordered, active, + useless machine. + </p> + <p> + Now that his mother had wounded his vanity he could criticize her thus. + But he could not rebel. To the end of his days he could probably go on + doing what she wanted. He watched with a cold interest the duel between + her and Miss Abbott. Mrs. Herriton’s policy only appeared gradually. It + was to prevent Miss Abbott interfering with the child at all costs, and if + possible to prevent her at a small cost. Pride was the only solid element + in her disposition. She could not bear to seem less charitable than + others. + </p> + <p> + “I am planning what can be done,” she would tell people, “and that kind + Caroline Abbott is helping me. It is no business of either of us, but we + are getting to feel that the baby must not be left entirely to that + horrible man. It would be unfair to little Irma; after all, he is her + half-brother. No, we have come to nothing definite.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Abbott was equally civil, but not to be appeased by good intentions. + The child’s welfare was a sacred duty to her, not a matter of pride or + even of sentiment. By it alone, she felt, could she undo a little of the + evil that she had permitted to come into the world. To her imagination + Monteriano had become a magic city of vice, beneath whose towers no person + could grow up happy or pure. Sawston, with its semi-detached houses and + snobby schools, its book teas and bazaars, was certainly petty and dull; + at times she found it even contemptible. But it was not a place of sin, + and at Sawston, either with the Herritons or with herself, the baby should + grow up. + </p> + <p> + As soon as it was inevitable, Mrs. Herriton wrote a letter for Waters and + Adamson to send to Gino—the oddest letter; Philip saw a copy of it + afterwards. Its ostensible purpose was to complain of the picture + postcards. Right at the end, in a few nonchalant sentences, she offered to + adopt the child, provided that Gino would undertake never to come near it, + and would surrender some of Lilia’s money for its education. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think of it?” she asked her son. “It would not do to let him + know that we are anxious for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly he will never suppose that.” + </p> + <p> + “But what effect will the letter have on him?” + </p> + <p> + “When he gets it he will do a sum. If it is less expensive in the long run + to part with a little money and to be clear of the baby, he will part with + it. If he would lose, he will adopt the tone of the loving father.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear, you’re shockingly cynical.” After a pause she added, “How would the + sum work out?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know, I’m sure. But if you wanted to ensure the baby being posted + by return, you should have sent a little sum to HIM. Oh, I’m not cynical—at + least I only go by what I know of him. But I am weary of the whole show. + Weary of Italy. Weary, weary, weary. Sawston’s a kind, pitiful place, + isn’t it? I will go walk in it and seek comfort.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled as he spoke, for the sake of not appearing serious. When he had + left her she began to smile also. + </p> + <p> + It was to the Abbotts’ that he walked. Mr. Abbott offered him tea, and + Caroline, who was keeping up her Italian in the next room, came in to pour + it out. He told them that his mother had written to Signor Carella, and + they both uttered fervent wishes for her success. + </p> + <p> + “Very fine of Mrs. Herriton, very fine indeed,” said Mr. Abbott, who, like + every one else, knew nothing of his daughter’s exasperating behaviour. + “I’m afraid it will mean a lot of expense. She will get nothing out of + Italy without paying.” + </p> + <p> + “There are sure to be incidental expenses,” said Philip cautiously. Then + he turned to Miss Abbott and said, “Do you suppose we shall have + difficulty with the man?” + </p> + <p> + “It depends,” she replied, with equal caution. + </p> + <p> + “From what you saw of him, should you conclude that he would make an + affectionate parent?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t go by what I saw of him, but by what I know of him.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what do you conclude from that?” + </p> + <p> + “That he is a thoroughly wicked man.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet thoroughly wicked men have loved their children. Look at Rodrigo + Borgia, for example.” + </p> + <p> + “I have also seen examples of that in my district.” + </p> + <p> + With this remark the admirable young woman rose, and returned to keep up + her Italian. She puzzled Philip extremely. He could understand enthusiasm, + but she did not seem the least enthusiastic. He could understand pure + cussedness, but it did not seem to be that either. Apparently she was + deriving neither amusement nor profit from the struggle. Why, then, had + she undertaken it? Perhaps she was not sincere. Perhaps, on the whole, + that was most likely. She must be professing one thing and aiming at + another. What the other thing could be he did not stop to consider. + Insincerity was becoming his stock explanation for anything unfamiliar, + whether that thing was a kindly action or a high ideal. + </p> + <p> + “She fences well,” he said to his mother afterwards. + </p> + <p> + “What had you to fence about?” she said suavely. Her son might know her + tactics, but she refused to admit that he knew. She still pretended to him + that the baby was the one thing she wanted, and had always wanted, and + that Miss Abbott was her valued ally. + </p> + <p> + And when, next week, the reply came from Italy, she showed him no face of + triumph. “Read the letters,” she said. “We have failed.” + </p> + <p> + Gino wrote in his own language, but the solicitors had sent a laborious + English translation, where “Preghiatissima Signora” was rendered as “Most + Praiseworthy Madam,” and every delicate compliment and superlative—superlatives + are delicate in Italian—would have felled an ox. For a moment Philip + forgot the matter in the manner; this grotesque memorial of the land he + had loved moved him almost to tears. He knew the originals of these + lumbering phrases; he also had sent “sincere auguries”; he also had + addressed letters—who writes at home?—from the Caffe + Garibaldi. “I didn’t know I was still such an ass,” he thought. “Why can’t + I realize that it’s merely tricks of expression? A bounder’s a bounder, + whether he lives in Sawston or Monteriano.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t it disheartening?” said his mother. + </p> + <p> + He then read that Gino could not accept the generous offer. His paternal + heart would not permit him to abandon this symbol of his deplored spouse. + As for the picture post-cards, it displeased him greatly that they had + been obnoxious. He would send no more. Would Mrs. Herriton, with her + notorious kindness, explain this to Irma, and thank her for those which + Irma (courteous Miss!) had sent to him? + </p> + <p> + “The sum works out against us,” said Philip. “Or perhaps he is putting up + the price.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Mrs. Herriton decidedly. “It is not that. For some perverse + reason he will not part with the child. I must go and tell poor Caroline. + She will be equally distressed.” + </p> + <p> + She returned from the visit in the most extraordinary condition. Her face + was red, she panted for breath, there were dark circles round her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “The impudence!” she shouted. “The cursed impudence! Oh, I’m swearing. I + don’t care. That beastly woman—how dare she interfere—I’ll—Philip, + dear, I’m sorry. It’s no good. You must go.” + </p> + <p> + “Go where? Do sit down. What’s happened?” This outburst of violence from + his elegant ladylike mother pained him dreadfully. He had not known that + it was in her. + </p> + <p> + “She won’t accept—won’t accept the letter as final. You must go to + Monteriano!” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t!” he shouted back. “I’ve been and I’ve failed. I’ll never see the + place again. I hate Italy.” + </p> + <p> + “If you don’t go, she will.” + </p> + <p> + “Abbott?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Going alone; would start this evening. I offered to write; she said + it was ‘too late!’ Too late! The child, if you please—Irma’s brother—to + live with her, to be brought up by her and her father at our very gates, + to go to school like a gentleman, she paying. Oh, you’re a man! It doesn’t + matter for you. You can laugh. But I know what people say; and that woman + goes to Italy this evening.” + </p> + <p> + He seemed to be inspired. “Then let her go! Let her mess with Italy by + herself. She’ll come to grief somehow. Italy’s too dangerous, too—” + </p> + <p> + “Stop that nonsense, Philip. I will not be disgraced by her. I WILL have + the child. Pay all we’ve got for it. I will have it.” + </p> + <p> + “Let her go to Italy!” he cried. “Let her meddle with what she doesn’t + understand! Look at this letter! The man who wrote it will marry her, or + murder her, or do for her somehow. He’s a bounder, but he’s not an English + bounder. He’s mysterious and terrible. He’s got a country behind him + that’s upset people from the beginning of the world.” + </p> + <p> + “Harriet!” exclaimed his mother. “Harriet shall go too. Harriet, now, will + be invaluable!” And before Philip had stopped talking nonsense, she had + planned the whole thing and was looking out the trains. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 6 + </h2> + <p> + Italy, Philip had always maintained, is only her true self in the height + of the summer, when the tourists have left her, and her soul awakes under + the beams of a vertical sun. He now had every opportunity of seeing her at + her best, for it was nearly the middle of August before he went out to + meet Harriet in the Tirol. + </p> + <p> + He found his sister in a dense cloud five thousand feet above the sea, + chilled to the bone, overfed, bored, and not at all unwilling to be + fetched away. + </p> + <p> + “It upsets one’s plans terribly,” she remarked, as she squeezed out her + sponges, “but obviously it is my duty.” + </p> + <p> + “Did mother explain it all to you?” asked Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, indeed! Mother has written me a really beautiful letter. She + describes how it was that she gradually got to feel that we must rescue + the poor baby from its terrible surroundings, how she has tried by letter, + and it is no good—nothing but insincere compliments and hypocrisy + came back. Then she says, ‘There is nothing like personal influence; you + and Philip will succeed where I have failed.’ She says, too, that Caroline + Abbott has been wonderful.” + </p> + <p> + Philip assented. + </p> + <p> + “Caroline feels it as keenly almost as us. That is because she knows the + man. Oh, he must be loathsome! Goodness me! I’ve forgotten to pack the + ammonia!... It has been a terrible lesson for Caroline, but I fancy it is + her turning-point. I can’t help liking to think that out of all this evil + good will come.” + </p> + <p> + Philip saw no prospect of good, nor of beauty either. But the expedition + promised to be highly comic. He was not averse to it any longer; he was + simply indifferent to all in it except the humours. These would be + wonderful. Harriet, worked by her mother; Mrs. Herriton, worked by Miss + Abbott; Gino, worked by a cheque—what better entertainment could he + desire? There was nothing to distract him this time; his sentimentality + had died, so had his anxiety for the family honour. He might be a puppet’s + puppet, but he knew exactly the disposition of the strings. + </p> + <p> + They travelled for thirteen hours down-hill, whilst the streams broadened + and the mountains shrank, and the vegetation changed, and the people + ceased being ugly and drinking beer, and began instead to drink wine and + to be beautiful. And the train which had picked them at sunrise out of a + waste of glaciers and hotels was waltzing at sunset round the walls of + Verona. + </p> + <p> + “Absurd nonsense they talk about the heat,” said Philip, as they drove + from the station. “Supposing we were here for pleasure, what could be more + pleasurable than this?” + </p> + <p> + “Did you hear, though, they are remarking on the cold?” said Harriet + nervously. “I should never have thought it cold.” + </p> + <p> + And on the second day the heat struck them, like a hand laid over the + mouth, just as they were walking to see the tomb of Juliet. From that + moment everything went wrong. They fled from Verona. Harriet’s sketch-book + was stolen, and the bottle of ammonia in her trunk burst over her + prayer-book, so that purple patches appeared on all her clothes. Then, as + she was going through Mantua at four in the morning, Philip made her look + out of the window because it was Virgil’s birthplace, and a smut flew in + her eye, and Harriet with a smut in her eye was notorious. At Bologna they + stopped twenty-four hours to rest. It was a FESTA, and children blew + bladder whistles night and day. “What a religion!” said Harriet. The hotel + smelt, two puppies were asleep on her bed, and her bedroom window looked + into a belfry, which saluted her slumbering form every quarter of an hour. + Philip left his walking-stick, his socks, and the Baedeker at Bologna; she + only left her sponge-bag. Next day they crossed the Apennines with a + train-sick child and a hot lady, who told them that never, never before + had she sweated so profusely. “Foreigners are a filthy nation,” said + Harriet. “I don’t care if there are tunnels; open the windows.” He obeyed, + and she got another smut in her eye. Nor did Florence improve matters. + Eating, walking, even a cross word would bathe them both in boiling water. + Philip, who was slighter of build, and less conscientious, suffered less. + But Harriet had never been to Florence, and between the hours of eight and + eleven she crawled like a wounded creature through the streets, and + swooned before various masterpieces of art. It was an irritable couple who + took tickets to Monteriano. + </p> + <p> + “Singles or returns?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “A single for me,” said Harriet peevishly; “I shall never get back alive.” + </p> + <p> + “Sweet creature!” said her brother, suddenly breaking down. “How helpful + you will be when we come to Signor Carella!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose,” said Harriet, standing still among a whirl of porters—“do + you suppose I am going to enter that man’s house?” + </p> + <p> + “Then what have you come for, pray? For ornament?” + </p> + <p> + “To see that you do your duty.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, thanks!” + </p> + <p> + “So mother told me. For goodness sake get the tickets; here comes that hot + woman again! She has the impudence to bow.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother told you, did she?” said Philip wrathfully, as he went to struggle + for tickets at a slit so narrow that they were handed to him edgeways. + Italy was beastly, and Florence station is the centre of beastly Italy. + But he had a strange feeling that he was to blame for it all; that a + little influx into him of virtue would make the whole land not beastly but + amusing. For there was enchantment, he was sure of that; solid + enchantment, which lay behind the porters and the screaming and the dust. + He could see it in the terrific blue sky beneath which they travelled, in + the whitened plain which gripped life tighter than a frost, in the + exhausted reaches of the Arno, in the ruins of brown castles which stood + quivering upon the hills. He could see it, though his head ached and his + skin was twitching, though he was here as a puppet, and though his sister + knew how he was here. There was nothing pleasant in that journey to + Monteriano station. But nothing—not even the discomfort—was + commonplace. + </p> + <p> + “But do people live inside?” asked Harriet. They had exchanged + railway-carriage for the legno, and the legno had emerged from the + withered trees, and had revealed to them their destination. Philip, to be + annoying, answered “No.” + </p> + <p> + “What do they do there?” continued Harriet, with a frown. + </p> + <p> + “There is a caffe. A prison. A theatre. A church. Walls. A view.” + </p> + <p> + “Not for me, thank you,” said Harriet, after a weighty pause. + </p> + <p> + “Nobody asked you, Miss, you see. Now Lilia was asked by such a nice young + gentleman, with curls all over his forehead, and teeth just as white as + father makes them.” Then his manner changed. “But, Harriet, do you see + nothing wonderful or attractive in that place—nothing at all?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing at all. It’s frightful.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it is. But it’s old—awfully old.” + </p> + <p> + “Beauty is the only test,” said Harriet. “At least so you told me when I + sketched old buildings—for the sake, I suppose, of making yourself + unpleasant.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m perfectly right. But at the same time—I don’t know—so + many things have happened here—people have lived so hard and so + splendidly—I can’t explain.” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn’t think you could. It doesn’t seem the best moment to begin + your Italy mania. I thought you were cured of it by now. Instead, will you + kindly tell me what you are going to do when you arrive. I do beg you will + not be taken unawares this time.” + </p> + <p> + “First, Harriet, I shall settle you at the Stella d’Italia, in the comfort + that befits your sex and disposition. Then I shall make myself some tea. + After tea I shall take a book into Santa Deodata’s, and read there. It is + always fresh and cool.” + </p> + <p> + The martyred Harriet exclaimed, “I’m not clever, Philip. I don’t go in for + it, as you know. But I know what’s rude. And I know what’s wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “Meaning—?” + </p> + <p> + “You!” she shouted, bouncing on the cushions of the legno and startling + all the fleas. “What’s the good of cleverness if a man’s murdered a + woman?” + </p> + <p> + “Harriet, I am hot. To whom do you refer?” + </p> + <p> + “He. Her. If you don’t look out he’ll murder you. I wish he would.” + </p> + <p> + “Tut tut, tutlet! You’d find a corpse extraordinarily inconvenient.” Then + he tried to be less aggravating. “I heartily dislike the fellow, but we + know he didn’t murder her. In that letter, though she said a lot, she + never said he was physically cruel.” + </p> + <p> + “He has murdered her. The things he did—things one can’t even + mention—” + </p> + <p> + “Things which one must mention if one’s to talk at all. And things which + one must keep in their proper place. Because he was unfaithful to his + wife, it doesn’t follow that in every way he’s absolutely vile.” He looked + at the city. It seemed to approve his remark. + </p> + <p> + “It’s the supreme test. The man who is unchivalrous to a woman—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, stow it! Take it to the Back Kitchen. It’s no more a supreme test + than anything else. The Italians never were chivalrous from the first. If + you condemn him for that, you’ll condemn the whole lot.” + </p> + <p> + “I condemn the whole lot.” + </p> + <p> + “And the French as well?” + </p> + <p> + “And the French as well.” + </p> + <p> + “Things aren’t so jolly easy,” said Philip, more to himself than to her. + </p> + <p> + But for Harriet things were easy, though not jolly, and she turned upon + her brother yet again. “What about the baby, pray? You’ve said a lot of + smart things and whittled away morality and religion and I don’t know + what; but what about the baby? You think me a fool, but I’ve been noticing + you all today, and you haven’t mentioned the baby once. You haven’t + thought about it, even. You don’t care. Philip! I shall not speak to you. + You are intolerable.” + </p> + <p> + She kept her promise, and never opened her lips all the rest of the way. + But her eyes glowed with anger and resolution. For she was a straight, + brave woman, as well as a peevish one. + </p> + <p> + Philip acknowledged her reproof to be true. He did not care about the baby + one straw. Nevertheless, he meant to do his duty, and he was fairly + confident of success. If Gino would have sold his wife for a thousand + lire, for how much less would he not sell his child? It was just a + commercial transaction. Why should it interfere with other things? His + eyes were fixed on the towers again, just as they had been fixed when he + drove with Miss Abbott. But this time his thoughts were pleasanter, for he + had no such grave business on his mind. It was in the spirit of the + cultivated tourist that he approached his destination. + </p> + <p> + One of the towers, rough as any other, was topped by a cross—the + tower of the Collegiate Church of Santa Deodata. She was a holy maiden of + the Dark Ages, the city’s patron saint, and sweetness and barbarity mingle + strangely in her story. So holy was she that all her life she lay upon her + back in the house of her mother, refusing to eat, refusing to play, + refusing to work. The devil, envious of such sanctity, tempted her in + various ways. He dangled grapes above her, he showed her fascinating toys, + he pushed soft pillows beneath her aching head. When all proved vain he + tripped up the mother and flung her downstairs before her very eyes. But + so holy was the saint that she never picked her mother up, but lay upon + her back through all, and thus assured her throne in Paradise. She was + only fifteen when she died, which shows how much is within the reach of + any school-girl. Those who think her life was unpractical need only think + of the victories upon Poggibonsi, San Gemignano, Volterra, Siena itself—all + gained through the invocation of her name; they need only look at the + church which rose over her grave. The grand schemes for a marble facade + were never carried out, and it is brown unfinished stone until this day. + But for the inside Giotto was summoned to decorate the walls of the nave. + Giotto came—that is to say, he did not come, German research having + decisively proved—but at all events the nave is covered with + frescoes, and so are two chapels in the left transept, and the arch into + the choir, and there are scraps in the choir itself. There the decoration + stopped, till in the full spring of the Renaissance a great painter came + to pay a few weeks’ visit to his friend the Lord of Monteriano. In the + intervals between the banquets and the discussions on Latin etymology and + the dancing, he would stroll over to the church, and there in the fifth + chapel to the right he has painted two frescoes of the death and burial of + Santa Deodata. That is why Baedeker gives the place a star. + </p> + <p> + Santa Deodata was better company than Harriet, and she kept Philip in a + pleasant dream until the legno drew up at the hotel. Every one there was + asleep, for it was still the hour when only idiots were moving. There were + not even any beggars about. The cabman put their bags down in the passage—they + had left heavy luggage at the station—and strolled about till he + came on the landlady’s room and woke her, and sent her to them. + </p> + <p> + Then Harriet pronounced the monosyllable “Go!” + </p> + <p> + “Go where?” asked Philip, bowing to the landlady, who was swimming down + the stairs. + </p> + <p> + “To the Italian. Go.” + </p> + <p> + “Buona sera, signora padrona. Si ritorna volontieri a Monteriano!” (Don’t + be a goose. I’m not going now. You’re in the way, too.) “Vorrei due camere—” + </p> + <p> + “Go. This instant. Now. I’ll stand it no longer. Go!” + </p> + <p> + “I’m damned if I’ll go. I want my tea.” + </p> + <p> + “Swear if you like!” she cried. “Blaspheme! Abuse me! But understand, I’m + in earnest.” + </p> + <p> + “Harriet, don’t act. Or act better.” + </p> + <p> + “We’ve come here to get the baby back, and for nothing else. I’ll not have + this levity and slackness, and talk about pictures and churches. Think of + mother; did she send you out for THEM?” + </p> + <p> + “Think of mother and don’t straddle across the stairs. Let the cabman and + the landlady come down, and let me go up and choose rooms.” + </p> + <p> + “I shan’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Harriet, are you mad?” + </p> + <p> + “If you like. But you will not come up till you have seen the Italian.” + </p> + <p> + “La signorina si sente male,” said Philip, “C’ e il sole.” + </p> + <p> + “Poveretta!” cried the landlady and the cabman. + </p> + <p> + “Leave me alone!” said Harriet, snarling round at them. “I don’t care for + the lot of you. I’m English, and neither you’ll come down nor he up till + he goes for the baby.” + </p> + <p> + “La prego-piano-piano-c e un’ altra signorina che dorme—” + </p> + <p> + “We shall probably be arrested for brawling, Harriet. Have you the very + slightest sense of the ludicrous?” + </p> + <p> + Harriet had not; that was why she could be so powerful. She had concocted + this scene in the carriage, and nothing should baulk her of it. To the + abuse in front and the coaxing behind she was equally indifferent. How + long she would have stood like a glorified Horatius, keeping the staircase + at both ends, was never to be known. For the young lady, whose sleep they + were disturbing, awoke and opened her bedroom door, and came out on to the + landing. She was Miss Abbott. + </p> + <p> + Philip’s first coherent feeling was one of indignation. To be run by his + mother and hectored by his sister was as much as he could stand. The + intervention of a third female drove him suddenly beyond politeness. He + was about to say exactly what he thought about the thing from beginning to + end. But before he could do so Harriet also had seen Miss Abbott. She + uttered a shrill cry of joy. + </p> + <p> + “You, Caroline, here of all people!” And in spite of the heat she darted + up the stairs and imprinted an affectionate kiss upon her friend. + </p> + <p> + Philip had an inspiration. “You will have a lot to tell Miss Abbott, + Harriet, and she may have as much to tell you. So I’ll pay my call on + Signor Carella, as you suggested, and see how things stand.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Abbott uttered some noise of greeting or alarm. He did not reply to + it or approach nearer to her. Without even paying the cabman, he escaped + into the street. + </p> + <p> + “Tear each other’s eyes out!” he cried, gesticulating at the facade of the + hotel. “Give it to her, Harriet! Teach her to leave us alone. Give it to + her, Caroline! Teach her to be grateful to you. Go it, ladies; go it!” + </p> + <p> + Such people as observed him were interested, but did not conclude that he + was mad. This aftermath of conversation is not unknown in Italy. + </p> + <p> + He tried to think how amusing it was; but it would not do—Miss + Abbott’s presence affected him too personally. Either she suspected him of + dishonesty, or else she was being dishonest herself. He preferred to + suppose the latter. Perhaps she had seen Gino, and they had prepared some + elaborate mortification for the Herritons. Perhaps Gino had sold the baby + cheap to her for a joke: it was just the kind of joke that would appeal to + him. Philip still remembered the laughter that had greeted his fruitless + journey, and the uncouth push that had toppled him on to the bed. And + whatever it might mean, Miss Abbott’s presence spoilt the comedy: she + would do nothing funny. + </p> + <p> + During this short meditation he had walked through the city, and was out + on the other side. “Where does Signor Carella live?” he asked the men at + the Dogana. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll show you,” said a little girl, springing out of the ground as + Italian children will. + </p> + <p> + “She will show you,” said the Dogana men, nodding reassuringly. “Follow + her always, always, and you will come to no harm. She is a trustworthy + guide. She is my + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + daughter.” + cousin.” + sister.” + </pre> + <p> + Philip knew these relatives well: they ramify, if need be, all over the + peninsula. + </p> + <p> + “Do you chance to know whether Signor Carella is in?” he asked her. + </p> + <p> + She had just seen him go in. Philip nodded. He was looking forward to the + interview this time: it would be an intellectual duet with a man of no + great intellect. What was Miss Abbott up to? That was one of the things he + was going to discover. While she had it out with Harriet, he would have it + out with Gino. He followed the Dogana’s relative softly, like a + diplomatist. + </p> + <p> + He did not follow her long, for this was the Volterra gate, and the house + was exactly opposite to it. In half a minute they had scrambled down the + mule-track and reached the only practicable entrance. Philip laughed, + partly at the thought of Lilia in such a building, partly in the + confidence of victory. Meanwhile the Dogana’s relative lifted up her voice + and gave a shout. + </p> + <p> + For an impressive interval there was no reply. Then the figure of a woman + appeared high up on the loggia. + </p> + <p> + “That is Perfetta,” said the girl. + </p> + <p> + “I want to see Signor Carella,” cried Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Out!” + </p> + <p> + “Out,” echoed the girl complacently. + </p> + <p> + “Why on earth did you say he was in?” He could have strangled her for + temper. He had been just ripe for an interview—just the right + combination of indignation and acuteness: blood hot, brain cool. But + nothing ever did go right in Monteriano. “When will he be back?” he called + to Perfetta. It really was too bad. + </p> + <p> + She did not know. He was away on business. He might be back this evening, + he might not. He had gone to Poggibonsi. + </p> + <p> + At the sound of this word the little girl put her fingers to her nose and + swept them at the plain. She sang as she did so, even as her foremothers + had sung seven hundred years back— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Poggibonizzi, fatti in la, + Che Monteriano si fa citta! +</pre> + <p> + Then she asked Philip for a halfpenny. A German lady, friendly to the + Past, had given her one that very spring. + </p> + <p> + “I shall have to leave a message,” he called. + </p> + <p> + “Now Perfetta has gone for her basket,” said the little girl. “When she + returns she will lower it—so. Then you will put your card into it. + Then she will raise it—thus. By this means—” + </p> + <p> + When Perfetta returned, Philip remembered to ask after the baby. It took + longer to find than the basket, and he stood perspiring in the evening + sun, trying to avoid the smell of the drains and to prevent the little + girl from singing against Poggibonsi. The olive-trees beside him were + draped with the weekly—or more probably the monthly—wash. What + a frightful spotty blouse! He could not think where he had seen it. Then + he remembered that it was Lilia’s. She had brought it “to hack about in” + at Sawston, and had taken it to Italy because “in Italy anything does.” He + had rebuked her for the sentiment. + </p> + <p> + “Beautiful as an angel!” bellowed Perfetta, holding out something which + must be Lilia’s baby. “But who am I addressing?” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you—here is my card.” He had written on it a civil request to + Gino for an interview next morning. But before he placed it in the basket + and revealed his identity, he wished to find something out. “Has a young + lady happened to call here lately—a young English lady?” + </p> + <p> + Perfetta begged his pardon: she was a little deaf. + </p> + <p> + “A young lady—pale, large, tall.” + </p> + <p> + She did not quite catch. + </p> + <p> + “A YOUNG LADY!” + </p> + <p> + “Perfetta is deaf when she chooses,” said the Dogana’s relative. At last + Philip admitted the peculiarity and strode away. He paid off the + detestable child at the Volterra gate. She got two nickel pieces and was + not pleased, partly because it was too much, partly because he did not + look pleased when he gave it to her. He caught her fathers and cousins + winking at each other as he walked past them. Monteriano seemed in one + conspiracy to make him look a fool. He felt tired and anxious and muddled, + and not sure of anything except that his temper was lost. In this mood he + returned to the Stella d’Italia, and there, as he was ascending the + stairs, Miss Abbott popped out of the dining-room on the first floor and + beckoned to him mysteriously. + </p> + <p> + “I was going to make myself some tea,” he said, with his hand still on the + banisters. + </p> + <p> + “I should be grateful—” + </p> + <p> + So he followed her into the dining-room and shut the door. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” she began, “Harriet knows nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “No more do I. He was out.” + </p> + <p> + “But what’s that to do with it?” + </p> + <p> + He presented her with an unpleasant smile. She fenced well, as he had + noticed before. “He was out. You find me as ignorant as you have left + Harriet.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean? Please, please Mr. Herriton, don’t be mysterious: there + isn’t the time. Any moment Harriet may be down, and we shan’t have decided + how to behave to her. Sawston was different: we had to keep up + appearances. But here we must speak out, and I think I can trust you to do + it. Otherwise we’ll never start clear.” + </p> + <p> + “Pray let us start clear,” said Philip, pacing up and down the room. + “Permit me to begin by asking you a question. In which capacity have you + come to Monteriano—spy or traitor?” + </p> + <p> + “Spy!” she answered, without a moment’s hesitation. She was standing by + the little Gothic window as she spoke—the hotel had been a palace + once—and with her finger she was following the curves of the + moulding as if they might feel beautiful and strange. “Spy,” she repeated, + for Philip was bewildered at learning her guilt so easily, and could not + answer a word. “Your mother has behaved dishonourably all through. She + never wanted the child; no harm in that; but she is too proud to let it + come to me. She has done all she could to wreck things; she did not tell + you everything; she has told Harriet nothing at all; she has lied or acted + lies everywhere. I cannot trust your mother. So I have come here alone—all + across Europe; no one knows it; my father thinks I am in Normandy—to + spy on Mrs. Herriton. Don’t let’s argue!” for he had begun, almost + mechanically, to rebuke her for impertinence. “If you are here to get the + child, I will help you; if you are here to fail, I shall get it instead of + you.” + </p> + <p> + “It is hopeless to expect you to believe me,” he stammered. “But I can + assert that we are here to get the child, even if it costs us all we’ve + got. My mother has fixed no money limit whatever. I am here to carry out + her instructions. I think that you will approve of them, as you have + practically dictated them. I do not approve of them. They are absurd.” + </p> + <p> + She nodded carelessly. She did not mind what he said. All she wanted was + to get the baby out of Monteriano. + </p> + <p> + “Harriet also carries out your instructions,” he continued. “She, however, + approves of them, and does not know that they proceed from you. I think, + Miss Abbott, you had better take entire charge of the rescue party. I have + asked for an interview with Signor Carella tomorrow morning. Do you + acquiesce?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded again. + </p> + <p> + “Might I ask for details of your interview with him? They might be helpful + to me.” + </p> + <p> + He had spoken at random. To his delight she suddenly collapsed. Her hand + fell from the window. Her face was red with more than the reflection of + evening. + </p> + <p> + “My interview—how do you know of it?” + </p> + <p> + “From Perfetta, if it interests you.” + </p> + <p> + “Who ever is Perfetta?” + </p> + <p> + “The woman who must have let you in.” + </p> + <p> + “In where?” + </p> + <p> + “Into Signor Carella’s house.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Herriton!” she exclaimed. “How could you believe her? Do you suppose + that I would have entered that man’s house, knowing about him all that I + do? I think you have very odd ideas of what is possible for a lady. I hear + you wanted Harriet to go. Very properly she refused. Eighteen months ago I + might have done such a thing. But I trust I have learnt how to behave by + now.” + </p> + <p> + Philip began to see that there were two Miss Abbotts—the Miss Abbott + who could travel alone to Monteriano, and the Miss Abbott who could not + enter Gino’s house when she got there. It was an amusing discovery. Which + of them would respond to his next move? + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I misunderstood Perfetta. Where did you have your interview, + then?” + </p> + <p> + “Not an interview—an accident—I am very sorry—I meant + you to have the chance of seeing him first. Though it is your fault. You + are a day late. You were due here yesterday. So I came yesterday, and, not + finding you, went up to the Rocca—you know that kitchen-garden where + they let you in, and there is a ladder up to a broken tower, where you can + stand and see all the other towers below you and the plain and all the + other hills?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes. I know the Rocca; I told you of it.” + </p> + <p> + “So I went up in the evening for the sunset: I had nothing to do. He was + in the garden: it belongs to a friend of his.” + </p> + <p> + “And you talked.” + </p> + <p> + “It was very awkward for me. But I had to talk: he seemed to make me. You + see he thought I was here as a tourist; he thinks so still. He intended to + be civil, and I judged it better to be civil also.” + </p> + <p> + “And of what did you talk?” + </p> + <p> + “The weather—there will be rain, he says, by tomorrow evening—the + other towns, England, myself, about you a little, and he actually + mentioned Lilia. He was perfectly disgusting; he pretended he loved her; + he offered to show me her grave—the grave of the woman he has + murdered!” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Miss Abbott, he is not a murderer. I have just been driving that + into Harriet. And when you know the Italians as well as I do, you will + realize that in all that he said to you he was perfectly sincere. The + Italians are essentially dramatic; they look on death and love as + spectacles. I don’t doubt that he persuaded himself, for the moment, that + he had behaved admirably, both as husband and widower.” + </p> + <p> + “You may be right,” said Miss Abbott, impressed for the first time. “When + I tried to pave the way, so to speak—to hint that he had not behaved + as he ought—well, it was no good at all. He couldn’t or wouldn’t + understand.” + </p> + <p> + There was something very humorous in the idea of Miss Abbott approaching + Gino, on the Rocca, in the spirit of a district visitor. Philip, whose + temper was returning, laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Harriet would say he has no sense of sin.” + </p> + <p> + “Harriet may be right, I am afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “If so, perhaps he isn’t sinful!” + </p> + <p> + Miss Abbott was not one to encourage levity. “I know what he has done,” + she said. “What he says and what he thinks is of very little importance.” + </p> + <p> + Philip smiled at her crudity. “I should like to hear, though, what he said + about me. Is he preparing a warm reception?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, not that. I never told him that you and Harriet were coming. You + could have taken him by surprise if you liked. He only asked for you, and + wished he hadn’t been so rude to you eighteen months ago.” + </p> + <p> + “What a memory the fellow has for little things!” He turned away as he + spoke, for he did not want her to see his face. It was suffused with + pleasure. For an apology, which would have been intolerable eighteen + months ago, was gracious and agreeable now. + </p> + <p> + She would not let this pass. “You did not think it a little thing at the + time. You told me he had assaulted you.” + </p> + <p> + “I lost my temper,” said Philip lightly. His vanity had been appeased, and + he knew it. This tiny piece of civility had changed his mood. “Did he + really—what exactly did he say?” + </p> + <p> + “He said he was sorry—pleasantly, as Italians do say such things. + But he never mentioned the baby once.” + </p> + <p> + What did the baby matter when the world was suddenly right way up? Philip + smiled, and was shocked at himself for smiling, and smiled again. For + romance had come back to Italy; there were no cads in her; she was + beautiful, courteous, lovable, as of old. And Miss Abbott—she, too, + was beautiful in her way, for all her gaucheness and conventionality. She + really cared about life, and tried to live it properly. And Harriet—even + Harriet tried. + </p> + <p> + This admirable change in Philip proceeds from nothing admirable, and may + therefore provoke the gibes of the cynical. But angels and other practical + people will accept it reverently, and write it down as good. + </p> + <p> + “The view from the Rocca (small gratuity) is finest at sunset,” he + murmured, more to himself than to her. + </p> + <p> + “And he never mentioned the baby once,” Miss Abbott repeated. But she had + returned to the window, and again her finger pursued the delicate curves. + He watched her in silence, and was more attracted to her than he had ever + been before. She really was the strangest mixture. + </p> + <p> + “The view from the Rocca—wasn’t it fine?” + </p> + <p> + “What isn’t fine here?” she answered gently, and then added, “I wish I was + Harriet,” throwing an extraordinary meaning into the words. + </p> + <p> + “Because Harriet—?” + </p> + <p> + She would not go further, but he believed that she had paid homage to the + complexity of life. For her, at all events, the expedition was neither + easy nor jolly. Beauty, evil, charm, vulgarity, mystery—she also + acknowledged this tangle, in spite of herself. And her voice thrilled him + when she broke silence with “Mr. Herriton—come here—look at + this!” + </p> + <p> + She removed a pile of plates from the Gothic window, and they leant out of + it. Close opposite, wedged between mean houses, there rose up one of the + great towers. It is your tower: you stretch a barricade between it and the + hotel, and the traffic is blocked in a moment. Farther up, where the + street empties out by the church, your connections, the Merli and the + Capocchi, do likewise. They command the Piazza, you the Siena gate. No one + can move in either but he shall be instantly slain, either by bows or by + crossbows, or by Greek fire. Beware, however, of the back bedroom windows. + For they are menaced by the tower of the Aldobrandeschi, and before now + arrows have stuck quivering over the washstand. Guard these windows well, + lest there be a repetition of the events of February 1338, when the hotel + was surprised from the rear, and your dearest friend—you could just + make out that it was he—was thrown at you over the stairs. + </p> + <p> + “It reaches up to heaven,” said Philip, “and down to the other place.” The + summit of the tower was radiant in the sun, while its base was in shadow + and pasted over with advertisements. “Is it to be a symbol of the town?” + </p> + <p> + She gave no hint that she understood him. But they remained together at + the window because it was a little cooler and so pleasant. Philip found a + certain grace and lightness in his companion which he had never noticed in + England. She was appallingly narrow, but her consciousness of wider things + gave to her narrowness a pathetic charm. He did not suspect that he was + more graceful too. For our vanity is such that we hold our own characters + immutable, and we are slow to acknowledge that they have changed, even for + the better. + </p> + <p> + Citizens came out for a little stroll before dinner. Some of them stood + and gazed at the advertisements on the tower. + </p> + <p> + “Surely that isn’t an opera-bill?” said Miss Abbott. + </p> + <p> + Philip put on his pince-nez. “‘Lucia di Lammermoor. By the Master + Donizetti. Unique representation. This evening.’ + </p> + <p> + “But is there an opera? Right up here?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes. These people know how to live. They would sooner have a thing + bad than not have it at all. That is why they have got to have so much + that is good. However bad the performance is tonight, it will be alive. + Italians don’t love music silently, like the beastly Germans. The audience + takes its share—sometimes more.” + </p> + <p> + “Can’t we go?” + </p> + <p> + He turned on her, but not unkindly. “But we’re here to rescue a child!” + </p> + <p> + He cursed himself for the remark. All the pleasure and the light went out + of her face, and she became again Miss Abbott of Sawston—good, oh, + most undoubtedly good, but most appallingly dull. Dull and remorseful: it + is a deadly combination, and he strove against it in vain till he was + interrupted by the opening of the dining-room door. + </p> + <p> + They started as guiltily as if they had been flirting. Their interview had + taken such an unexpected course. Anger, cynicism, stubborn morality—all + had ended in a feeling of good-will towards each other and towards the + city which had received them. And now Harriet was here—acrid, + indissoluble, large; the same in Italy as in England—changing her + disposition never, and her atmosphere under protest. + </p> + <p> + Yet even Harriet was human, and the better for a little tea. She did not + scold Philip for finding Gino out, as she might reasonably have done. She + showered civilities on Miss Abbott, exclaiming again and again that + Caroline’s visit was one of the most fortunate coincidences in the world. + Caroline did not contradict her. + </p> + <p> + “You see him tomorrow at ten, Philip. Well, don’t forget the blank cheque. + Say an hour for the business. No, Italians are so slow; say two. Twelve + o’clock. Lunch. Well—then it’s no good going till the evening train. + I can manage the baby as far as Florence—” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sister, you can’t run on like that. You don’t buy a pair of + gloves in two hours, much less a baby.” + </p> + <p> + “Three hours, then, or four; or make him learn English ways. At Florence + we get a nurse—” + </p> + <p> + “But, Harriet,” said Miss Abbott, “what if at first he was to refuse?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know the meaning of the word,” said Harriet impressively. “I’ve + told the landlady that Philip and I only want our rooms one night, and we + shall keep to it.” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say it will be all right. But, as I told you, I thought the man I + met on the Rocca a strange, difficult man.” + </p> + <p> + “He’s insolent to ladies, we know. But my brother can be trusted to bring + him to his senses. That woman, Philip, whom you saw will carry the baby to + the hotel. Of course you must tip her for it. And try, if you can, to get + poor Lilia’s silver bangles. They were nice quiet things, and will do for + Irma. And there is an inlaid box I lent her—lent, not gave—to + keep her handkerchiefs in. It’s of no real value; but this is our only + chance. Don’t ask for it; but if you see it lying about, just say—” + </p> + <p> + “No, Harriet; I’ll try for the baby, but for nothing else. I promise to do + that tomorrow, and to do it in the way you wish. But tonight, as we’re all + tired, we want a change of topic. We want relaxation. We want to go to the + theatre.” + </p> + <p> + “Theatres here? And at such a moment?” + </p> + <p> + “We should hardly enjoy it, with the great interview impending,” said Miss + Abbott, with an anxious glance at Philip. + </p> + <p> + He did not betray her, but said, “Don’t you think it’s better than sitting + in all the evening and getting nervous?” + </p> + <p> + His sister shook her head. “Mother wouldn’t like it. It would be most + unsuitable—almost irreverent. Besides all that, foreign theatres are + notorious. Don’t you remember those letters in the ‘Church Family + Newspaper’?” + </p> + <p> + “But this is an opera—‘Lucia di Lammermoor’—Sir Walter Scott—classical, + you know.” + </p> + <p> + Harriet’s face grew resigned. “Certainly one has so few opportunities of + hearing music. It is sure to be very bad. But it might be better than + sitting idle all the evening. We have no book, and I lost my crochet at + Florence.” + </p> + <p> + “Good. Miss Abbott, you are coming too?” + </p> + <p> + “It is very kind of you, Mr. Herriton. In some ways I should enjoy it; but—excuse + the suggestion—I don’t think we ought to go to cheap seats.” + </p> + <p> + “Good gracious me!” cried Harriet, “I should never have thought of that. + As likely as not, we should have tried to save money and sat among the + most awful people. One keeps on forgetting this is Italy.” + </p> + <p> + “Unfortunately I have no evening dress; and if the seats—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that’ll be all right,” said Philip, smiling at his timorous, + scrupulous women-kind. “We’ll go as we are, and buy the best we can get. + Monteriano is not formal.” + </p> + <p> + So this strenuous day of resolutions, plans, alarms, battles, victories, + defeats, truces, ended at the opera. Miss Abbott and Harriet were both a + little shame-faced. They thought of their friends at Sawston, who were + supposing them to be now tilting against the powers of evil. What would + Mrs. Herriton, or Irma, or the curates at the Back Kitchen say if they + could see the rescue party at a place of amusement on the very first day + of its mission? Philip, too, marvelled at his wish to go. He began to see + that he was enjoying his time in Monteriano, in spite of the tiresomeness + of his companions and the occasional contrariness of himself. + </p> + <p> + He had been to this theatre many years before, on the occasion of a + performance of “La Zia di Carlo.” Since then it had been thoroughly done + up, in the tints of the beet-root and the tomato, and was in many other + ways a credit to the little town. The orchestra had been enlarged, some of + the boxes had terra-cotta draperies, and over each box was now suspended + an enormous tablet, neatly framed, bearing upon it the number of that box. + There was also a drop-scene, representing a pink and purple landscape, + wherein sported many a lady lightly clad, and two more ladies lay along + the top of the proscenium to steady a large and pallid clock. So rich and + so appalling was the effect, that Philip could scarcely suppress a cry. + There is something majestic in the bad taste of Italy; it is not the bad + taste of a country which knows no better; it has not the nervous vulgarity + of England, or the blinded vulgarity of Germany. It observes beauty, and + chooses to pass it by. But it attains to beauty’s confidence. This tiny + theatre of Monteriano spraddled and swaggered with the best of them, and + these ladies with their clock would have nodded to the young men on the + ceiling of the Sistine. + </p> + <p> + Philip had tried for a box, but all the best were taken: it was rather a + grand performance, and he had to be content with stalls. Harriet was + fretful and insular. Miss Abbott was pleasant, and insisted on praising + everything: her only regret was that she had no pretty clothes with her. + </p> + <p> + “We do all right,” said Philip, amused at her unwonted vanity. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know; but pretty things pack as easily as ugly ones. We had no + need to come to Italy like guys.” + </p> + <p> + This time he did not reply, “But we’re here to rescue a baby.” For he saw + a charming picture, as charming a picture as he had seen for years—the + hot red theatre; outside the theatre, towers and dark gates and mediaeval + walls; beyond the walls olive-trees in the starlight and white winding + roads and fireflies and untroubled dust; and here in the middle of it all, + Miss Abbott, wishing she had not come looking like a guy. She had made the + right remark. Most undoubtedly she had made the right remark. This stiff + suburban woman was unbending before the shrine. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you like it at all?” he asked her. + </p> + <p> + “Most awfully.” And by this bald interchange they convinced each other + that Romance was here. + </p> + <p> + Harriet, meanwhile, had been coughing ominously at the drop-scene, which + presently rose on the grounds of Ravenswood, and the chorus of Scotch + retainers burst into cry. The audience accompanied with tappings and + drummings, swaying in the melody like corn in the wind. Harriet, though + she did not care for music, knew how to listen to it. She uttered an acid + “Shish!” + </p> + <p> + “Shut it,” whispered her brother. + </p> + <p> + “We must make a stand from the beginning. They’re talking.” + </p> + <p> + “It is tiresome,” murmured Miss Abbott; “but perhaps it isn’t for us to + interfere.” + </p> + <p> + Harriet shook her head and shished again. The people were quiet, not + because it is wrong to talk during a chorus, but because it is natural to + be civil to a visitor. For a little time she kept the whole house in + order, and could smile at her brother complacently. + </p> + <p> + Her success annoyed him. He had grasped the principle of opera in Italy—it + aims not at illusion but at entertainment—and he did not want this + great evening-party to turn into a prayer-meeting. But soon the boxes + began to fill, and Harriet’s power was over. Families greeted each other + across the auditorium. People in the pit hailed their brothers and sons in + the chorus, and told them how well they were singing. When Lucia appeared + by the fountain there was loud applause, and cries of “Welcome to + Monteriano!” + </p> + <p> + “Ridiculous babies!” said Harriet, settling down in her stall. + </p> + <p> + “Why, it is the famous hot lady of the Apennines,” cried Philip; “the one + who had never, never before—” + </p> + <p> + “Ugh! Don’t. She will be very vulgar. And I’m sure it’s even worse here + than in the tunnel. I wish we’d never—” + </p> + <p> + Lucia began to sing, and there was a moment’s silence. She was stout and + ugly; but her voice was still beautiful, and as she sang the theatre + murmured like a hive of happy bees. All through the coloratura she was + accompanied by sighs, and its top note was drowned in a shout of universal + joy. + </p> + <p> + So the opera proceeded. The singers drew inspiration from the audience, + and the two great sextettes were rendered not unworthily. Miss Abbott fell + into the spirit of the thing. She, too, chatted and laughed and applauded + and encored, and rejoiced in the existence of beauty. As for Philip, he + forgot himself as well as his mission. He was not even an enthusiastic + visitor. For he had been in this place always. It was his home. + </p> + <p> + Harriet, like M. Bovary on a more famous occasion, was trying to follow + the plot. Occasionally she nudged her companions, and asked them what had + become of Walter Scott. She looked round grimly. The audience sounded + drunk, and even Caroline, who never took a drop, was swaying oddly. + Violent waves of excitement, all arising from very little, went sweeping + round the theatre. The climax was reached in the mad scene. Lucia, clad in + white, as befitted her malady, suddenly gathered up her streaming hair and + bowed her acknowledgment to the audience. Then from the back of the stage—she + feigned not to see it—there advanced a kind of bamboo clothes-horse, + stuck all over with bouquets. It was very ugly, and most of the flowers in + it were false. Lucia knew this, and so did the audience; and they all knew + that the clothes-horse was a piece of stage property, brought in to make + the performance go year after year. None the less did it unloose the great + deeps. With a scream of amazement and joy she embraced the animal, pulled + out one or two practicable blossoms, pressed them to her lips, and flung + them into her admirers. They flung them back, with loud melodious cries, + and a little boy in one of the stageboxes snatched up his sister’s + carnations and offered them. “Che carino!” exclaimed the singer. She + darted at the little boy and kissed him. Now the noise became tremendous. + “Silence! silence!” shouted many old gentlemen behind. “Let the divine + creature continue!” But the young men in the adjacent box were imploring + Lucia to extend her civility to them. She refused, with a humorous, + expressive gesture. One of them hurled a bouquet at her. She spurned it + with her foot. Then, encouraged by the roars of the audience, she picked + it up and tossed it to them. Harriet was always unfortunate. The bouquet + struck her full in the chest, and a little billet-doux fell out of it into + her lap. + </p> + <p> + “Call this classical!” she cried, rising from her seat. “It’s not even + respectable! Philip! take me out at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Whose is it?” shouted her brother, holding up the bouquet in one hand and + the billet-doux in the other. “Whose is it?” + </p> + <p> + The house exploded, and one of the boxes was violently agitated, as if + some one was being hauled to the front. Harriet moved down the gangway, + and compelled Miss Abbott to follow her. Philip, still laughing and + calling “Whose is it?” brought up the rear. He was drunk with excitement. + The heat, the fatigue, and the enjoyment had mounted into his head. + </p> + <p> + “To the left!” the people cried. “The innamorato is to the left.” + </p> + <p> + He deserted his ladies and plunged towards the box. A young man was flung + stomach downwards across the balustrade. Philip handed him up the bouquet + and the note. Then his own hands were seized affectionately. It all seemed + quite natural. + </p> + <p> + “Why have you not written?” cried the young man. “Why do you take me by + surprise?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’ve written,” said Philip hilariously. “I left a note this + afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “Silence! silence!” cried the audience, who were beginning to have enough. + “Let the divine creature continue.” Miss Abbott and Harriet had + disappeared. + </p> + <p> + “No! no!” cried the young man. “You don’t escape me now.” For Philip was + trying feebly to disengage his hands. Amiable youths bent out of the box + and invited him to enter it. + </p> + <p> + “Gino’s friends are ours—” + </p> + <p> + “Friends?” cried Gino. “A relative! A brother! Fra Filippo, who has come + all the way from England and never written.” + </p> + <p> + “I left a message.” + </p> + <p> + The audience began to hiss. + </p> + <p> + “Come in to us.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you—ladies—there is not time—” + </p> + <p> + The next moment he was swinging by his arms. The moment after he shot over + the balustrade into the box. Then the conductor, seeing that the incident + was over, raised his baton. The house was hushed, and Lucia di Lammermoor + resumed her song of madness and death. + </p> + <p> + Philip had whispered introductions to the pleasant people who had pulled + him in—tradesmen’s sons perhaps they were, or medical students, or + solicitors’ clerks, or sons of other dentists. There is no knowing who is + who in Italy. The guest of the evening was a private soldier. He shared + the honour now with Philip. The two had to stand side by side in the + front, and exchange compliments, whilst Gino presided, courteous, but + delightfully familiar. Philip would have a spasm of horror at the muddle + he had made. But the spasm would pass, and again he would be enchanted by + the kind, cheerful voices, the laughter that was never vapid, and the + light caress of the arm across his back. + </p> + <p> + He could not get away till the play was nearly finished, and Edgardo was + singing amongst the tombs of ancestors. His new friends hoped to see him + at the Garibaldi tomorrow evening. He promised; then he remembered that if + they kept to Harriet’s plan he would have left Monteriano. “At ten + o’clock, then,” he said to Gino. “I want to speak to you alone. At ten.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly!” laughed the other. + </p> + <p> + Miss Abbott was sitting up for him when he got back. Harriet, it seemed, + had gone straight to bed. + </p> + <p> + “That was he, wasn’t it?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, rather.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you didn’t settle anything?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, no; how could I? The fact is—well, I got taken by surprise, + but after all, what does it matter? There’s no earthly reason why we + shouldn’t do the business pleasantly. He’s a perfectly charming person, + and so are his friends. I’m his friend now—his long-lost brother. + What’s the harm? I tell you, Miss Abbott, it’s one thing for England and + another for Italy. There we plan and get on high moral horses. Here we + find what asses we are, for things go off quite easily, all by themselves. + My hat, what a night! Did you ever see a really purple sky and really + silver stars before? Well, as I was saying, it’s absurd to worry; he’s not + a porky father. He wants that baby as little as I do. He’s been ragging my + dear mother—just as he ragged me eighteen months ago, and I’ve + forgiven him. Oh, but he has a sense of humour!” + </p> + <p> + Miss Abbott, too, had a wonderful evening, nor did she ever remember such + stars or such a sky. Her head, too, was full of music, and that night when + she opened the window her room was filled with warm, sweet air. She was + bathed in beauty within and without; she could not go to bed for + happiness. Had she ever been so happy before? Yes, once before, and here, + a night in March, the night Gino and Lilia had told her of their love—the + night whose evil she had come now to undo. + </p> + <p> + She gave a sudden cry of shame. “This time—the same place—the + same thing”—and she began to beat down her happiness, knowing it to + be sinful. She was here to fight against this place, to rescue a little + soul—who was innocent as yet. She was here to champion morality and + purity, and the holy life of an English home. In the spring she had sinned + through ignorance; she was not ignorant now. “Help me!” she cried, and + shut the window as if there was magic in the encircling air. But the tunes + would not go out of her head, and all night long she was troubled by + torrents of music, and by applause and laughter, and angry young men who + shouted the distich out of Baedeker:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Poggibonizzi fatti in la, + Che Monteriano si fa citta! +</pre> + <p> + Poggibonsi was revealed to her as they sang—a joyless, straggling + place, full of people who pretended. When she woke up she knew that it had + been Sawston. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 7 + </h2> + <p> + At about nine o’clock next morning Perfetta went out on to the loggia, not + to look at the view, but to throw some dirty water at it. “Scusi tanto!” + she wailed, for the water spattered a tall young lady who had for some + time been tapping at the lower door. + </p> + <p> + “Is Signor Carella in?” the young lady asked. It was no business of + Perfetta’s to be shocked, and the style of the visitor seemed to demand + the reception-room. Accordingly she opened its shutters, dusted a round + patch on one of the horsehair chairs, and bade the lady do herself the + inconvenience of sitting down. Then she ran into Monteriano and shouted up + and down its streets until such time as her young master should hear her. + </p> + <p> + The reception-room was sacred to the dead wife. Her shiny portrait hung + upon the wall—similar, doubtless, in all respects to the one which + would be pasted on her tombstone. A little piece of black drapery had been + tacked above the frame to lend a dignity to woe. But two of the tacks had + fallen out, and the effect was now rakish, as of a drunkard’s bonnet. A + coon song lay open on the piano, and of the two tables one supported + Baedeker’s “Central Italy,” the other Harriet’s inlaid box. And over + everything there lay a deposit of heavy white dust, which was only blown + off one moment to thicken on another. It is well to be remembered with + love. It is not so very dreadful to be forgotten entirely. But if we shall + resent anything on earth at all, we shall resent the consecration of a + deserted room. + </p> + <p> + Miss Abbott did not sit down, partly because the antimacassars might + harbour fleas, partly because she had suddenly felt faint, and was glad to + cling on to the funnel of the stove. She struggled with herself, for she + had need to be very calm; only if she was very calm might her behaviour be + justified. She had broken faith with Philip and Harriet: she was going to + try for the baby before they did. If she failed she could scarcely look + them in the face again. + </p> + <p> + “Harriet and her brother,” she reasoned, “don’t realize what is before + them. She would bluster and be rude; he would be pleasant and take it as a + joke. Both of them—even if they offered money—would fail. But + I begin to understand the man’s nature; he does not love the child, but he + will be touchy about it—and that is quite as bad for us. He’s + charming, but he’s no fool; he conquered me last year; he conquered Mr. + Herriton yesterday, and if I am not careful he will conquer us all today, + and the baby will grow up in Monteriano. He is terribly strong; Lilia + found that out, but only I remember it now.” + </p> + <p> + This attempt, and this justification of it, were the results of the long + and restless night. Miss Abbott had come to believe that she alone could + do battle with Gino, because she alone understood him; and she had put + this, as nicely as she could, in a note which she had left for Philip. It + distressed her to write such a note, partly because her education inclined + her to reverence the male, partly because she had got to like Philip a + good deal after their last strange interview. His pettiness would be + dispersed, and as for his “unconventionality,” which was so much gossiped + about at Sawston, she began to see that it did not differ greatly from + certain familiar notions of her own. If only he would forgive her for what + she was doing now, there might perhaps be before them a long and + profitable friendship. But she must succeed. No one would forgive her if + she did not succeed. She prepared to do battle with the powers of evil. + </p> + <p> + The voice of her adversary was heard at last, singing fearlessly from his + expanded lungs, like a professional. Herein he differed from Englishmen, + who always have a little feeling against music, and sing only from the + throat, apologetically. He padded upstairs, and looked in at the open door + of the reception-room without seeing her. Her heart leapt and her throat + was dry when he turned away and passed, still singing, into the room + opposite. It is alarming not to be seen. + </p> + <p> + He had left the door of this room open, and she could see into it, right + across the landing. It was in a shocking mess. Food, bedclothes, + patent-leather boots, dirty plates, and knives lay strewn over a large + table and on the floor. But it was the mess that comes of life, not of + desolation. It was preferable to the charnel-chamber in which she was + standing now, and the light in it was soft and large, as from some + gracious, noble opening. + </p> + <p> + He stopped singing, and cried “Where is Perfetta?” + </p> + <p> + His back was turned, and he was lighting a cigar. He was not speaking to + Miss Abbott. He could not even be expecting her. The vista of the landing + and the two open doors made him both remote and significant, like an actor + on the stage, intimate and unapproachable at the same time. She could no + more call out to him than if he was Hamlet. + </p> + <p> + “You know!” he continued, “but you will not tell me. Exactly like you.” He + reclined on the table and blew a fat smoke-ring. “And why won’t you tell + me the numbers? I have dreamt of a red hen—that is two hundred and + five, and a friend unexpected—he means eighty-two. But I try for the + Terno this week. So tell me another number.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Abbott did not know of the Tombola. His speech terrified her. She + felt those subtle restrictions which come upon us in fatigue. Had she + slept well she would have greeted him as soon as she saw him. Now it was + impossible. He had got into another world. + </p> + <p> + She watched his smoke-ring. The air had carried it slowly away from him, + and brought it out intact upon the landing. + </p> + <p> + “Two hundred and five—eighty-two. In any case I shall put them on + Bari, not on Florence. I cannot tell you why; I have a feeling this week + for Bari.” Again she tried to speak. But the ring mesmerized her. It had + become vast and elliptical, and floated in at the reception-room door. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you don’t care if you get the profits. You won’t even say ‘Thank you, + Gino.’ Say it, or I’ll drop hot, red-hot ashes on you. ‘Thank you, Gino—‘” + </p> + <p> + The ring had extended its pale blue coils towards her. She lost + self-control. It enveloped her. As if it was a breath from the pit, she + screamed. + </p> + <p> + There he was, wanting to know what had frightened her, how she had got + here, why she had never spoken. He made her sit down. He brought her wine, + which she refused. She had not one word to say to him. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” he repeated. “What has frightened you?” + </p> + <p> + He, too, was frightened, and perspiration came starting through the tan. + For it is a serious thing to have been watched. We all radiate something + curiously intimate when we believe ourselves to be alone. + </p> + <p> + “Business—” she said at last. + </p> + <p> + “Business with me?” + </p> + <p> + “Most important business.” She was lying, white and limp, in the dusty + chair. + </p> + <p> + “Before business you must get well; this is the best wine.” + </p> + <p> + She refused it feebly. He poured out a glass. She drank it. As she did so + she became self-conscious. However important the business, it was not + proper of her to have called on him, or to accept his hospitality. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you are engaged,” she said. “And as I am not very well—” + </p> + <p> + “You are not well enough to go back. And I am not engaged.” + </p> + <p> + She looked nervously at the other room. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, now I understand,” he exclaimed. “Now I see what frightened you. But + why did you never speak?” And taking her into the room where he lived, he + pointed to—the baby. + </p> + <p> + She had thought so much about this baby, of its welfare, its soul, its + morals, its probable defects. But, like most unmarried people, she had + only thought of it as a word—just as the healthy man only thinks of + the word death, not of death itself. The real thing, lying asleep on a + dirty rug, disconcerted her. It did not stand for a principle any longer. + It was so much flesh and blood, so many inches and ounces of life—a + glorious, unquestionable fact, which a man and another woman had given to + the world. You could talk to it; in time it would answer you; in time it + would not answer you unless it chose, but would secrete, within the + compass of its body, thoughts and wonderful passions of its own. And this + was the machine on which she and Mrs. Herriton and Philip and Harriet had + for the last month been exercising their various ideals—had + determined that in time it should move this way or that way, should + accomplish this and not that. It was to be Low Church, it was to be + high-principled, it was to be tactful, gentlemanly, artistic—excellent + things all. Yet now that she saw this baby, lying asleep on a dirty rug, + she had a great disposition not to dictate one of them, and to exert no + more influence than there may be in a kiss or in the vaguest of the + heartfelt prayers. + </p> + <p> + But she had practised self-discipline, and her thoughts and actions were + not yet to correspond. To recover her self-esteem she tried to imagine + that she was in her district, and to behave accordingly. + </p> + <p> + “What a fine child, Signor Carella. And how nice of you to talk to it. + Though I see that the ungrateful little fellow is asleep! Seven months? + No, eight; of course eight. Still, he is a remarkably fine child for his + age.” + </p> + <p> + Italian is a bad medium for condescension. The patronizing words came out + gracious and sincere, and he smiled with pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “You must not stand. Let us sit on the loggia, where it is cool. I am + afraid the room is very untidy,” he added, with the air of a hostess who + apologizes for a stray thread on the drawing-room carpet. Miss Abbott + picked her way to the chair. He sat near her, astride the parapet, with + one foot in the loggia and the other dangling into the view. His face was + in profile, and its beautiful contours drove artfully against the misty + green of the opposing hills. “Posing!” said Miss Abbott to herself. “A + born artist’s model.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Herriton called yesterday,” she began, “but you were out.” + </p> + <p> + He started an elaborate and graceful explanation. He had gone for the day + to Poggibonsi. Why had the Herritons not written to him, so that he could + have received them properly? Poggibonsi would have done any day; not but + what his business there was fairly important. What did she suppose that it + was? + </p> + <p> + Naturally she was not greatly interested. She had not come from Sawston to + guess why he had been to Poggibonsi. She answered politely that she had no + idea, and returned to her mission. + </p> + <p> + “But guess!” he persisted, clapping the balustrade between his hands. + </p> + <p> + She suggested, with gentle sarcasm, that perhaps he had gone to Poggibonsi + to find something to do. + </p> + <p> + He intimated that it was not as important as all that. Something to do—an + almost hopeless quest! “E manca questo!” He rubbed his thumb and + forefinger together, to indicate that he had no money. Then he sighed, and + blew another smoke-ring. Miss Abbott took heart and turned diplomatic. + </p> + <p> + “This house,” she said, “is a large house.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” was his gloomy reply. “And when my poor wife died—” He + got up, went in, and walked across the landing to the reception-room door, + which he closed reverently. Then he shut the door of the living-room with + his foot, returned briskly to his seat, and continued his sentence. “When + my poor wife died I thought of having my relatives to live here. My father + wished to give up his practice at Empoli; my mother and sisters and two + aunts were also willing. But it was impossible. They have their ways of + doing things, and when I was younger I was content with them. But now I am + a man. I have my own ways. Do you understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do,” said Miss Abbott, thinking of her own dear father, whose + tricks and habits, after twenty-five years spent in their company, were + beginning to get on her nerves. She remembered, though, that she was not + here to sympathize with Gino—at all events, not to show that she + sympathized. She also reminded herself that he was not worthy of sympathy. + “It is a large house,” she repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Immense; and the taxes! But it will be better when—Ah! but you have + never guessed why I went to Poggibonsi—why it was that I was out + when he called.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot guess, Signor Carella. I am here on business.” + </p> + <p> + “But try.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot; I hardly know you.” + </p> + <p> + “But we are old friends,” he said, “and your approval will be grateful to + me. You gave it me once before. Will you give it now?” + </p> + <p> + “I have not come as a friend this time,” she answered stiffly. “I am not + likely, Signor Carella, to approve of anything you do.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Signorina!” He laughed, as if he found her piquant and amusing. + “Surely you approve of marriage?” + </p> + <p> + “Where there is love,” said Miss Abbott, looking at him hard. His face had + altered in the last year, but not for the worse, which was baffling. + </p> + <p> + “Where there is love,” said he, politely echoing the English view. Then he + smiled on her, expecting congratulations. + </p> + <p> + “Do I understand that you are proposing to marry again?” + </p> + <p> + He nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I forbid you, then!” + </p> + <p> + He looked puzzled, but took it for some foreign banter, and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I forbid you!” repeated Miss Abbott, and all the indignation of her sex + and her nationality went thrilling through the words. + </p> + <p> + “But why?” He jumped up, frowning. His voice was squeaky and petulant, + like that of a child who is suddenly forbidden a toy. + </p> + <p> + “You have ruined one woman; I forbid you to ruin another. It is not a year + since Lilia died. You pretended to me the other day that you loved her. It + is a lie. You wanted her money. Has this woman money too?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes!” he said irritably. “A little.” + </p> + <p> + “And I suppose you will say that you love her.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall not say it. It will be untrue. Now my poor wife—” He + stopped, seeing that the comparison would involve him in difficulties. And + indeed he had often found Lilia as agreeable as any one else. + </p> + <p> + Miss Abbott was furious at this final insult to her dead acquaintance. She + was glad that after all she could be so angry with the boy. She glowed and + throbbed; her tongue moved nimbly. At the finish, if the real business of + the day had been completed, she could have swept majestically from the + house. But the baby still remained, asleep on a dirty rug. + </p> + <p> + Gino was thoughtful, and stood scratching his head. He respected Miss + Abbott. He wished that she would respect him. “So you do not advise me?” + he said dolefully. “But why should it be a failure?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Abbott tried to remember that he was really a child still—a + child with the strength and the passions of a disreputable man. “How can + it succeed,” she said solemnly, “where there is no love?” + </p> + <p> + “But she does love me! I forgot to tell you that.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “Passionately.” He laid his hand upon his own heart. + </p> + <p> + “Then God help her!” + </p> + <p> + He stamped impatiently. “Whatever I say displeases you, Signorina. God + help you, for you are most unfair. You say that I ill-treated my dear + wife. It is not so. I have never ill-treated any one. You complain that + there is no love in this marriage. I prove that there is, and you become + still more angry. What do you want? Do you suppose she will not be + contented? Glad enough she is to get me, and she will do her duty well.” + </p> + <p> + “Her duty!” cried Miss Abbott, with all the bitterness of which she was + capable. + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course. She knows why I am marrying her.” + </p> + <p> + “To succeed where Lilia failed! To be your housekeeper, your slave, you—” + The words she would like to have said were too violent for her. + </p> + <p> + “To look after the baby, certainly,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “The baby—?” She had forgotten it. + </p> + <p> + “It is an English marriage,” he said proudly. “I do not care about the + money. I am having her for my son. Did you not understand that?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Miss Abbott, utterly bewildered. Then, for a moment, she saw + light. “It is not necessary, Signor Carella. Since you are tired of the + baby—” + </p> + <p> + Ever after she remembered it to her credit that she saw her mistake at + once. “I don’t mean that,” she added quickly. + </p> + <p> + “I know,” was his courteous response. “Ah, in a foreign language (and how + perfectly you speak Italian) one is certain to make slips.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at his face. It was apparently innocent of satire. + </p> + <p> + “You meant that we could not always be together yet, he and I. You are + right. What is to be done? I cannot afford a nurse, and Perfetta is too + rough. When he was ill I dare not let her touch him. When he has to be + washed, which happens now and then, who does it? I. I feed him, or settle + what he shall have. I sleep with him and comfort him when he is unhappy in + the night. No one talks, no one may sing to him but I. Do not be unfair + this time; I like to do these things. But nevertheless (his voice became + pathetic) they take up a great deal of time, and are not all suitable for + a young man.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all suitable,” said Miss Abbott, and closed her eyes wearily. Each + moment her difficulties were increasing. She wished that she was not so + tired, so open to contradictory impressions. She longed for Harriet’s + burly obtuseness or for the soulless diplomacy of Mrs. Herriton. + </p> + <p> + “A little more wine?” asked Gino kindly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, thank you! But marriage, Signor Carella, is a very serious step. + Could you not manage more simply? Your relative, for example—” + </p> + <p> + “Empoli! I would as soon have him in England!” + </p> + <p> + “England, then—” + </p> + <p> + He laughed. + </p> + <p> + “He has a grandmother there, you know—Mrs. Theobald.” + </p> + <p> + “He has a grandmother here. No, he is troublesome, but I must have him + with me. I will not even have my father and mother too. For they would + separate us,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + “They would separate our thoughts.” + </p> + <p> + She was silent. This cruel, vicious fellow knew of strange refinements. + The horrible truth, that wicked people are capable of love, stood naked + before her, and her moral being was abashed. It was her duty to rescue the + baby, to save it from contagion, and she still meant to do her duty. But + the comfortable sense of virtue left her. She was in the presence of + something greater than right or wrong. + </p> + <p> + Forgetting that this was an interview, he had strolled back into the room, + driven by the instinct she had aroused in him. “Wake up!” he cried to his + baby, as if it was some grown-up friend. Then he lifted his foot and trod + lightly on its stomach. + </p> + <p> + Miss Abbott cried, “Oh, take care!” She was unaccustomed to this method of + awakening the young. + </p> + <p> + “He is not much longer than my boot, is he? Can you believe that in time + his own boots will be as large? And that he also—” + </p> + <p> + “But ought you to treat him like that?” + </p> + <p> + He stood with one foot resting on the little body, suddenly musing, filled + with the desire that his son should be like him, and should have sons like + him, to people the earth. It is the strongest desire that can come to a + man—if it comes to him at all—stronger even than love or the + desire for personal immortality. All men vaunt it, and declare that it is + theirs; but the hearts of most are set elsewhere. It is the exception who + comprehends that physical and spiritual life may stream out of him for + ever. Miss Abbott, for all her goodness, could not comprehend it, though + such a thing is more within the comprehension of women. And when Gino + pointed first to himself and then to his baby and said “father-son,” she + still took it as a piece of nursery prattle, and smiled mechanically. + </p> + <p> + The child, the first fruits, woke up and glared at her. Gino did not greet + it, but continued the exposition of his policy. + </p> + <p> + “This woman will do exactly what I tell her. She is fond of children. She + is clean; she has a pleasant voice. She is not beautiful; I cannot pretend + that to you for a moment. But she is what I require.” + </p> + <p> + The baby gave a piercing yell. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do take care!” begged Miss Abbott. “You are squeezing it.” + </p> + <p> + “It is nothing. If he cries silently then you may be frightened. He thinks + I am going to wash him, and he is quite right.” + </p> + <p> + “Wash him!” she cried. “You? Here?” The homely piece of news seemed to + shatter all her plans. She had spent a long half-hour in elaborate + approaches, in high moral attacks; she had neither frightened her enemy + nor made him angry, nor interfered with the least detail of his domestic + life. + </p> + <p> + “I had gone to the Farmacia,” he continued, “and was sitting there + comfortably, when suddenly I remembered that Perfetta had heated water an + hour ago—over there, look, covered with a cushion. I came away at + once, for really he must be washed. You must excuse me. I can put it off + no longer.” + </p> + <p> + “I have wasted your time,” she said feebly. + </p> + <p> + He walked sternly to the loggia and drew from it a large earthenware bowl. + It was dirty inside; he dusted it with a tablecloth. Then he fetched the + hot water, which was in a copper pot. He poured it out. He added cold. He + felt in his pocket and brought out a piece of soap. Then he took up the + baby, and, holding his cigar between his teeth, began to unwrap it. Miss + Abbott turned to go. + </p> + <p> + “But why are you going? Excuse me if I wash him while we talk.” + </p> + <p> + “I have nothing more to say,” said Miss Abbott. All she could do now was + to find Philip, confess her miserable defeat, and bid him go in her stead + and prosper better. She cursed her feebleness; she longed to expose it, + without apologies or tears. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but stop a moment!” he cried. “You have not seen him yet.” + </p> + <p> + “I have seen as much as I want, thank you.” + </p> + <p> + The last wrapping slid off. He held out to her in his two hands a little + kicking image of bronze. + </p> + <p> + “Take him!” + </p> + <p> + She would not touch the child. + </p> + <p> + “I must go at once,” she cried; for the tears—the wrong tears—were + hurrying to her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Who would have believed his mother was blonde? For he is brown all over—brown + every inch of him. Ah, but how beautiful he is! And he is mine; mine for + ever. Even if he hates me he will be mine. He cannot help it; he is made + out of me; I am his father.” + </p> + <p> + It was too late to go. She could not tell why, but it was too late. She + turned away her head when Gino lifted his son to his lips. This was + something too remote from the prettiness of the nursery. The man was + majestic; he was a part of Nature; in no ordinary love scene could he ever + be so great. For a wonderful physical tie binds the parents to the + children; and—by some sad, strange irony—it does not bind us + children to our parents. For if it did, if we could answer their love not + with gratitude but with equal love, life would lose much of its pathos and + much of its squalor, and we might be wonderfully happy. Gino passionately + embracing, Miss Abbott reverently averting her eyes—both of them had + parents whom they did not love so very much. + </p> + <p> + “May I help you to wash him?” she asked humbly. + </p> + <p> + He gave her his son without speaking, and they knelt side by side, tucking + up their sleeves. The child had stopped crying, and his arms and legs were + agitated by some overpowering joy. Miss Abbott had a woman’s pleasure in + cleaning anything—more especially when the thing was human. She + understood little babies from long experience in a district, and Gino soon + ceased to give her directions, and only gave her thanks. + </p> + <p> + “It is very kind of you,” he murmured, “especially in your beautiful + dress. He is nearly clean already. Why, I take the whole morning! There is + so much more of a baby than one expects. And Perfetta washes him just as + she washes clothes. Then he screams for hours. My wife is to have a light + hand. Ah, how he kicks! Has he splashed you? I am very sorry.” + </p> + <p> + “I am ready for a soft towel now,” said Miss Abbott, who was strangely + exalted by the service. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly! certainly!” He strode in a knowing way to a cupboard. But he + had no idea where the soft towel was. Generally he dabbed the baby on the + first dry thing he found. + </p> + <p> + “And if you had any powder.” + </p> + <p> + He struck his forehead despairingly. Apparently the stock of powder was + just exhausted. + </p> + <p> + She sacrificed her own clean handkerchief. He put a chair for her on the + loggia, which faced westward, and was still pleasant and cool. There she + sat, with twenty miles of view behind her, and he placed the dripping baby + on her knee. It shone now with health and beauty: it seemed to reflect + light, like a copper vessel. Just such a baby Bellini sets languid on his + mother’s lap, or Signorelli flings wriggling on pavements of marble, or + Lorenzo di Credi, more reverent but less divine, lays carefully among + flowers, with his head upon a wisp of golden straw. For a time Gino + contemplated them standing. Then, to get a better view, he knelt by the + side of the chair, with his hands clasped before him. + </p> + <p> + So they were when Philip entered, and saw, to all intents and purposes, + the Virgin and Child, with Donor. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo!” he exclaimed; for he was glad to find things in such cheerful + trim. + </p> + <p> + She did not greet him, but rose up unsteadily and handed the baby to his + father. + </p> + <p> + “No, do stop!” whispered Philip. “I got your note. I’m not offended; + you’re quite right. I really want you; I could never have done it alone.” + </p> + <p> + No words came from her, but she raised her hands to her mouth, like one + who is in sudden agony. + </p> + <p> + “Signorina, do stop a little—after all your kindness.” + </p> + <p> + She burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” said Philip kindly. + </p> + <p> + She tried to speak, and then went away weeping bitterly. + </p> + <p> + The two men stared at each other. By a common impulse they ran on to the + loggia. They were just in time to see Miss Abbott disappear among the + trees. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked Philip again. There was no answer, and somehow he did + not want an answer. Some strange thing had happened which he could not + presume to understand. He would find out from Miss Abbott, if ever he + found out at all. + </p> + <p> + “Well, your business,” said Gino, after a puzzled sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Our business—Miss Abbott has told you of that.” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “But surely—” + </p> + <p> + “She came for business. But she forgot about it; so did I.” + </p> + <p> + Perfetta, who had a genius for missing people, now returned, loudly + complaining of the size of Monteriano and the intricacies of its streets. + Gino told her to watch the baby. Then he offered Philip a cigar, and they + proceeded to the business. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 8 + </h2> + <h3> + “Mad!” screamed Harriet,—“absolutely stark, staring, raving mad!” + </h3> + <p> + Philip judged it better not to contradict her. + </p> + <p> + “What’s she here for? Answer me that. What’s she doing in Monteriano in + August? Why isn’t she in Normandy? Answer that. She won’t. I can: she’s + come to thwart us; she’s betrayed us—got hold of mother’s plans. Oh, + goodness, my head!” + </p> + <p> + He was unwise enough to reply, “You mustn’t accuse her of that. Though she + is exasperating, she hasn’t come here to betray us.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why has she come here? Answer me that.” + </p> + <p> + He made no answer. But fortunately his sister was too much agitated to + wait for one. “Bursting in on me—crying and looking a disgusting + sight—and says she has been to see the Italian. Couldn’t even talk + properly; pretended she had changed her opinions. What are her opinions to + us? I was very calm. I said: ‘Miss Abbott, I think there is a little + misapprehension in this matter. My mother, Mrs. Herriton—’ Oh, + goodness, my head! Of course you’ve failed—don’t trouble to answer—I + know you’ve failed. Where’s the baby, pray? Of course you haven’t got it. + Dear sweet Caroline won’t let you. Oh, yes, and we’re to go away at once + and trouble the father no more. Those are her commands. Commands! + COMMANDS!” And Harriet also burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + Philip governed his temper. His sister was annoying, but quite reasonable + in her indignation. Moreover, Miss Abbott had behaved even worse than she + supposed. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve not got the baby, Harriet, but at the same time I haven’t exactly + failed. I and Signor Carella are to have another interview this afternoon, + at the Caffe Garibaldi. He is perfectly reasonable and pleasant. Should + you be disposed to come with me, you would find him quite willing to + discuss things. He is desperately in want of money, and has no prospect of + getting any. I discovered that. At the same time, he has a certain + affection for the child.” For Philip’s insight, or perhaps his + opportunities, had not been equal to Miss Abbott’s. + </p> + <p> + Harriet would only sob, and accuse her brother of insulting her; how could + a lady speak to such a horrible man? That, and nothing else, was enough to + stamp Caroline. Oh, poor Lilia! + </p> + <p> + Philip drummed on the bedroom window-sill. He saw no escape from the + deadlock. For though he spoke cheerfully about his second interview with + Gino, he felt at the bottom of his heart that it would fail. Gino was too + courteous: he would not break off negotiations by sharp denial; he loved + this civil, half-humorous bargaining. And he loved fooling his opponent, + and did it so nicely that his opponent did not mind being fooled. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Abbott has behaved extraordinarily,” he said at last; “but at the + same time—” + </p> + <p> + His sister would not hear him. She burst forth again on the madness, the + interference, the intolerable duplicity of Caroline. + </p> + <p> + “Harriet, you must listen. My dear, you must stop crying. I have something + quite important to say.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall not stop crying,” said she. But in time, finding that he would + not speak to her, she did stop. + </p> + <p> + “Remember that Miss Abbott has done us no harm. She said nothing to him + about the matter. He assumes that she is working with us: I gathered + that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, she isn’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but if you’re careful she may be. I interpret her behaviour thus: + She went to see him, honestly intending to get the child away. In the note + she left me she says so, and I don’t believe she’d lie.” + </p> + <p> + “I do.” + </p> + <p> + “When she got there, there was some pretty domestic scene between him and + the baby, and she has got swept off in a gush of sentimentalism. Before + very long, if I know anything about psychology, there will be a reaction. + She’ll be swept back.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand your long words. Say plainly—” + </p> + <p> + “When she’s swept back, she’ll be invaluable. For she has made quite an + impression on him. He thinks her so nice with the baby. You know, she + washed it for him.” + </p> + <p> + “Disgusting!” + </p> + <p> + Harriet’s ejaculations were more aggravating than the rest of her. But + Philip was averse to losing his temper. The access of joy that had come to + him yesterday in the theatre promised to be permanent. He was more anxious + than heretofore to be charitable towards the world. + </p> + <p> + “If you want to carry off the baby, keep your peace with Miss Abbott. For + if she chooses, she can help you better than I can.” + </p> + <p> + “There can be no peace between me and her,” said Harriet gloomily. + </p> + <p> + “Did you—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not all I wanted. She went away before I had finished speaking—just + like those cowardly people!—into the church.” + </p> + <p> + “Into Santa Deodata’s?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I’m sure she needs it. Anything more unchristian—” + </p> + <p> + In time Philip went to the church also, leaving his sister a little calmer + and a little disposed to think over his advice. What had come over Miss + Abbott? He had always thought her both stable and sincere. That + conversation he had had with her last Christmas in the train to Charing + Cross—that alone furnished him with a parallel. For the second time, + Monteriano must have turned her head. He was not angry with her, for he + was quite indifferent to the outcome of their expedition. He was only + extremely interested. + </p> + <p> + It was now nearly midday, and the streets were clearing. But the intense + heat had broken, and there was a pleasant suggestion of rain. The Piazza, + with its three great attractions—the Palazzo Pubblico, the + Collegiate Church, and the Caffe Garibaldi: the intellect, the soul, and + the body—had never looked more charming. For a moment Philip stood + in its centre, much inclined to be dreamy, and thinking how wonderful it + must feel to belong to a city, however mean. He was here, however, as an + emissary of civilization and as a student of character, and, after a sigh, + he entered Santa Deodata’s to continue his mission. + </p> + <p> + There had been a FESTA two days before, and the church still smelt of + incense and of garlic. The little son of the sacristan was sweeping the + nave, more for amusement than for cleanliness, sending great clouds of + dust over the frescoes and the scattered worshippers. The sacristan + himself had propped a ladder in the centre of the Deluge—which fills + one of the nave spandrels—and was freeing a column from its wealth + of scarlet calico. Much scarlet calico also lay upon the floor—for + the church can look as fine as any theatre—and the sacristan’s + little daughter was trying to fold it up. She was wearing a tinsel crown. + The crown really belonged to St. Augustine. But it had been cut too big: + it fell down over his cheeks like a collar: you never saw anything so + absurd. One of the canons had unhooked it just before the FIESTA began, + and had given it to the sacristan’s daughter. + </p> + <p> + “Please,” cried Philip, “is there an English lady here?” + </p> + <p> + The man’s mouth was full of tin-tacks, but he nodded cheerfully towards a + kneeling figure. In the midst of this confusion Miss Abbott was praying. + </p> + <p> + He was not much surprised: a spiritual breakdown was quite to be expected. + For though he was growing more charitable towards mankind, he was still a + little jaunty, and too apt to stake out beforehand the course that will be + pursued by the wounded soul. It did not surprise him, however, that she + should greet him naturally, with none of the sour self-consciousness of a + person who had just risen from her knees. This was indeed the spirit of + Santa Deodata’s, where a prayer to God is thought none the worse of + because it comes next to a pleasant word to a neighbour. “I am sure that I + need it,” said she; and he, who had expected her to be ashamed, became + confused, and knew not what to reply. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve nothing to tell you,” she continued. “I have simply changed straight + round. If I had planned the whole thing out, I could not have treated you + worse. I can talk it over now; but please believe that I have been + crying.” + </p> + <p> + “And please believe that I have not come to scold you,” said Philip. “I + know what has happened.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” asked Miss Abbott. Instinctively she led the way to the famous + chapel, the fifth chapel on the right, wherein Giovanni da Empoli has + painted the death and burial of the saint. Here they could sit out of the + dust and the noise, and proceed with a discussion which promised to be + important. + </p> + <p> + “What might have happened to me—he had made you believe that he + loved the child.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes; he has. He will never give it up.” + </p> + <p> + “At present it is still unsettled.” + </p> + <p> + “It will never be settled.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps not. Well, as I said, I know what has happened, and I am not here + to scold you. But I must ask you to withdraw from the thing for the + present. Harriet is furious. But she will calm down when she realizes that + you have done us no harm, and will do none.” + </p> + <p> + “I can do no more,” she said. “But I tell you plainly I have changed + sides.” + </p> + <p> + “If you do no more, that is all we want. You promise not to prejudice our + cause by speaking to Signor Carella?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, certainly. I don’t want to speak to him again; I shan’t ever see him + again.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite nice, wasn’t he?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that’s all I wanted to know. I’ll go and tell Harriet of your + promise, and I think things’ll quiet down now.” + </p> + <p> + But he did not move, for it was an increasing pleasure to him to be near + her, and her charm was at its strongest today. He thought less of + psychology and feminine reaction. The gush of sentimentalism which had + carried her away had only made her more alluring. He was content to + observe her beauty and to profit by the tenderness and the wisdom that + dwelt within her. + </p> + <p> + “Why aren’t you angry with me?” she asked, after a pause. + </p> + <p> + “Because I understand you—all sides, I think,—Harriet, Signor + Carella, even my mother.” + </p> + <p> + “You do understand wonderfully. You are the only one of us who has a + general view of the muddle.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled with pleasure. It was the first time she had ever praised him. + His eyes rested agreeably on Santa Deodata, who was dying in full + sanctity, upon her back. There was a window open behind her, revealing + just such a view as he had seen that morning, and on her widowed mother’s + dresser there stood just such another copper pot. The saint looked neither + at the view nor at the pot, and at her widowed mother still less. For lo! + she had a vision: the head and shoulders of St. Augustine were sliding + like some miraculous enamel along the rough-cast wall. It is a gentle + saint who is content with half another saint to see her die. In her death, + as in her life, Santa Deodata did not accomplish much. + </p> + <p> + “So what are you going to do?” said Miss Abbott. + </p> + <p> + Philip started, not so much at the words as at the sudden change in the + voice. “Do?” he echoed, rather dismayed. “This afternoon I have another + interview.” + </p> + <p> + “It will come to nothing. Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Then another. If that fails I shall wire home for instructions. I dare + say we may fail altogether, but we shall fail honourably.” + </p> + <p> + She had often been decided. But now behind her decision there was a note + of passion. She struck him not as different, but as more important, and he + minded it very much when she said— + </p> + <p> + “That’s not doing anything! You would be doing something if you kidnapped + the baby, or if you went straight away. But that! To fail honourably! To + come out of the thing as well as you can! Is that all you are after?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes,” he stammered. “Since we talk openly, that is all I am after + just now. What else is there? If I can persuade Signor Carella to give in, + so much the better. If he won’t, I must report the failure to my mother + and then go home. Why, Miss Abbott, you can’t expect me to follow you + through all these turns—” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t! But I do expect you to settle what is right and to follow that. + Do you want the child to stop with his father, who loves him and will + bring him up badly, or do you want him to come to Sawston, where no one + loves him, but where he will be brought up well? There is the question put + dispassionately enough even for you. Settle it. Settle which side you’ll + fight on. But don’t go talking about an ‘honourable failure,’ which means + simply not thinking and not acting at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Because I understand the position of Signor Carella and of you, it’s no + reason that—” + </p> + <p> + “None at all. Fight as if you think us wrong. Oh, what’s the use of your + fair-mindedness if you never decide for yourself? Any one gets hold of you + and makes you do what they want. And you see through them and laugh at + them—and do it. It’s not enough to see clearly; I’m muddle-headed + and stupid, and not worth a quarter of you, but I have tried to do what + seemed right at the time. And you—your brain and your insight are + splendid. But when you see what’s right you’re too idle to do it. You told + me once that we shall be judged by our intentions, not by our + accomplishments. I thought it a grand remark. But we must intend to + accomplish—not sit intending on a chair.” + </p> + <p> + “You are wonderful!” he said gravely. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you appreciate me!” she burst out again. “I wish you didn’t. You + appreciate us all—see good in all of us. And all the time you are + dead—dead—dead. Look, why aren’t you angry?” She came up to + him, and then her mood suddenly changed, and she took hold of both his + hands. “You are so splendid, Mr. Herriton, that I can’t bear to see you + wasted. I can’t bear—she has not been good to you—your + mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Abbott, don’t worry over me. Some people are born not to do things. + I’m one of them; I never did anything at school or at the Bar. I came out + to stop Lilia’s marriage, and it was too late. I came out intending to get + the baby, and I shall return an ‘honourable failure.’ I never expect + anything to happen now, and so I am never disappointed. You would be + surprised to know what my great events are. Going to the theatre + yesterday, talking to you now—I don’t suppose I shall ever meet + anything greater. I seem fated to pass through the world without colliding + with it or moving it—and I’m sure I can’t tell you whether the + fate’s good or evil. I don’t die—I don’t fall in love. And if other + people die or fall in love they always do it when I’m just not there. You + are quite right; life to me is just a spectacle, which—thank God, + and thank Italy, and thank you—is now more beautiful and heartening + than it has ever been before.” + </p> + <p> + She said solemnly, “I wish something would happen to you, my dear friend; + I wish something would happen to you.” + </p> + <p> + “But why?” he asked, smiling. “Prove to me why I don’t do as I am.” + </p> + <p> + She also smiled, very gravely. She could not prove it. No argument + existed. Their discourse, splendid as it had been, resulted in nothing, + and their respective opinions and policies were exactly the same when they + left the church as when they had entered it. + </p> + <p> + Harriet was rude at lunch. She called Miss Abbott a turncoat and a coward + to her face. Miss Abbott resented neither epithet, feeling that one was + justified and the other not unreasonable. She tried to avoid even the + suspicion of satire in her replies. But Harriet was sure that she was + satirical because she was so calm. She got more and more violent, and + Philip at one time feared that she would come to blows. + </p> + <p> + “Look here!” he cried, with something of the old manner, “it’s too hot for + this. We’ve been talking and interviewing each other all the morning, and + I have another interview this afternoon. I do stipulate for silence. Let + each lady retire to her bedroom with a book.” + </p> + <p> + “I retire to pack,” said Harriet. “Please remind Signor Carella, Philip, + that the baby is to be here by half-past eight this evening.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, certainly, Harriet. I shall make a point of reminding him.” + </p> + <p> + “And order a carriage to take us to the evening train.” + </p> + <p> + “And please,” said Miss Abbott, “would you order a carriage for me too?” + </p> + <p> + “You going?” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” she replied, suddenly flushing. “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course you would be going. Two carriages, then. Two carriages for + the evening train.” He looked at his sister hopelessly. “Harriet, whatever + are you up to? We shall never be ready.” + </p> + <p> + “Order my carriage for the evening train,” said Harriet, and departed. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I suppose I shall. And I shall also have my interview with Signor + Carella.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Abbott gave a little sigh. + </p> + <p> + “But why should you mind? Do you suppose that I shall have the slightest + influence over him?” + </p> + <p> + “No. But—I can’t repeat all that I said in the church. You ought + never to see him again. You ought to bundle Harriet into a carriage, not + this evening, but now, and drive her straight away.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I ought. But it isn’t a very big ‘ought.’ Whatever Harriet and I + do the issue is the same. Why, I can see the splendour of it—even + the humour. Gino sitting up here on the mountain-top with his cub. We come + and ask for it. He welcomes us. We ask for it again. He is equally + pleasant. I’m agreeable to spend the whole week bargaining with him. But I + know that at the end of it I shall descend empty-handed to the plains. It + might be finer of me to make up my mind. But I’m not a fine character. And + nothing hangs on it.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I am extreme,” she said humbly. “I’ve been trying to run you, + just like your mother. I feel you ought to fight it out with Harriet. + Every little trifle, for some reason, does seem incalculably important + today, and when you say of a thing that ‘nothing hangs on it,’ it sounds + like blasphemy. There’s never any knowing—(how am I to put it?)—which + of our actions, which of our idlenesses won’t have things hanging on it + for ever.” + </p> + <p> + He assented, but her remark had only an aesthetic value. He was not + prepared to take it to his heart. All the afternoon he rested—worried, + but not exactly despondent. The thing would jog out somehow. Probably Miss + Abbott was right. The baby had better stop where it was loved. And that, + probably, was what the fates had decreed. He felt little interest in the + matter, and he was sure that he had no influence. + </p> + <p> + It was not surprising, therefore, that the interview at the Caffe + Garibaldi came to nothing. Neither of them took it very seriously. And + before long Gino had discovered how things lay, and was ragging his + companion hopelessly. Philip tried to look offended, but in the end he had + to laugh. “Well, you are right,” he said. “This affair is being managed by + the ladies.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, the ladies—the ladies!” cried the other, and then he roared + like a millionaire for two cups of black coffee, and insisted on treating + his friend, as a sign that their strife was over. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I have done my best,” said Philip, dipping a long slice of sugar + into his cup, and watching the brown liquid ascend into it. “I shall face + my mother with a good conscience. Will you bear me witness that I’ve done + my best?” + </p> + <p> + “My poor fellow, I will!” He laid a sympathetic hand on Philip’s knee. + </p> + <p> + “And that I have—” The sugar was now impregnated with coffee, and he + bent forward to swallow it. As he did so his eyes swept the opposite of + the Piazza, and he saw there, watching them, Harriet. “Mia sorella!” he + exclaimed. Gino, much amused, laid his hand upon the little table, and + beat the marble humorously with his fists. Harriet turned away and began + gloomily to inspect the Palazzo Pubblico. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Harriet!” said Philip, swallowing the sugar. “One more wrench and it + will all be over for her; we are leaving this evening.” + </p> + <p> + Gino was sorry for this. “Then you will not be here this evening as you + promised us. All three leaving?” + </p> + <p> + “All three,” said Philip, who had not revealed the secession of Miss + Abbott; “by the night train; at least, that is my sister’s plan. So I’m + afraid I shan’t be here.” + </p> + <p> + They watched the departing figure of Harriet, and then entered upon the + final civilities. They shook each other warmly by both hands. Philip was + to come again next year, and to write beforehand. He was to be introduced + to Gino’s wife, for he was told of the marriage now. He was to be + godfather to his next baby. As for Gino, he would remember some time that + Philip liked vermouth. He begged him to give his love to Irma. Mrs. + Herriton—should he send her his sympathetic regards? No; perhaps + that would hardly do. + </p> + <p> + So the two young men parted with a good deal of genuine affection. For the + barrier of language is sometimes a blessed barrier, which only lets pass + what is good. Or—to put the thing less cynically—we may be + better in new clean words, which have never been tainted by our pettiness + or vice. Philip, at all events, lived more graciously in Italian, the very + phrases of which entice one to be happy and kind. It was horrible to think + of the English of Harriet, whose every word would be as hard, as distinct, + and as unfinished as a lump of coal. + </p> + <p> + Harriet, however, talked little. She had seen enough to know that her + brother had failed again, and with unwonted dignity she accepted the + situation. She did her packing, she wrote up her diary, she made a brown + paper cover for the new Baedeker. Philip, finding her so amenable, tried + to discuss their future plans. But she only said that they would sleep in + Florence, and told him to telegraph for rooms. They had supper alone. Miss + Abbott did not come down. The landlady told them that Signor Carella had + called on Miss Abbott to say good-bye, but she, though in, had not been + able to see him. She also told them that it had begun to rain. Harriet + sighed, but indicated to her brother that he was not responsible. + </p> + <p> + The carriages came round at a quarter past eight. It was not raining much, + but the night was extraordinarily dark, and one of the drivers wanted to + go slowly to the station. Miss Abbott came down and said that she was + ready, and would start at once. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, do,” said Philip, who was standing in the hall. “Now that we have + quarrelled we scarcely want to travel in procession all the way down the + hill. Well, good-bye; it’s all over at last; another scene in my pageant + has shifted.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye; it’s been a great pleasure to see you. I hope that won’t shift, + at all events.” She gripped his hand. + </p> + <p> + “You sound despondent,” he said, laughing. “Don’t forget that you return + victorious.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I do,” she replied, more despondently than ever, and got into + the carriage. He concluded that she was thinking of her reception at + Sawston, whither her fame would doubtless precede her. Whatever would Mrs. + Herriton do? She could make things quite unpleasant when she thought it + right. She might think it right to be silent, but then there was Harriet. + Who would bridle Harriet’s tongue? Between the two of them Miss Abbott was + bound to have a bad time. Her reputation, both for consistency and for + moral enthusiasm, would be lost for ever. + </p> + <p> + “It’s hard luck on her,” he thought. “She is a good person. I must do for + her anything I can.” Their intimacy had been very rapid, but he too hoped + that it would not shift. He believed that he understood her, and that she, + by now, had seen the worst of him. What if after a long time—if + after all—he flushed like a boy as he looked after her carriage. + </p> + <p> + He went into the dining-room to look for Harriet. Harriet was not to be + found. Her bedroom, too, was empty. All that was left of her was the + purple prayer-book which lay open on the bed. Philip took it up aimlessly, + and saw—“Blessed be the Lord my God who teacheth my hands to war and + my fingers to fight.” He put the book in his pocket, and began to brood + over more profitable themes. + </p> + <p> + Santa Deodata gave out half past eight. All the luggage was on, and still + Harriet had not appeared. “Depend upon it,” said the landlady, “she has + gone to Signor Carella’s to say good-bye to her little nephew.” Philip did + not think it likely. They shouted all over the house and still there was + no Harriet. He began to be uneasy. He was helpless without Miss Abbott; + her grave, kind face had cheered him wonderfully, even when it looked + displeased. Monteriano was sad without her; the rain was thickening; the + scraps of Donizetti floated tunelessly out of the wineshops, and of the + great tower opposite he could only see the base, fresh papered with the + advertisements of quacks. + </p> + <p> + A man came up the street with a note. Philip read, “Start at once. Pick me + up outside the gate. Pay the bearer. H. H.” + </p> + <p> + “Did the lady give you this note?” he cried. + </p> + <p> + The man was unintelligible. + </p> + <p> + “Speak up!” exclaimed Philip. “Who gave it you—and where?” + </p> + <p> + Nothing but horrible sighings and bubblings came out of the man. + </p> + <p> + “Be patient with him,” said the driver, turning round on the box. “It is + the poor idiot.” And the landlady came out of the hotel and echoed “The + poor idiot. He cannot speak. He takes messages for us all.” + </p> + <p> + Philip then saw that the messenger was a ghastly creature, quite bald, + with trickling eyes and grey twitching nose. In another country he would + have been shut up; here he was accepted as a public institution, and part + of Nature’s scheme. + </p> + <p> + “Ugh!” shuddered the Englishman. “Signora padrona, find out from him; this + note is from my sister. What does it mean? Where did he see her?” + </p> + <p> + “It is no good,” said the landlady. “He understands everything but he can + explain nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “He has visions of the saints,” said the man who drove the cab. + </p> + <p> + “But my sister—where has she gone? How has she met him?” + </p> + <p> + “She has gone for a walk,” asserted the landlady. It was a nasty evening, + but she was beginning to understand the English. “She has gone for a walk—perhaps + to wish good-bye to her little nephew. Preferring to come back another + way, she has sent you this note by the poor idiot and is waiting for you + outside the Siena gate. Many of my guests do this.” + </p> + <p> + There was nothing to do but to obey the message. He shook hands with the + landlady, gave the messenger a nickel piece, and drove away. After a dozen + yards the carriage stopped. The poor idiot was running and whimpering + behind. + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” cried Philip. “I have paid him plenty.” + </p> + <p> + A horrible hand pushed three soldi into his lap. It was part of the + idiot’s malady only to receive what was just for his services. This was + the change out of the nickel piece. + </p> + <p> + “Go on!” shouted Philip, and flung the money into the road. He was + frightened at the episode; the whole of life had become unreal. It was a + relief to be out of the Siena gate. They drew up for a moment on the + terrace. But there was no sign of Harriet. The driver called to the Dogana + men. But they had seen no English lady pass. + </p> + <p> + “What am I to do?” he cried; “it is not like the lady to be late. We shall + miss the train.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us drive slowly,” said the driver, “and you shall call her by name as + we go.” + </p> + <p> + So they started down into the night, Philip calling “Harriet! Harriet! + Harriet!” And there she was, waiting for them in the wet, at the first + turn of the zigzag. + </p> + <p> + “Harriet, why don’t you answer?” + </p> + <p> + “I heard you coming,” said she, and got quickly in. Not till then did he + see that she carried a bundle. + </p> + <p> + “What’s that?” + </p> + <p> + “Hush—” + </p> + <p> + “Whatever is that?” + </p> + <p> + “Hush—sleeping.” + </p> + <p> + Harriet had succeeded where Miss Abbott and Philip had failed. It was the + baby. + </p> + <p> + She would not let him talk. The baby, she repeated, was asleep, and she + put up an umbrella to shield it and her from the rain. He should hear all + later, so he had to conjecture the course of the wonderful interview—an + interview between the South pole and the North. It was quite easy to + conjecture: Gino crumpling up suddenly before the intense conviction of + Harriet; being told, perhaps, to his face that he was a villain; yielding + his only son perhaps for money, perhaps for nothing. “Poor Gino,” he + thought. “He’s no greater than I am, after all.” + </p> + <p> + Then he thought of Miss Abbott, whose carriage must be descending the + darkness some mile or two below them, and his easy self-accusation failed. + She, too, had conviction; he had felt its force; he would feel it again + when she knew this day’s sombre and unexpected close. + </p> + <p> + “You have been pretty secret,” he said; “you might tell me a little now. + What do we pay for him? All we’ve got?” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” answered Harriet, and dandled the bundle laboriously, like some + bony prophetess—Judith, or Deborah, or Jael. He had last seen the + baby sprawling on the knees of Miss Abbott, shining and naked, with twenty + miles of view behind him, and his father kneeling by his feet. And that + remembrance, together with Harriet, and the darkness, and the poor idiot, + and the silent rain, filled him with sorrow and with the expectation of + sorrow to come. + </p> + <p> + Monteriano had long disappeared, and he could see nothing but the + occasional wet stem of an olive, which their lamp illumined as they passed + it. They travelled quickly, for this driver did not care how fast he went + to the station, and would dash down each incline and scuttle perilously + round the curves. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Harriet,” he said at last, “I feel bad; I want to see the + baby.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t mind if I do wake him up. I want to see him. I’ve as much right + in him as you.” + </p> + <p> + Harriet gave in. But it was too dark for him to see the child’s face. + “Wait a minute,” he whispered, and before she could stop him he had lit a + match under the shelter of her umbrella. “But he’s awake!” he exclaimed. + The match went out. + </p> + <p> + “Good ickle quiet boysey, then.” + </p> + <p> + Philip winced. “His face, do you know, struck me as all wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “All wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “All puckered queerly.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course—with the shadows—you couldn’t see him.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, hold him up again.” She did so. He lit another match. It went out + quickly, but not before he had seen that the baby was crying. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense,” said Harriet sharply. “We should hear him if he cried.” + </p> + <p> + “No, he’s crying hard; I thought so before, and I’m certain now.” + </p> + <p> + Harriet touched the child’s face. It was bathed in tears. “Oh, the night + air, I suppose,” she said, “or perhaps the wet of the rain.” + </p> + <p> + “I say, you haven’t hurt it, or held it the wrong way, or anything; it is + too uncanny—crying and no noise. Why didn’t you get Perfetta to + carry it to the hotel instead of muddling with the messenger? It’s a + marvel he understood about the note.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he understands.” And he could feel her shudder. “He tried to carry + the baby—” + </p> + <p> + “But why not Gino or Perfetta?” + </p> + <p> + “Philip, don’t talk. Must I say it again? Don’t talk. The baby wants to + sleep.” She crooned harshly as they descended, and now and then she wiped + up the tears which welled inexhaustibly from the little eyes. Philip + looked away, winking at times himself. It was as if they were travelling + with the whole world’s sorrow, as if all the mystery, all the persistency + of woe were gathered to a single fount. The roads were now coated with + mud, and the carriage went more quietly but not less swiftly, sliding by + long zigzags into the night. He knew the landmarks pretty well: here was + the crossroad to Poggibonsi; and the last view of Monteriano, if they had + light, would be from here. Soon they ought to come to that little wood + where violets were so plentiful in spring. He wished the weather had not + changed; it was not cold, but the air was extraordinarily damp. It could + not be good for the child. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose he breathes, and all that sort of thing?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said Harriet, in an angry whisper. “You’ve started him again. + I’m certain he was asleep. I do wish you wouldn’t talk; it makes me so + nervous.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m nervous too. I wish he’d scream. It’s too uncanny. Poor Gino! I’m + terribly sorry for Gino.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Because he’s weak—like most of us. He doesn’t know what he wants. + He doesn’t grip on to life. But I like that man, and I’m sorry for him.” + </p> + <p> + Naturally enough she made no answer. + </p> + <p> + “You despise him, Harriet, and you despise me. But you do us no good by + it. We fools want some one to set us on our feet. Suppose a really decent + woman had set up Gino—I believe Caroline Abbott might have done it—mightn’t + he have been another man?” + </p> + <p> + “Philip,” she interrupted, with an attempt at nonchalance, “do you happen + to have those matches handy? We might as well look at the baby again if + you have.” + </p> + <p> + The first match blew out immediately. So did the second. He suggested that + they should stop the carriage and borrow the lamp from the driver. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t want all that bother. Try again.” + </p> + <p> + They entered the little wood as he tried to strike the third match. At + last it caught. Harriet poised the umbrella rightly, and for a full + quarter minute they contemplated the face that trembled in the light of + the trembling flame. Then there was a shout and a crash. They were lying + in the mud in darkness. The carriage had overturned. + </p> + <p> + Philip was a good deal hurt. He sat up and rocked himself to and fro, + holding his arm. He could just make out the outline of the carriage above + him, and the outlines of the carriage cushions and of their luggage upon + the grey road. The accident had taken place in the wood, where it was even + darker than in the open. + </p> + <p> + “Are you all right?” he managed to say. Harriet was screaming, the horse + was kicking, the driver was cursing some other man. + </p> + <p> + Harriet’s screams became coherent. “The baby—the baby—it + slipped—it’s gone from my arms—I stole it!” + </p> + <p> + “God help me!” said Philip. A cold circle came round his mouth, and, he + fainted. + </p> + <p> + When he recovered it was still the same confusion. The horse was kicking, + the baby had not been found, and Harriet still screamed like a maniac, “I + stole it! I stole it! I stole it! It slipped out of my arms!” + </p> + <p> + “Keep still!” he commanded the driver. “Let no one move. We may tread on + it. Keep still.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment they all obeyed him. He began to crawl through the mud, + touching first this, then that, grasping the cushions by mistake, + listening for the faintest whisper that might guide him. He tried to light + a match, holding the box in his teeth and striking at it with the + uninjured hand. At last he succeeded, and the light fell upon the bundle + which he was seeking. + </p> + <p> + It had rolled off the road into the wood a little way, and had fallen + across a great rut. So tiny it was that had it fallen lengthways it would + have disappeared, and he might never have found it. + </p> + <p> + “I stole it! I and the idiot—no one was there.” She burst out + laughing. + </p> + <p> + He sat down and laid it on his knee. Then he tried to cleanse the face + from the mud and the rain and the tears. His arm, he supposed, was broken, + but he could still move it a little, and for the moment he forgot all + pain. He was listening—not for a cry, but for the tick of a heart or + the slightest tremor of breath. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you?” called a voice. It was Miss Abbott, against whose + carriage they had collided. She had relit one of the lamps, and was + picking her way towards him. + </p> + <p> + “Silence!” he called again, and again they obeyed. He shook the bundle; he + breathed into it; he opened his coat and pressed it against him. Then he + listened, and heard nothing but the rain and the panting horses, and + Harriet, who was somewhere chuckling to herself in the dark. + </p> + <p> + Miss Abbott approached, and took it gently from him. The face was already + chilly, but thanks to Philip it was no longer wet. Nor would it again be + wetted by any tear. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 9 + </h2> + <p> + The details of Harriet’s crime were never known. In her illness she spoke + more of the inlaid box that she lent to Lilia—lent, not given—than + of recent troubles. It was clear that she had gone prepared for an + interview with Gino, and finding him out, she had yielded to a grotesque + temptation. But how far this was the result of ill-temper, to what extent + she had been fortified by her religion, when and how she had met the poor + idiot—these questions were never answered, nor did they interest + Philip greatly. Detection was certain: they would have been arrested by + the police of Florence or Milan, or at the frontier. As it was, they had + been stopped in a simpler manner a few miles out of the town. + </p> + <p> + As yet he could scarcely survey the thing. It was too great. Round the + Italian baby who had died in the mud there centred deep passions and high + hopes. People had been wicked or wrong in the matter; no one save himself + had been trivial. Now the baby had gone, but there remained this vast + apparatus of pride and pity and love. For the dead, who seemed to take + away so much, really take with them nothing that is ours. The passion they + have aroused lives after them, easy to transmute or to transfer, but + well-nigh impossible to destroy. And Philip knew that he was still + voyaging on the same magnificent, perilous sea, with the sun or the clouds + above him, and the tides below. + </p> + <p> + The course of the moment—that, at all events, was certain. He and no + one else must take the news to Gino. It was easy to talk of Harriet’s + crime—easy also to blame the negligent Perfetta or Mrs. Herriton at + home. Every one had contributed—even Miss Abbott and Irma. If one + chose, one might consider the catastrophe composite or the work of fate. + But Philip did not so choose. It was his own fault, due to acknowledged + weakness in his own character. Therefore he, and no one else, must take + the news of it to Gino. + </p> + <p> + Nothing prevented him. Miss Abbott was engaged with Harriet, and people + had sprung out of the darkness and were conducting them towards some + cottage. Philip had only to get into the uninjured carriage and order the + driver to return. He was back at Monteriano after a two hours’ absence. + Perfetta was in the house now, and greeted him cheerfully. Pain, physical + and mental, had made him stupid. It was some time before he realized that + she had never missed the child. + </p> + <p> + Gino was still out. The woman took him to the reception-room, just as she + had taken Miss Abbott in the morning, and dusted a circle for him on one + of the horsehair chairs. But it was dark now, so she left the guest a + little lamp. + </p> + <p> + “I will be as quick as I can,” she told him. “But there are many streets + in Monteriano; he is sometimes difficult to find. I could not find him + this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Go first to the Caffe Garibaldi,” said Philip, remembering that this was + the hour appointed by his friends of yesterday. + </p> + <p> + He occupied the time he was left alone not in thinking—there was + nothing to think about; he simply had to tell a few facts—but in + trying to make a sling for his broken arm. The trouble was in the + elbow-joint, and as long as he kept this motionless he could go on as + usual. But inflammation was beginning, and the slightest jar gave him + agony. The sling was not fitted before Gino leapt up the stairs, crying— + </p> + <p> + “So you are back! How glad I am! We are all waiting—” + </p> + <p> + Philip had seen too much to be nervous. In low, even tones he told what + had happened; and the other, also perfectly calm, heard him to the end. In + the silence Perfetta called up that she had forgotten the baby’s evening + milk; she must fetch it. When she had gone Gino took up the lamp without a + word, and they went into the other room. + </p> + <p> + “My sister is ill,” said Philip, “and Miss Abbott is guiltless. I should + be glad if you did not have to trouble them.” + </p> + <p> + Gino had stooped down by the way, and was feeling the place where his son + had lain. Now and then he frowned a little and glanced at Philip. + </p> + <p> + “It is through me,” he continued. “It happened because I was cowardly and + idle. I have come to know what you will do.” + </p> + <p> + Gino had left the rug, and began to pat the table from the end, as if he + was blind. The action was so uncanny that Philip was driven to intervene. + </p> + <p> + “Gently, man, gently; he is not here.” + </p> + <p> + He went up and touched him on the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + He twitched away, and began to pass his hands over things more rapidly—over + the table, the chairs, the entire floor, the walls as high as he could + reach them. Philip had not presumed to comfort him. But now the tension + was too great—he tried. + </p> + <p> + “Break down, Gino; you must break down. Scream and curse and give in for a + little; you must break down.” + </p> + <p> + There was no reply, and no cessation of the sweeping hands. + </p> + <p> + “It is time to be unhappy. Break down or you will be ill like my sister. + You will go—” + </p> + <p> + The tour of the room was over. He had touched everything in it except + Philip. Now he approached him. He face was that of a man who has lost his + old reason for life and seeks a new one. + </p> + <p> + “Gino!” + </p> + <p> + He stopped for a moment; then he came nearer. Philip stood his ground. + </p> + <p> + “You are to do what you like with me, Gino. Your son is dead, Gino. He + died in my arms, remember. It does not excuse me; but he did die in my + arms.” + </p> + <p> + The left hand came forward, slowly this time. It hovered before Philip + like an insect. Then it descended and gripped him by his broken elbow. + </p> + <p> + Philip struck out with all the strength of his other arm. Gino fell to the + blow without a cry or a word. + </p> + <p> + “You brute!” exclaimed the Englishman. “Kill me if you like! But just you + leave my broken arm alone.” + </p> + <p> + Then he was seized with remorse, and knelt beside his adversary and tried + to revive him. He managed to raise him up, and propped his body against + his own. He passed his arm round him. Again he was filled with pity and + tenderness. He awaited the revival without fear, sure that both of them + were safe at last. + </p> + <p> + Gino recovered suddenly. His lips moved. For one blessed moment it seemed + that he was going to speak. But he scrambled up in silence, remembering + everything, and he made not towards Philip, but towards the lamp. + </p> + <p> + “Do what you like; but think first—” + </p> + <p> + The lamp was tossed across the room, out through the loggia. It broke + against one of the trees below. Philip began to cry out in the dark. + </p> + <p> + Gino approached from behind and gave him a sharp pinch. Philip spun round + with a yell. He had only been pinched on the back, but he knew what was in + store for him. He struck out, exhorting the devil to fight him, to kill + him, to do anything but this. Then he stumbled to the door. It was open. + He lost his head, and, instead of turning down the stairs, he ran across + the landing into the room opposite. There he lay down on the floor between + the stove and the skirting-board. + </p> + <p> + His senses grew sharper. He could hear Gino coming in on tiptoe. He even + knew what was passing in his mind, how now he was at fault, now he was + hopeful, now he was wondering whether after all the victim had not escaped + down the stairs. There was a quick swoop above him, and then a low growl + like a dog’s. Gino had broken his finger-nails against the stove. + </p> + <p> + Physical pain is almost too terrible to bear. We can just bear it when it + comes by accident or for our good—as it generally does in modern + life—except at school. But when it is caused by the malignity of a + man, full grown, fashioned like ourselves, all our control disappears. + Philip’s one thought was to get away from that room at whatever sacrifice + of nobility or pride. + </p> + <p> + Gino was now at the further end of the room, groping by the little tables. + Suddenly the instinct came to him. He crawled quickly to where Philip lay + and had him clean by the elbow. + </p> + <p> + The whole arm seemed red-hot, and the broken bone grated in the joint, + sending out shoots of the essence of pain. His other arm was pinioned + against the wall, and Gino had trampled in behind the stove and was + kneeling on his legs. For the space of a minute he yelled and yelled with + all the force of his lungs. Then this solace was denied him. The other + hand, moist and strong, began to close round his throat. + </p> + <p> + At first he was glad, for here, he thought, was death at last. But it was + only a new torture; perhaps Gino inherited the skill of his ancestors—and + childlike ruffians who flung each other from the towers. Just as the + windpipe closed, the hand fell off, and Philip was revived by the motion + of his arm. And just as he was about to faint and gain at last one moment + of oblivion, the motion stopped, and he would struggle instead against the + pressure on his throat. + </p> + <p> + Vivid pictures were dancing through the pain—Lilia dying some months + back in this very house, Miss Abbott bending over the baby, his mother at + home, now reading evening prayers to the servants. He felt that he was + growing weaker; his brain wandered; the agony did not seem so great. Not + all Gino’s care could indefinitely postpone the end. His yells and gurgles + became mechanical—functions of the tortured flesh rather than true + notes of indignation and despair. He was conscious of a horrid tumbling. + Then his arm was pulled a little too roughly, and everything was quiet at + last. + </p> + <p> + “But your son is dead, Gino. Your son is dead, dear Gino. Your son is + dead.” + </p> + <p> + The room was full of light, and Miss Abbott had Gino by the shoulders, + holding him down in a chair. She was exhausted with the struggle, and her + arms were trembling. + </p> + <p> + “What is the good of another death? What is the good of more pain?” + </p> + <p> + He too began to tremble. Then he turned and looked curiously at Philip, + whose face, covered with dust and foam, was visible by the stove. Miss + Abbott allowed him to get up, though she still held him firmly. He gave a + loud and curious cry—a cry of interrogation it might be called. + Below there was the noise of Perfetta returning with the baby’s milk. + </p> + <p> + “Go to him,” said Miss Abbott, indicating Philip. “Pick him up. Treat him + kindly.” + </p> + <p> + She released him, and he approached Philip slowly. His eyes were filling + with trouble. He bent down, as if he would gently raise him up. + </p> + <p> + “Help! help!” moaned Philip. His body had suffered too much from Gino. It + could not bear to be touched by him. + </p> + <p> + Gino seemed to understand. He stopped, crouched above him. Miss Abbott + herself came forward and lifted her friend in her arms. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the foul devil!” he murmured. “Kill him! Kill him for me.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Abbott laid him tenderly on the couch and wiped his face. Then she + said gravely to them both, “This thing stops here.” + </p> + <p> + “Latte! latte!” cried Perfetta, hilariously ascending the stairs. + </p> + <p> + “Remember,” she continued, “there is to be no revenge. I will have no more + intentional evil. We are not to fight with each other any more.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall never forgive him,” sighed Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Latte! latte freschissima! bianca come neve!” Perfetta came in with + another lamp and a little jug. + </p> + <p> + Gino spoke for the first time. “Put the milk on the table,” he said. “It + will not be wanted in the other room.” The peril was over at last. A great + sob shook the whole body, another followed, and then he gave a piercing + cry of woe, and stumbled towards Miss Abbott like a child and clung to + her. + </p> + <p> + All through the day Miss Abbott had seemed to Philip like a goddess, and + more than ever did she seem so now. Many people look younger and more + intimate during great emotion. But some there are who look older, and + remote, and he could not think that there was little difference in years, + and none in composition, between her and the man whose head was laid upon + her breast. Her eyes were open, full of infinite pity and full of majesty, + as if they discerned the boundaries of sorrow, and saw unimaginable tracts + beyond. Such eyes he had seen in great pictures but never in a mortal. Her + hands were folded round the sufferer, stroking him lightly, for even a + goddess can do no more than that. And it seemed fitting, too, that she + should bend her head and touch his forehead with her lips. + </p> + <p> + Philip looked away, as he sometimes looked away from the great pictures + where visible forms suddenly become inadequate for the things they have + shown to us. He was happy; he was assured that there was greatness in the + world. There came to him an earnest desire to be good through the example + of this good woman. He would try henceforward to be worthy of the things + she had revealed. Quietly, without hysterical prayers or banging of drums, + he underwent conversion. He was saved. + </p> + <p> + “That milk,” said she, “need not be wasted. Take it, Signor Carella, and + persuade Mr. Herriton to drink.” + </p> + <p> + Gino obeyed her, and carried the child’s milk to Philip. And Philip obeyed + also and drank. + </p> + <p> + “Is there any left?” + </p> + <p> + “A little,” answered Gino. + </p> + <p> + “Then finish it.” For she was determined to use such remnants as lie about + the world. + </p> + <p> + “Will you not have some?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not care for milk; finish it all.” + </p> + <p> + “Philip, have you had enough milk?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, thank you, Gino; finish it all.” + </p> + <p> + He drank the milk, and then, either by accident or in some spasm of pain, + broke the jug to pieces. Perfetta exclaimed in bewilderment. “It does not + matter,” he told her. “It does not matter. It will never be wanted any + more.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 10 + </h2> + <p> + “He will have to marry her,” said Philip. “I heard from him this morning, + just as we left Milan. He finds he has gone too far to back out. It would + be expensive. I don’t know how much he minds—not as much as we + suppose, I think. At all events there’s not a word of blame in the letter. + I don’t believe he even feels angry. I never was so completely forgiven. + Ever since you stopped him killing me, it has been a vision of perfect + friendship. He nursed me, he lied for me at the inquest, and at the + funeral, though he was crying, you would have thought it was my son who + had died. Certainly I was the only person he had to be kind to; he was so + distressed not to make Harriet’s acquaintance, and that he scarcely saw + anything of you. In his letter he says so again.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank him, please, when you write,” said Miss Abbott, “and give him my + kindest regards.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I will.” He was surprised that she could slide away from the man + so easily. For his own part, he was bound by ties of almost alarming + intimacy. Gino had the southern knack of friendship. In the intervals of + business he would pull out Philip’s life, turn it inside out, remodel it, + and advise him how to use it for the best. The sensation was pleasant, for + he was a kind as well as a skilful operator. But Philip came away feeling + that he had not a secret corner left. In that very letter Gino had again + implored him, as a refuge from domestic difficulties, “to marry Miss + Abbott, even if her dowry is small.” And how Miss Abbott herself, after + such tragic intercourse, could resume the conventions and send calm + messages of esteem, was more than he could understand. + </p> + <p> + “When will you see him again?” she asked. They were standing together in + the corridor of the train, slowly ascending out of Italy towards the San + Gothard tunnel. + </p> + <p> + “I hope next spring. Perhaps we shall paint Siena red for a day or two + with some of the new wife’s money. It was one of the arguments for + marrying her.” + </p> + <p> + “He has no heart,” she said severely. “He does not really mind about the + child at all.” + </p> + <p> + “No; you’re wrong. He does. He is unhappy, like the rest of us. But he + doesn’t try to keep up appearances as we do. He knows that the things that + have made him happy once will probably make him happy again—” + </p> + <p> + “He said he would never be happy again.” + </p> + <p> + “In his passion. Not when he was calm. We English say it when we are calm—when + we do not really believe it any longer. Gino is not ashamed of + inconsistency. It is one of the many things I like him for.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I was wrong. That is so.” + </p> + <p> + “He’s much more honest with himself than I am,” continued Philip, “and he + is honest without an effort and without pride. But you, Miss Abbott, what + about you? Will you be in Italy next spring?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sorry. When will you come back, do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “I think never.” + </p> + <p> + “For whatever reason?” He stared at her as if she were some monstrosity. + </p> + <p> + “Because I understand the place. There is no need.” + </p> + <p> + “Understand Italy!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t. And I don’t understand you,” he murmured to himself, as he + paced away from her up the corridor. By this time he loved her very much, + and he could not bear to be puzzled. He had reached love by the spiritual + path: her thoughts and her goodness and her nobility had moved him first, + and now her whole body and all its gestures had become transfigured by + them. The beauties that are called obvious—the beauties of her hair + and her voice and her limbs—he had noticed these last; Gino, who + never traversed any path at all, had commended them dispassionately to his + friend. + </p> + <p> + Why was he so puzzling? He had known so much about her once—what she + thought, how she felt, the reasons for her actions. And now he only knew + that he loved her, and all the other knowledge seemed passing from him + just as he needed it most. Why would she never come to Italy again? Why + had she avoided himself and Gino ever since the evening that she had saved + their lives? The train was nearly empty. Harriet slumbered in a + compartment by herself. He must ask her these questions now, and he + returned quickly to her down the corridor. + </p> + <p> + She greeted him with a question of her own. “Are your plans decided?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I can’t live at Sawston.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you told Mrs. Herriton?” + </p> + <p> + “I wrote from Monteriano. I tried to explain things; but she will never + understand me. Her view will be that the affair is settled—sadly + settled since the baby is dead. Still it’s over; our family circle need be + vexed no more. She won’t even be angry with you. You see, you have done us + no harm in the long run. Unless, of course, you talk about Harriet and + make a scandal. So that is my plan—London and work. What is yours?” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Harriet!” said Miss Abbott. “As if I dare judge Harriet! Or + anybody.” And without replying to Philip’s question she left him to visit + the other invalid. + </p> + <p> + Philip gazed after her mournfully, and then he looked mournfully out of + the window at the decreasing streams. All the excitement was over—the + inquest, Harriet’s short illness, his own visit to the surgeon. He was + convalescent, both in body and spirit, but convalescence brought no joy. + In the looking-glass at the end of the corridor he saw his face haggard, + and his shoulders pulled forward by the weight of the sling. Life was + greater than he had supposed, but it was even less complete. He had seen + the need for strenuous work and for righteousness. And now he saw what a + very little way those things would go. + </p> + <p> + “Is Harriet going to be all right?” he asked. Miss Abbott had come back to + him. + </p> + <p> + “She will soon be her old self,” was the reply. For Harriet, after a short + paroxysm of illness and remorse, was quickly returning to her normal + state. She had been “thoroughly upset” as she phrased it, but she soon + ceased to realize that anything was wrong beyond the death of a poor + little child. Already she spoke of “this unlucky accident,” and “the + mysterious frustration of one’s attempts to make things better.” Miss + Abbott had seen that she was comfortable, and had given her a kind kiss. + But she returned feeling that Harriet, like her mother, considered the + affair as settled. + </p> + <p> + “I’m clear enough about Harriet’s future, and about parts of my own. But I + ask again, What about yours?” + </p> + <p> + “Sawston and work,” said Miss Abbott. + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” she asked, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve seen too much. You’ve seen as much and done more than I have.” + </p> + <p> + “But it’s so different. Of course I shall go to Sawston. You forget my + father; and even if he wasn’t there, I’ve a hundred ties: my district—I’m + neglecting it shamefully—my evening classes, the St. James’—” + </p> + <p> + “Silly nonsense!” he exploded, suddenly moved to have the whole thing out + with her. “You’re too good—about a thousand times better than I am. + You can’t live in that hole; you must go among people who can hope to + understand you. I mind for myself. I want to see you often—again and + again.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course we shall meet whenever you come down; and I hope that it will + mean often.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s not enough; it’ll only be in the old horrible way, each with a dozen + relatives round us. No, Miss Abbott; it’s not good enough.” + </p> + <p> + “We can write at all events.” + </p> + <p> + “You will write?” he cried, with a flush of pleasure. At times his hopes + seemed so solid. + </p> + <p> + “I will indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “But I say it’s not enough—you can’t go back to the old life if you + wanted to. Too much has happened.” + </p> + <p> + “I know that,” she said sadly. + </p> + <p> + “Not only pain and sorrow, but wonderful things: that tower in the + sunlight—do you remember it, and all you said to me? The theatre, + even. And the next day—in the church; and our times with Gino.” + </p> + <p> + “All the wonderful things are over,” she said. “That is just where it is.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe it. At all events not for me. The most wonderful things + may be to come—” + </p> + <p> + “The wonderful things are over,” she repeated, and looked at him so + mournfully that he dare not contradict her. The train was crawling up the + last ascent towards the Campanile of Airolo and the entrance of the + tunnel. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Abbott,” he murmured, speaking quickly, as if their free intercourse + might soon be ended, “what is the matter with you? I thought I understood + you, and I don’t. All those two great first days at Monteriano I read you + as clearly as you read me still. I saw why you had come, and why you + changed sides, and afterwards I saw your wonderful courage and pity. And + now you’re frank with me one moment, as you used to be, and the next + moment you shut me up. You see I owe too much to you—my life, and I + don’t know what besides. I won’t stand it. You’ve gone too far to turn + mysterious. I’ll quote what you said to me: ‘Don’t be mysterious; there + isn’t the time.’ I’ll quote something else: ‘I and my life must be where I + live.’ You can’t live at Sawston.” + </p> + <p> + He had moved her at last. She whispered to herself hurriedly. “It is + tempting—” And those three words threw him into a tumult of joy. + What was tempting to her? After all was the greatest of things possible? + Perhaps, after long estrangement, after much tragedy, the South had + brought them together in the end. That laughter in the theatre, those + silver stars in the purple sky, even the violets of a departed spring, all + had helped, and sorrow had helped also, and so had tenderness to others. + </p> + <p> + “It is tempting,” she repeated, “not to be mysterious. I’ve wanted often + to tell you, and then been afraid. I could never tell any one else, + certainly no woman, and I think you’re the one man who might understand + and not be disgusted.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you lonely?” he whispered. “Is it anything like that?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” The train seemed to shake him towards her. He was resolved that + though a dozen people were looking, he would yet take her in his arms. + “I’m terribly lonely, or I wouldn’t speak. I think you must know already.” + Their faces were crimson, as if the same thought was surging through them + both. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I do.” He came close to her. “Perhaps I could speak instead. But + if you will say the word plainly you’ll never be sorry; I will thank you + for it all my life.” + </p> + <p> + She said plainly, “That I love him.” Then she broke down. Her body was + shaken with sobs, and lest there should be any doubt she cried between the + sobs for Gino! Gino! Gino! + </p> + <p> + He heard himself remark “Rather! I love him too! When I can forget how he + hurt me that evening. Though whenever we shake hands—” One of them + must have moved a step or two, for when she spoke again she was already a + little way apart. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve upset me.” She stifled something that was perilously near + hysterics. “I thought I was past all this. You’re taking it wrongly. I’m + in love with Gino—don’t pass it off—I mean it crudely—you + know what I mean. So laugh at me.” + </p> + <p> + “Laugh at love?” asked Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Pull it to pieces. Tell me I’m a fool or worse—that he’s a + cad. Say all you said when Lilia fell in love with him. That’s the help I + want. I dare tell you this because I like you—and because you’re + without passion; you look on life as a spectacle; you don’t enter it; you + only find it funny or beautiful. So I can trust you to cure me. Mr. + Herriton, isn’t it funny?” She tried to laugh herself, but became + frightened and had to stop. “He’s not a gentleman, nor a Christian, nor + good in any way. He’s never flattered me nor honoured me. But because he’s + handsome, that’s been enough. The son of an Italian dentist, with a pretty + face.” She repeated the phrase as if it was a charm against passion. “Oh, + Mr. Herriton, isn’t it funny!” Then, to his relief, she began to cry. “I + love him, and I’m not ashamed of it. I love him, and I’m going to Sawston, + and if I mayn’t speak about him to you sometimes, I shall die.” + </p> + <p> + In that terrible discovery Philip managed to think not of himself but of + her. He did not lament. He did not even speak to her kindly, for he saw + that she could not stand it. A flippant reply was what she asked and + needed—something flippant and a little cynical. And indeed it was + the only reply he could trust himself to make. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it is what the books call ‘a passing fancy’?” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. Even this question was too pathetic. For as far as she + knew anything about herself, she knew that her passions, once aroused, + were sure. “If I saw him often,” she said, “I might remember what he is + like. Or he might grow old. But I dare not risk it, so nothing can alter + me now.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if the fancy does pass, let me know.” After all, he could say what + he wanted. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you shall know quick enough—” + </p> + <p> + “But before you retire to Sawston—are you so mighty sure?” + </p> + <p> + “What of?” She had stopped crying. He was treating her exactly as she had + hoped. + </p> + <p> + “That you and he—” He smiled bitterly at the thought of them + together. Here was the cruel antique malice of the gods, such as they once + sent forth against Pasiphae. Centuries of aspiration and culture—and + the world could not escape it. “I was going to say—whatever have you + got in common?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing except the times we have seen each other.” Again her face was + crimson. He turned his own face away. + </p> + <p> + “Which—which times?” + </p> + <p> + “The time I thought you weak and heedless, and went instead of you to get + the baby. That began it, as far as I know the beginning. Or it may have + begun when you took us to the theatre, and I saw him mixed up with music + and light. But didn’t understand till the morning. Then you opened the + door—and I knew why I had been so happy. Afterwards, in the church, + I prayed for us all; not for anything new, but that we might just be as we + were—he with the child he loved, you and I and Harriet safe out of + the place—and that I might never see him or speak to him again. I + could have pulled through then—the thing was only coming near, like + a wreath of smoke; it hadn’t wrapped me round.” + </p> + <p> + “But through my fault,” said Philip solemnly, “he is parted from the child + he loves. And because my life was in danger you came and saw him and spoke + to him again.” For the thing was even greater than she imagined. Nobody + but himself would ever see round it now. And to see round it he was + standing at an immense distance. He could even be glad that she had once + held the beloved in her arms. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t talk of ‘faults.’ You’re my friend for ever, Mr. Herriton, I think. + Only don’t be charitable and shift or take the blame. Get over supposing + I’m refined. That’s what puzzles you. Get over that.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke she seemed to be transfigured, and to have indeed no part with + refinement or unrefinement any longer. Out of this wreck there was + revealed to him something indestructible—something which she, who + had given it, could never take away. + </p> + <p> + “I say again, don’t be charitable. If he had asked me, I might have given + myself body and soul. That would have been the end of my rescue party. But + all through he took me for a superior being—a goddess. I who was + worshipping every inch of him, and every word he spoke. And that saved + me.” + </p> + <p> + Philip’s eyes were fixed on the Campanile of Airolo. But he saw instead + the fair myth of Endymion. This woman was a goddess to the end. For her no + love could be degrading: she stood outside all degradation. This episode, + which she thought so sordid, and which was so tragic for him, remained + supremely beautiful. To such a height was he lifted, that without regret + he could now have told her that he was her worshipper too. But what was + the use of telling her? For all the wonderful things had happened. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” was all that he permitted himself. “Thank you for + everything.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him with great friendliness, for he had made her life + endurable. At that moment the train entered the San Gothard tunnel. They + hurried back to the carriage to close the windows lest the smuts should + get into Harriet’s eyes. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s Where Angels Fear to Tread, by E. M. Forster + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHERE ANGELS FEAR TO TREAD *** + +***** This file should be named 2948-h.htm or 2948-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/4/2948/ + +Produced by Richard Fane, and David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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M. Forster + +Posting Date: January 10, 2009 [EBook #2948] +Release Date: December, 2001 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHERE ANGELS FEAR TO TREAD *** + + + + +Produced by Richard Fane + + + + + +WHERE ANGELS FEAR TO TREAD + +By E. M. Forster + + + + +Chapter 1 + +They were all at Charing Cross to see Lilia off--Philip, Harriet, Irma, +Mrs. Herriton herself. Even Mrs. Theobald, squired by Mr. Kingcroft, +had braved the journey from Yorkshire to bid her only daughter good-bye. +Miss Abbott was likewise attended by numerous relatives, and the sight +of so many people talking at once and saying such different things +caused Lilia to break into ungovernable peals of laughter. + +"Quite an ovation," she cried, sprawling out of her first-class +carriage. "They'll take us for royalty. Oh, Mr. Kingcroft, get us +foot-warmers." + +The good-natured young man hurried away, and Philip, taking his place, +flooded her with a final stream of advice and injunctions--where to +stop, how to learn Italian, when to use mosquito-nets, what pictures +to look at. "Remember," he concluded, "that it is only by going off the +track that you get to know the country. See the little towns--Gubbio, +Pienza, Cortona, San Gemignano, Monteriano. And don't, let me beg +you, go with that awful tourist idea that Italy's only a museum of +antiquities and art. Love and understand the Italians, for the people +are more marvellous than the land." + +"How I wish you were coming, Philip," she said, flattered at the +unwonted notice her brother-in-law was giving her. + +"I wish I were." He could have managed it without great difficulty, +for his career at the Bar was not so intense as to prevent occasional +holidays. But his family disliked his continual visits to the Continent, +and he himself often found pleasure in the idea that he was too busy to +leave town. + +"Good-bye, dear every one. What a whirl!" She caught sight of her little +daughter Irma, and felt that a touch of maternal solemnity was required. +"Good-bye, darling. Mind you're always good, and do what Granny tells +you." + +She referred not to her own mother, but to her mother-in-law, Mrs. +Herriton, who hated the title of Granny. + +Irma lifted a serious face to be kissed, and said cautiously, "I'll do +my best." + +"She is sure to be good," said Mrs. Herriton, who was standing pensively +a little out of the hubbub. But Lilia was already calling to Miss +Abbott, a tall, grave, rather nice-looking young lady who was conducting +her adieus in a more decorous manner on the platform. + +"Caroline, my Caroline! Jump in, or your chaperon will go off without +you." + +And Philip, whom the idea of Italy always intoxicated, had started +again, telling her of the supreme moments of her coming journey--the +Campanile of Airolo, which would burst on her when she emerged from the +St. Gothard tunnel, presaging the future; the view of the Ticino and +Lago Maggiore as the train climbed the slopes of Monte Cenere; the view +of Lugano, the view of Como--Italy gathering thick around her now--the +arrival at her first resting-place, when, after long driving through +dark and dirty streets, she should at last behold, amid the roar of +trams and the glare of arc lamps, the buttresses of the cathedral of +Milan. + +"Handkerchiefs and collars," screamed Harriet, "in my inlaid box! I've +lent you my inlaid box." + +"Good old Harry!" She kissed every one again, and there was a moment's +silence. They all smiled steadily, excepting Philip, who was choking in +the fog, and old Mrs. Theobald, who had begun to cry. Miss Abbott got +into the carriage. The guard himself shut the door, and told Lilia that +she would be all right. Then the train moved, and they all moved with it +a couple of steps, and waved their handkerchiefs, and uttered cheerful +little cries. At that moment Mr. Kingcroft reappeared, carrying a +footwarmer by both ends, as if it was a tea-tray. He was sorry that +he was too late, and called out in a quivering voice, "Good-bye, Mrs. +Charles. May you enjoy yourself, and may God bless you." + +Lilia smiled and nodded, and then the absurd position of the foot-warmer +overcame her, and she began to laugh again. + +"Oh, I am so sorry," she cried back, "but you do look so funny. Oh, you +all look so funny waving! Oh, pray!" And laughing helplessly, she was +carried out into the fog. + +"High spirits to begin so long a journey," said Mrs. Theobald, dabbing +her eyes. + +Mr. Kingcroft solemnly moved his head in token of agreement. "I wish," +said he, "that Mrs. Charles had gotten the footwarmer. These London +porters won't take heed to a country chap." + +"But you did your best," said Mrs. Herriton. "And I think it simply +noble of you to have brought Mrs. Theobald all the way here on such a +day as this." Then, rather hastily, she shook hands, and left him to +take Mrs. Theobald all the way back. + +Sawston, her own home, was within easy reach of London, and they were +not late for tea. Tea was in the dining-room, with an egg for Irma, to +keep up the child's spirits. The house seemed strangely quiet after a +fortnight's bustle, and their conversation was spasmodic and subdued. +They wondered whether the travellers had got to Folkestone, whether it +would be at all rough, and if so what would happen to poor Miss Abbott. + +"And, Granny, when will the old ship get to Italy?" asked Irma. + +"'Grandmother,' dear; not 'Granny,'" said Mrs. Herriton, giving her +a kiss. "And we say 'a boat' or 'a steamer,' not 'a ship.' Ships have +sails. And mother won't go all the way by sea. You look at the map of +Europe, and you'll see why. Harriet, take her. Go with Aunt Harriet, and +she'll show you the map." + +"Righto!" said the little girl, and dragged the reluctant Harriet +into the library. Mrs. Herriton and her son were left alone. There was +immediately confidence between them. + +"Here beginneth the New Life," said Philip. + +"Poor child, how vulgar!" murmured Mrs. Herriton. "It's surprising that +she isn't worse. But she has got a look of poor Charles about her." + +"And--alas, alas!--a look of old Mrs. Theobald. What appalling +apparition was that! I did think the lady was bedridden as well as +imbecile. Why ever did she come?" + +"Mr. Kingcroft made her. I am certain of it. He wanted to see Lilia +again, and this was the only way." + +"I hope he is satisfied. I did not think my sister-in-law distinguished +herself in her farewells." + +Mrs. Herriton shuddered. "I mind nothing, so long as she has gone--and +gone with Miss Abbott. It is mortifying to think that a widow of +thirty-three requires a girl ten years younger to look after her." + +"I pity Miss Abbott. Fortunately one admirer is chained to England. Mr. +Kingcroft cannot leave the crops or the climate or something. I don't +think, either, he improved his chances today. He, as well as Lilia, has +the knack of being absurd in public." + +Mrs. Herriton replied, "When a man is neither well bred, nor well +connected, nor handsome, nor clever, nor rich, even Lilia may discard +him in time." + +"No. I believe she would take any one. Right up to the last, when her +boxes were packed, she was 'playing' the chinless curate. Both the +curates are chinless, but hers had the dampest hands. I came on them in +the Park. They were speaking of the Pentateuch." + +"My dear boy! If possible, she has got worse and worse. It was your idea +of Italian travel that saved us!" + +Philip brightened at the little compliment. "The odd part is that she +was quite eager--always asking me for information; and of course I was +very glad to give it. I admit she is a Philistine, appallingly ignorant, +and her taste in art is false. Still, to have any taste at all is +something. And I do believe that Italy really purifies and ennobles all +who visit her. She is the school as well as the playground of the world. +It is really to Lilia's credit that she wants to go there." + +"She would go anywhere," said his mother, who had heard enough of the +praises of Italy. "I and Caroline Abbott had the greatest difficulty in +dissuading her from the Riviera." + +"No, Mother; no. She was really keen on Italy. This travel is quite a +crisis for her." He found the situation full of whimsical romance: there +was something half attractive, half repellent in the thought of this +vulgar woman journeying to places he loved and revered. Why should she +not be transfigured? The same had happened to the Goths. + +Mrs. Herriton did not believe in romance nor in transfiguration, nor in +parallels from history, nor in anything else that may disturb domestic +life. She adroitly changed the subject before Philip got excited. Soon +Harriet returned, having given her lesson in geography. Irma went to bed +early, and was tucked up by her grandmother. Then the two ladies worked +and played cards. Philip read a book. And so they all settled down to +their quiet, profitable existence, and continued it without interruption +through the winter. + +It was now nearly ten years since Charles had fallen in love with Lilia +Theobald because she was pretty, and during that time Mrs. Herriton had +hardly known a moment's rest. For six months she schemed to prevent +the match, and when it had taken place she turned to another task--the +supervision of her daughter-in-law. Lilia must be pushed through life +without bringing discredit on the family into which she had married. She +was aided by Charles, by her daughter Harriet, and, as soon as he was +old enough, by the clever one of the family, Philip. The birth of Irma +made things still more difficult. But fortunately old Mrs. Theobald, who +had attempted interference, began to break up. It was an effort to her +to leave Whitby, and Mrs. Herriton discouraged the effort as far as +possible. That curious duel which is fought over every baby was fought +and decided early. Irma belonged to her father's family, not to her +mother's. + +Charles died, and the struggle recommenced. Lilia tried to assert +herself, and said that she should go to take care of Mrs. Theobald. +It required all Mrs. Herriton's kindness to prevent her. A house was +finally taken for her at Sawston, and there for three years she lived +with Irma, continually subject to the refining influences of her late +husband's family. + +During one of her rare Yorkshire visits trouble began again. Lilia +confided to a friend that she liked a Mr. Kingcroft extremely, but +that she was not exactly engaged to him. The news came round to Mrs. +Herriton, who at once wrote, begging for information, and pointing out +that Lilia must either be engaged or not, since no intermediate state +existed. It was a good letter, and flurried Lilia extremely. She left +Mr. Kingcroft without even the pressure of a rescue-party. She cried a +great deal on her return to Sawston, and said she was very sorry. Mrs. +Herriton took the opportunity of speaking more seriously about the +duties of widowhood and motherhood than she had ever done before. But +somehow things never went easily after. Lilia would not settle down in +her place among Sawston matrons. She was a bad housekeeper, always in +the throes of some domestic crisis, which Mrs. Herriton, who kept her +servants for years, had to step across and adjust. She let Irma stop +away from school for insufficient reasons, and she allowed her to wear +rings. She learnt to bicycle, for the purpose of waking the place up, +and coasted down the High Street one Sunday evening, falling off at the +turn by the church. If she had not been a relative, it would have been +entertaining. But even Philip, who in theory loved outraging English +conventions, rose to the occasion, and gave her a talking which she +remembered to her dying day. It was just then, too, that they discovered +that she still allowed Mr. Kingcroft to write to her "as a gentleman +friend," and to send presents to Irma. + +Philip thought of Italy, and the situation was saved. Caroline, +charming, sober, Caroline Abbott, who lived two turnings away, was +seeking a companion for a year's travel. Lilia gave up her house, sold +half her furniture, left the other half and Irma with Mrs. Herriton, and +had now departed, amid universal approval, for a change of scene. + +She wrote to them frequently during the winter--more frequently than she +wrote to her mother. Her letters were always prosperous. Florence she +found perfectly sweet, Naples a dream, but very whiffy. In Rome one had +simply to sit still and feel. Philip, however, declared that she was +improving. He was particularly gratified when in the early spring she +began to visit the smaller towns that he had recommended. "In a place +like this," she wrote, "one really does feel in the heart of things, and +off the beaten track. Looking out of a Gothic window every morning, it +seems impossible that the middle ages have passed away." The letter was +from Monteriano, and concluded with a not unsuccessful description of +the wonderful little town. + +"It is something that she is contented," said Mrs. Herriton. "But no one +could live three months with Caroline Abbott and not be the better for +it." + +Just then Irma came in from school, and she read her mother's letter to +her, carefully correcting any grammatical errors, for she was a loyal +supporter of parental authority--Irma listened politely, but soon +changed the subject to hockey, in which her whole being was absorbed. +They were to vote for colours that afternoon--yellow and white or yellow +and green. What did her grandmother think? + +Of course Mrs. Herriton had an opinion, which she sedately expounded, in +spite of Harriet, who said that colours were unnecessary for children, +and of Philip, who said that they were ugly. She was getting proud of +Irma, who had certainly greatly improved, and could no longer be called +that most appalling of things--a vulgar child. She was anxious to form +her before her mother returned. So she had no objection to the leisurely +movements of the travellers, and even suggested that they should +overstay their year if it suited them. + +Lilia's next letter was also from Monteriano, and Philip grew quite +enthusiastic. + +"They've stopped there over a week!" he cried. "Why! I shouldn't have +done as much myself. They must be really keen, for the hotel's none too +comfortable." + +"I cannot understand people," said Harriet. "What can they be doing all +day? And there is no church there, I suppose." + +"There is Santa Deodata, one of the most beautiful churches in Italy." + +"Of course I mean an English church," said Harriet stiffly. "Lilia +promised me that she would always be in a large town on Sundays." + +"If she goes to a service at Santa Deodata's, she will find more beauty +and sincerity than there is in all the Back Kitchens of Europe." + +The Back Kitchen was his nickname for St. James's, a small depressing +edifice much patronized by his sister. She always resented any slight on +it, and Mrs. Herriton had to intervene. + +"Now, dears, don't. Listen to Lilia's letter. 'We love this place, and +I do not know how I shall ever thank Philip for telling me it. It is +not only so quaint, but one sees the Italians unspoiled in all their +simplicity and charm here. The frescoes are wonderful. Caroline, who +grows sweeter every day, is very busy sketching.'" + +"Every one to his taste!" said Harriet, who always delivered a platitude +as if it was an epigram. She was curiously virulent about Italy, which +she had never visited, her only experience of the Continent being an +occasional six weeks in the Protestant parts of Switzerland. + +"Oh, Harriet is a bad lot!" said Philip as soon as she left the room. +His mother laughed, and told him not to be naughty; and the appearance +of Irma, just off to school, prevented further discussion. Not only in +Tracts is a child a peacemaker. + +"One moment, Irma," said her uncle. "I'm going to the station. I'll give +you the pleasure of my company." + +They started together. Irma was gratified; but conversation flagged, +for Philip had not the art of talking to the young. Mrs. Herriton sat +a little longer at the breakfast table, re-reading Lilia's letter. Then +she helped the cook to clear, ordered dinner, and started the housemaid +turning out the drawing-room, Tuesday being its day. The weather was +lovely, and she thought she would do a little gardening, as it was quite +early. She called Harriet, who had recovered from the insult to St. +James's, and together they went to the kitchen garden and began to sow +some early vegetables. + +"We will save the peas to the last; they are the greatest fun," said +Mrs. Herriton, who had the gift of making work a treat. She and her +elderly daughter always got on very well, though they had not a great +deal in common. Harriet's education had been almost too successful. As +Philip once said, she had "bolted all the cardinal virtues and couldn't +digest them." Though pious and patriotic, and a great moral asset for +the house, she lacked that pliancy and tact which her mother so much +valued, and had expected her to pick up for herself. Harriet, if she had +been allowed, would have driven Lilia to an open rupture, and, what was +worse, she would have done the same to Philip two years before, when he +returned full of passion for Italy, and ridiculing Sawston and its ways. + +"It's a shame, Mother!" she had cried. "Philip laughs at everything--the +Book Club, the Debating Society, the Progressive Whist, the bazaars. +People won't like it. We have our reputation. A house divided against +itself cannot stand." + +Mrs. Herriton replied in the memorable words, "Let Philip say what he +likes, and he will let us do what we like." And Harriet had acquiesced. + +They sowed the duller vegetables first, and a pleasant feeling of +righteous fatigue stole over them as they addressed themselves to the +peas. Harriet stretched a string to guide the row straight, and Mrs. +Herriton scratched a furrow with a pointed stick. At the end of it she +looked at her watch. + +"It's twelve! The second post's in. Run and see if there are any +letters." + +Harriet did not want to go. "Let's finish the peas. There won't be any +letters." + +"No, dear; please go. I'll sow the peas, but you shall cover them +up--and mind the birds don't see 'em!" + +Mrs. Herriton was very careful to let those peas trickle evenly from +her hand, and at the end of the row she was conscious that she had never +sown better. They were expensive too. + +"Actually old Mrs. Theobald!" said Harriet, returning. + +"Read me the letter. My hands are dirty. How intolerable the crested +paper is." + +Harriet opened the envelope. + +"I don't understand," she said; "it doesn't make sense." + +"Her letters never did." + +"But it must be sillier than usual," said Harriet, and her voice began +to quaver. "Look here, read it, Mother; I can't make head or tail." + +Mrs. Herriton took the letter indulgently. "What is the difficulty?" she +said after a long pause. "What is it that puzzles you in this letter?" + +"The meaning--" faltered Harriet. The sparrows hopped nearer and began +to eye the peas. + +"The meaning is quite clear--Lilia is engaged to be married. Don't cry, +dear; please me by not crying--don't talk at all. It's more than I could +bear. She is going to marry some one she has met in a hotel. Take the +letter and read for yourself." Suddenly she broke down over what might +seem a small point. "How dare she not tell me direct! How dare she +write first to Yorkshire! Pray, am I to hear through Mrs. Theobald--a +patronizing, insolent letter like this? Have I no claim at all? Bear +witness, dear"--she choked with passion--"bear witness that for this +I'll never forgive her!" + +"Oh, what is to be done?" moaned Harriet. "What is to be done?" + +"This first!" She tore the letter into little pieces and scattered it +over the mould. "Next, a telegram for Lilia! No! a telegram for Miss +Caroline Abbott. She, too, has something to explain." + +"Oh, what is to be done?" repeated Harriet, as she followed her mother +to the house. She was helpless before such effrontery. What awful +thing--what awful person had come to Lilia? "Some one in the hotel." The +letter only said that. What kind of person? A gentleman? An Englishman? +The letter did not say. + +"Wire reason of stay at Monteriano. Strange rumours," read Mrs. +Herriton, and addressed the telegram to Abbott, Stella d'Italia, +Monteriano, Italy. "If there is an office there," she added, "we might +get an answer this evening. Since Philip is back at seven, and the +eight-fifteen catches the midnight boat at Dover--Harriet, when you go +with this, get 100 pounds in 5 pound notes at the bank." + +"Go, dear, at once; do not talk. I see Irma coming back; go quickly.... +Well, Irma dear, and whose team are you in this afternoon--Miss Edith's +or Miss May's?" + +But as soon as she had behaved as usual to her grand-daughter, she went +to the library and took out the large atlas, for she wanted to know +about Monteriano. The name was in the smallest print, in the midst of a +woolly-brown tangle of hills which were called the "Sub-Apennines." It +was not so very far from Siena, which she had learnt at school. Past it +there wandered a thin black line, notched at intervals like a saw, +and she knew that this was a railway. But the map left a good deal to +imagination, and she had not got any. She looked up the place in "Childe +Harold," but Byron had not been there. Nor did Mark Twain visit it in +the "Tramp Abroad." The resources of literature were exhausted: she +must wait till Philip came home. And the thought of Philip made her try +Philip's room, and there she found "Central Italy," by Baedeker, and +opened it for the first time in her life and read in it as follows:-- + + +MONTERIANO (pop. 4800). Hotels: Stella d'Italia, moderate only; Globo, +dirty. * Caffe Garibaldi. Post and Telegraph office in Corso Vittorio +Emmanuele, next to theatre. Photographs at Seghena's (cheaper in +Florence). Diligence (1 lira) meets principal trains. + +Chief attractions (2-3 hours): Santa Deodata, Palazzo Pubblico, Sant' +Agostino, Santa Caterina, Sant' Ambrogio, Palazzo Capocchi. Guide +(2 lire) unnecessary. A walk round the Walls should on no account be +omitted. The view from the Rocca (small gratuity) is finest at sunset. + +History: Monteriano, the Mons Rianus of Antiquity, whose Ghibelline +tendencies are noted by Dante (Purg. xx.), definitely emancipated itself +from Poggibonsi in 1261. Hence the distich, "POGGIBONIZZI, FAUI IN LA, +CHE MONTERIANO SI FA CITTA!" till recently enscribed over the Siena +gate. It remained independent till 1530, when it was sacked by the Papal +troops and became part of the Grand Duchy of Tuscany. It is now of small +importance, and seat of the district prison. The inhabitants are still +noted for their agreeable manners. + + ***** + +The traveller will proceed direct from the Siena gate to the Collegiate +Church of Santa Deodata, and inspect (5th chapel on right) the charming +Frescoes.... + + +Mrs. Herriton did not proceed. She was not one to detect the hidden +charms of Baedeker. Some of the information seemed to her unnecessary, +all of it was dull. Whereas Philip could never read "The view from the +Rocca (small gratuity) is finest at sunset" without a catching at the +heart. Restoring the book to its place, she went downstairs, and looked +up and down the asphalt paths for her daughter. She saw her at last, +two turnings away, vainly trying to shake off Mr. Abbott, Miss Caroline +Abbott's father. Harriet was always unfortunate. At last she returned, +hot, agitated, crackling with bank-notes, and Irma bounced to greet her, +and trod heavily on her corn. + +"Your feet grow larger every day," said the agonized Harriet, and gave +her niece a violent push. Then Irma cried, and Mrs. Herriton was annoyed +with Harriet for betraying irritation. Lunch was nasty; and during +pudding news arrived that the cook, by sheer dexterity, had broken +a very vital knob off the kitchen-range. "It is too bad," said Mrs. +Herriton. Irma said it was three bad, and was told not to be rude. After +lunch Harriet would get out Baedeker, and read in injured tones about +Monteriano, the Mons Rianus of Antiquity, till her mother stopped her. + +"It's ridiculous to read, dear. She's not trying to marry any one in the +place. Some tourist, obviously, who's stopping in the hotel. The place +has nothing to do with it at all." + +"But what a place to go to! What nice person, too, do you meet in a +hotel?" + +"Nice or nasty, as I have told you several times before, is not the +point. Lilia has insulted our family, and she shall suffer for it. And +when you speak against hotels, I think you forget that I met your father +at Chamounix. You can contribute nothing, dear, at present, and I think +you had better hold your tongue. I am going to the kitchen, to speak +about the range." + +She spoke just too much, and the cook said that if she could not give +satisfaction--she had better leave. A small thing at hand is greater +than a great thing remote, and Lilia, misconducting herself upon a +mountain in Central Italy, was immediately hidden. Mrs. Herriton flew to +a registry office, failed; flew to another, failed again; came home, +was told by the housemaid that things seemed so unsettled that she had +better leave as well; had tea, wrote six letters, was interrupted by +cook and housemaid, both weeping, asking her pardon, and imploring to +be taken back. In the flush of victory the door-bell rang, and there was +the telegram: "Lilia engaged to Italian nobility. Writing. Abbott." + +"No answer," said Mrs. Herriton. "Get down Mr. Philip's Gladstone from +the attic." + +She would not allow herself to be frightened by the unknown. Indeed +she knew a little now. The man was not an Italian noble, otherwise the +telegram would have said so. It must have been written by Lilia. None +but she would have been guilty of the fatuous vulgarity of "Italian +nobility." She recalled phrases of this morning's letter: "We love this +place--Caroline is sweeter than ever, and busy sketching--Italians full +of simplicity and charm." And the remark of Baedeker, "The inhabitants +are still noted for their agreeable manners," had a baleful meaning now. +If Mrs. Herriton had no imagination, she had intuition, a more useful +quality, and the picture she made to herself of Lilia's FIANCE did not +prove altogether wrong. + +So Philip was received with the news that he must start in half an hour +for Monteriano. He was in a painful position. For three years he had +sung the praises of the Italians, but he had never contemplated having +one as a relative. He tried to soften the thing down to his mother, but +in his heart of hearts he agreed with her when she said, "The man may +be a duke or he may be an organ-grinder. That is not the point. If Lilia +marries him she insults the memory of Charles, she insults Irma, she +insults us. Therefore I forbid her, and if she disobeys we have done +with her for ever." + +"I will do all I can," said Philip in a low voice. It was the first time +he had had anything to do. He kissed his mother and sister and puzzled +Irma. The hall was warm and attractive as he looked back into it from +the cold March night, and he departed for Italy reluctantly, as for +something commonplace and dull. + +Before Mrs. Herriton went to bed she wrote to Mrs. Theobald, using plain +language about Lilia's conduct, and hinting that it was a question on +which every one must definitely choose sides. She added, as if it was an +afterthought, that Mrs. Theobald's letter had arrived that morning. + +Just as she was going upstairs she remembered that she never covered +up those peas. It upset her more than anything, and again and again she +struck the banisters with vexation. Late as it was, she got a lantern +from the tool-shed and went down the garden to rake the earth over them. +The sparrows had taken every one. But countless fragments of the letter +remained, disfiguring the tidy ground. + + + +Chapter 2 + +When the bewildered tourist alights at the station of Monteriano, he +finds himself in the middle of the country. There are a few houses round +the railway, and many more dotted over the plain and the slopes of the +hills, but of a town, mediaeval or otherwise, not the slightest sign. He +must take what is suitably termed a "legno"--a piece of wood--and +drive up eight miles of excellent road into the middle ages. For it is +impossible, as well as sacrilegious, to be as quick as Baedeker. + +It was three in the afternoon when Philip left the realms of +commonsense. He was so weary with travelling that he had fallen asleep +in the train. His fellow-passengers had the usual Italian gift of +divination, and when Monteriano came they knew he wanted to go there, +and dropped him out. His feet sank into the hot asphalt of the platform, +and in a dream he watched the train depart, while the porter who ought +to have been carrying his bag, ran up the line playing touch-you-last +with the guard. Alas! he was in no humour for Italy. Bargaining for a +legno bored him unutterably. The man asked six lire; and though Philip +knew that for eight miles it should scarcely be more than four, yet he +was about to give what he was asked, and so make the man discontented +and unhappy for the rest of the day. He was saved from this social +blunder by loud shouts, and looking up the road saw one cracking his +whip and waving his reins and driving two horses furiously, and behind +him there appeared the swaying figure of a woman, holding star-fish +fashion on to anything she could touch. It was Miss Abbott, who had just +received his letter from Milan announcing the time of his arrival, and +had hurried down to meet him. + +He had known Miss Abbott for years, and had never had much opinion about +her one way or the other. She was good, quiet, dull, and amiable, +and young only because she was twenty-three: there was nothing in her +appearance or manner to suggest the fire of youth. All her life had +been spent at Sawston with a dull and amiable father, and her pleasant, +pallid face, bent on some respectable charity, was a familiar object +of the Sawston streets. Why she had ever wished to leave them was +surprising; but as she truly said, "I am John Bull to the backbone, yet +I do want to see Italy, just once. Everybody says it is marvellous, and +that one gets no idea of it from books at all." The curate suggested +that a year was a long time; and Miss Abbott, with decorous playfulness, +answered him, "Oh, but you must let me have my fling! I promise to have +it once, and once only. It will give me things to think about and talk +about for the rest of my life." The curate had consented; so had Mr. +Abbott. And here she was in a legno, solitary, dusty, frightened, with +as much to answer and to answer for as the most dashing adventuress +could desire. + +They shook hands without speaking. She made room for Philip and his +luggage amidst the loud indignation of the unsuccessful driver, whom it +required the combined eloquence of the station-master and the station +beggar to confute. The silence was prolonged until they started. For +three days he had been considering what he should do, and still more +what he should say. He had invented a dozen imaginary conversations, in +all of which his logic and eloquence procured him certain victory. But +how to begin? He was in the enemy's country, and everything--the hot +sun, the cold air behind the heat, the endless rows of olive-trees, +regular yet mysterious--seemed hostile to the placid atmosphere of +Sawston in which his thoughts took birth. At the outset he made one +great concession. If the match was really suitable, and Lilia were bent +on it, he would give in, and trust to his influence with his mother to +set things right. He would not have made the concession in England; +but here in Italy, Lilia, however wilful and silly, was at all events +growing to be a human being. + +"Are we to talk it over now?" he asked. + +"Certainly, please," said Miss Abbott, in great agitation. "If you will +be so very kind." + +"Then how long has she been engaged?" + +Her face was that of a perfect fool--a fool in terror. + +"A short time--quite a short time," she stammered, as if the shortness +of the time would reassure him. + +"I should like to know how long, if you can remember." + +She entered into elaborate calculations on her fingers. "Exactly eleven +days," she said at last. + +"How long have you been here?" + +More calculations, while he tapped irritably with his foot. "Close on +three weeks." + +"Did you know him before you came?" + +"No." + +"Oh! Who is he?" + +"A native of the place." + +The second silence took place. They had left the plain now and +were climbing up the outposts of the hills, the olive-trees still +accompanying. The driver, a jolly fat man, had got out to ease the +horses, and was walking by the side of the carriage. + +"I understood they met at the hotel." + +"It was a mistake of Mrs. Theobald's." + +"I also understand that he is a member of the Italian nobility." + +She did not reply. + +"May I be told his name?" + +Miss Abbott whispered, "Carella." But the driver heard her, and a grin +split over his face. The engagement must be known already. + +"Carella? Conte or Marchese, or what?" + +"Signor," said Miss Abbott, and looked helplessly aside. + +"Perhaps I bore you with these questions. If so, I will stop." + +"Oh, no, please; not at all. I am here--my own idea--to give all +information which you very naturally--and to see if somehow--please ask +anything you like." + +"Then how old is he?" + +"Oh, quite young. Twenty-one, I believe." + +There burst from Philip the exclamation, "Good Lord!" + +"One would never believe it," said Miss Abbott, flushing. "He looks much +older." + +"And is he good-looking?" he asked, with gathering sarcasm. + +She became decisive. "Very good-looking. All his features are good, and +he is well built--though I dare say English standards would find him too +short." + +Philip, whose one physical advantage was his height, felt annoyed at her +implied indifference to it. + +"May I conclude that you like him?" + +She replied decisively again, "As far as I have seen him, I do." + +At that moment the carriage entered a little wood, which lay brown and +sombre across the cultivated hill. The trees of the wood were small and +leafless, but noticeable for this--that their stems stood in violets as +rocks stand in the summer sea. There are such violets in England, +but not so many. Nor are there so many in Art, for no painter has the +courage. The cart-ruts were channels, the hollow lagoons; even the +dry white margin of the road was splashed, like a causeway soon to be +submerged under the advancing tide of spring. Philip paid no attention +at the time: he was thinking what to say next. But his eyes had +registered the beauty, and next March he did not forget that the road to +Monteriano must traverse innumerable flowers. + +"As far as I have seen him, I do like him," repeated Miss Abbott, after +a pause. + +He thought she sounded a little defiant, and crushed her at once. + +"What is he, please? You haven't told me that. What's his position?" + +She opened her mouth to speak, and no sound came from it. Philip waited +patiently. She tried to be audacious, and failed pitiably. + +"No position at all. He is kicking his heels, as my father would say. +You see, he has only just finished his military service." + +"As a private?" + +"I suppose so. There is general conscription. He was in the Bersaglieri, +I think. Isn't that the crack regiment?" + +"The men in it must be short and broad. They must also be able to walk +six miles an hour." + +She looked at him wildly, not understanding all that he said, but +feeling that he was very clever. Then she continued her defence of +Signor Carella. + +"And now, like most young men, he is looking out for something to do." + +"Meanwhile?" + +"Meanwhile, like most young men, he lives with his people--father, +mother, two sisters, and a tiny tot of a brother." + +There was a grating sprightliness about her that drove him nearly mad. +He determined to silence her at last. + +"One more question, and only one more. What is his father?" + +"His father," said Miss Abbott. "Well, I don't suppose you'll think it +a good match. But that's not the point. I mean the point is not--I mean +that social differences--love, after all--not but what--I--" + +Philip ground his teeth together and said nothing. + +"Gentlemen sometimes judge hardly. But I feel that you, and at +all events your mother--so really good in every sense, so really +unworldly--after all, love-marriages are made in heaven." + +"Yes, Miss Abbott, I know. But I am anxious to hear heaven's choice. You +arouse my curiosity. Is my sister-in-law to marry an angel?" + +"Mr. Herriton, don't--please, Mr. Herriton--a dentist. His father's a +dentist." + +Philip gave a cry of personal disgust and pain. He shuddered all over, +and edged away from his companion. A dentist! A dentist at Monteriano. A +dentist in fairyland! False teeth and laughing gas and the tilting +chair at a place which knew the Etruscan League, and the Pax Romana, +and Alaric himself, and the Countess Matilda, and the Middle Ages, all +fighting and holiness, and the Renaissance, all fighting and beauty! He +thought of Lilia no longer. He was anxious for himself: he feared that +Romance might die. + +Romance only dies with life. No pair of pincers will ever pull it out of +us. But there is a spurious sentiment which cannot resist the unexpected +and the incongruous and the grotesque. A touch will loosen it, and the +sooner it goes from us the better. It was going from Philip now, and +therefore he gave the cry of pain. + +"I cannot think what is in the air," he began. "If Lilia was determined +to disgrace us, she might have found a less repulsive way. A boy of +medium height with a pretty face, the son of a dentist at Monteriano. +Have I put it correctly? May I surmise that he has not got one penny? +May I also surmise that his social position is nil? Furthermore--" + +"Stop! I'll tell you no more." + +"Really, Miss Abbott, it is a little late for reticence. You have +equipped me admirably!" + +"I'll tell you not another word!" she cried, with a spasm of terror. +Then she got out her handkerchief, and seemed as if she would shed +tears. After a silence, which he intended to symbolize to her the +dropping of a curtain on the scene, he began to talk of other subjects. + +They were among olives again, and the wood with its beauty and wildness +had passed away. But as they climbed higher the country opened out, and +there appeared, high on a hill to the right, Monteriano. The hazy green +of the olives rose up to its walls, and it seemed to float in isolation +between trees and sky, like some fantastic ship city of a dream. Its +colour was brown, and it revealed not a single house--nothing but the +narrow circle of the walls, and behind them seventeen towers--all that +was left of the fifty-two that had filled the city in her prime. Some +were only stumps, some were inclining stiffly to their fall, some were +still erect, piercing like masts into the blue. It was impossible to +praise it as beautiful, but it was also impossible to damn it as quaint. + +Meanwhile Philip talked continually, thinking this to be great evidence +of resource and tact. It showed Miss Abbott that he had probed her to +the bottom, but was able to conquer his disgust, and by sheer force of +intellect continue to be as agreeable and amusing as ever. He did not +know that he talked a good deal of nonsense, and that the sheer force +of his intellect was weakened by the sight of Monteriano, and by the +thought of dentistry within those walls. + +The town above them swung to the left, to the right, to the left again, +as the road wound upward through the trees, and the towers began to glow +in the descending sun. As they drew near, Philip saw the heads of people +gathering black upon the walls, and he knew well what was happening--how +the news was spreading that a stranger was in sight, and the beggars +were aroused from their content and bid to adjust their deformities; how +the alabaster man was running for his wares, and the Authorized Guide +running for his peaked cap and his two cards of recommendation--one from +Miss M'Gee, Maida Vale, the other, less valuable, from an Equerry to the +Queen of Peru; how some one else was running to tell the landlady of the +Stella d'Italia to put on her pearl necklace and brown boots and empty +the slops from the spare bedroom; and how the landlady was running to +tell Lilia and her boy that their fate was at hand. + +Perhaps it was a pity Philip had talked so profusely. He had driven +Miss Abbott half demented, but he had given himself no time to concert +a plan. The end came so suddenly. They emerged from the trees on to the +terrace before the walk, with the vision of half Tuscany radiant in the +sun behind them, and then they turned in through the Siena gate, and +their journey was over. The Dogana men admitted them with an air of +gracious welcome, and they clattered up the narrow dark street, greeted +by that mixture of curiosity and kindness which makes each Italian +arrival so wonderful. + +He was stunned and knew not what to do. At the hotel he received no +ordinary reception. The landlady wrung him by the hand; one person +snatched his umbrella, another his bag; people pushed each other out of +his way. The entrance seemed blocked with a crowd. Dogs were barking, +bladder whistles being blown, women waving their handkerchiefs, excited +children screaming on the stairs, and at the top of the stairs was Lilia +herself, very radiant, with her best blouse on. + +"Welcome!" she cried. "Welcome to Monteriano!" He greeted her, for he +did not know what else to do, and a sympathetic murmur rose from the +crowd below. + +"You told me to come here," she continued, "and I don't forget it. Let +me introduce Signor Carella!" + +Philip discerned in the corner behind her a young man who might +eventually prove handsome and well-made, but certainly did not seem so +then. He was half enveloped in the drapery of a cold dirty curtain, and +nervously stuck out a hand, which Philip took and found thick and damp. +There were more murmurs of approval from the stairs. + +"Well, din-din's nearly ready," said Lilia. "Your room's down the +passage, Philip. You needn't go changing." + +He stumbled away to wash his hands, utterly crushed by her effrontery. + +"Dear Caroline!" whispered Lilia as soon as he had gone. "What an angel +you've been to tell him! He takes it so well. But you must have had a +MAUVAIS QUART D'HEURE." + +Miss Abbott's long terror suddenly turned into acidity. "I've told +nothing," she snapped. "It's all for you--and if it only takes a quarter +of an hour you'll be lucky!" + +Dinner was a nightmare. They had the smelly dining-room to themselves. +Lilia, very smart and vociferous, was at the head of the table; Miss +Abbott, also in her best, sat by Philip, looking, to his irritated +nerves, more like the tragedy confidante every moment. That scion of the +Italian nobility, Signor Carella, sat opposite. Behind him loomed a bowl +of goldfish, who swam round and round, gaping at the guests. + +The face of Signor Carella was twitching too much for Philip to study +it. But he could see the hands, which were not particularly clean, and +did not get cleaner by fidgeting amongst the shining slabs of hair. +His starched cuffs were not clean either, and as for his suit, it had +obviously been bought for the occasion as something really English--a +gigantic check, which did not even fit. His handkerchief he had +forgotten, but never missed it. Altogether, he was quite unpresentable, +and very lucky to have a father who was a dentist in Monteriano. And +why, even Lilia--But as soon as the meal began it furnished Philip with +an explanation. + +For the youth was hungry, and his lady filled his plate with spaghetti, +and when those delicious slippery worms were flying down his throat, his +face relaxed and became for a moment unconscious and calm. And Philip +had seen that face before in Italy a hundred times--seen it and loved +it, for it was not merely beautiful, but had the charm which is the +rightful heritage of all who are born on that soil. But he did not want +to see it opposite him at dinner. It was not the face of a gentleman. + +Conversation, to give it that name, was carried on in a mixture of +English and Italian. Lilia had picked up hardly any of the latter +language, and Signor Carella had not yet learnt any of the former. +Occasionally Miss Abbott had to act as interpreter between the lovers, +and the situation became uncouth and revolting in the extreme. Yet +Philip was too cowardly to break forth and denounce the engagement. He +thought he should be more effective with Lilia if he had her alone, +and pretended to himself that he must hear her defence before giving +judgment. + +Signor Carella, heartened by the spaghetti and the throat-rasping wine, +attempted to talk, and, looking politely towards Philip, said, "England +is a great country. The Italians love England and the English." + +Philip, in no mood for international amenities, merely bowed. + +"Italy too," the other continued a little resentfully, "is a great +country. She has produced many famous men--for example Garibaldi and +Dante. The latter wrote the 'Inferno,' the 'Purgatorio,' the 'Paradiso.' +The 'Inferno' is the most beautiful." And with the complacent tone of +one who has received a solid education, he quoted the opening lines-- + + Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita + Mi ritrovai per una selva oscura + Che la diritta via era smarrita-- + +a quotation which was more apt than he supposed. + +Lilia glanced at Philip to see whether he noticed that she was +marrying no ignoramus. Anxious to exhibit all the good qualities of her +betrothed, she abruptly introduced the subject of pallone, in which, +it appeared, he was a proficient player. He suddenly became shy and +developed a conceited grin--the grin of the village yokel whose cricket +score is mentioned before a stranger. Philip himself had loved to watch +pallone, that entrancing combination of lawn-tennis and fives. But he +did not expect to love it quite so much again. + +"Oh, look!" exclaimed Lilia, "the poor wee fish!" + +A starved cat had been worrying them all for pieces of the purple +quivering beef they were trying to swallow. Signor Carella, with the +brutality so common in Italians, had caught her by the paw and flung her +away from him. Now she had climbed up to the bowl and was trying to +hook out the fish. He got up, drove her off, and finding a large glass +stopper by the bowl, entirely plugged up the aperture with it. + +"But may not the fish die?" said Miss Abbott. "They have no air." + +"Fish live on water, not on air," he replied in a knowing voice, and sat +down. Apparently he was at his ease again, for he took to spitting on +the floor. Philip glanced at Lilia but did not detect her wincing. She +talked bravely till the end of the disgusting meal, and then got up +saying, "Well, Philip, I am sure you are ready for by-bye. We shall meet +at twelve o'clock lunch tomorrow, if we don't meet before. They give us +caffe later in our rooms." + +It was a little too impudent. Philip replied, "I should like to see you +now, please, in my room, as I have come all the way on business." He +heard Miss Abbott gasp. Signor Carella, who was lighting a rank cigar, +had not understood. + +It was as he expected. When he was alone with Lilia he lost all +nervousness. The remembrance of his long intellectual supremacy +strengthened him, and he began volubly-- + +"My dear Lilia, don't let's have a scene. Before I arrived I thought I +might have to question you. It is unnecessary. I know everything. Miss +Abbott has told me a certain amount, and the rest I see for myself." + +"See for yourself?" she exclaimed, and he remembered afterwards that she +had flushed crimson. + +"That he is probably a ruffian and certainly a cad." + +"There are no cads in Italy," she said quickly. + +He was taken aback. It was one of his own remarks. And she further upset +him by adding, "He is the son of a dentist. Why not?" + +"Thank you for the information. I know everything, as I told you before. +I am also aware of the social position of an Italian who pulls teeth in +a minute provincial town." + +He was not aware of it, but he ventured to conclude that it was pretty, +low. Nor did Lilia contradict him. But she was sharp enough to say, +"Indeed, Philip, you surprise me. I understood you went in for equality +and so on." + +"And I understood that Signor Carella was a member of the Italian +nobility." + +"Well, we put it like that in the telegram so as not to shock dear Mrs. +Herriton. But it is true. He is a younger branch. Of course families +ramify--just as in yours there is your cousin Joseph." She adroitly +picked out the only undesirable member of the Herriton clan. "Gino's +father is courtesy itself, and rising rapidly in his profession. This +very month he leaves Monteriano, and sets up at Poggibonsi. And for +my own poor part, I think what people are is what matters, but I don't +suppose you'll agree. And I should like you to know that Gino's uncle is +a priest--the same as a clergyman at home." + +Philip was aware of the social position of an Italian priest, and said +so much about it that Lilia interrupted him with, "Well, his cousin's a +lawyer at Rome." + +"What kind of 'lawyer'?" + +"Why, a lawyer just like you are--except that he has lots to do and can +never get away." + +The remark hurt more than he cared to show. He changed his method, and +in a gentle, conciliating tone delivered the following speech:-- + +"The whole thing is like a bad dream--so bad that it cannot go on. If +there was one redeeming feature about the man I might be uneasy. As it +is I can trust to time. For the moment, Lilia, he has taken you in, +but you will find him out soon. It is not possible that you, a lady, +accustomed to ladies and gentlemen, will tolerate a man whose position +is--well, not equal to the son of the servants' dentist in Coronation +Place. I am not blaming you now. But I blame the glamour of Italy--I +have felt it myself, you know--and I greatly blame Miss Abbott." + +"Caroline! Why blame her? What's all this to do with Caroline?" + +"Because we expected her to--" He saw that the answer would involve him +in difficulties, and, waving his hand, continued, "So I am confident, +and you in your heart agree, that this engagement will not last. Think +of your life at home--think of Irma! And I'll also say think of us; for +you know, Lilia, that we count you more than a relation. I should feel +I was losing my own sister if you did this, and my mother would lose a +daughter." + +She seemed touched at last, for she turned away her face and said, "I +can't break it off now!" + +"Poor Lilia," said he, genuinely moved. "I know it may be painful. But +I have come to rescue you, and, book-worm though I may be, I am not +frightened to stand up to a bully. He's merely an insolent boy. He +thinks he can keep you to your word by threats. He will be different +when he sees he has a man to deal with." + +What follows should be prefaced with some simile--the simile of a +powder-mine, a thunderbolt, an earthquake--for it blew Philip up in the +air and flattened him on the ground and swallowed him up in the depths. +Lilia turned on her gallant defender and said-- + +"For once in my life I'll thank you to leave me alone. I'll thank your +mother too. For twelve years you've trained me and tortured me, and I'll +stand it no more. Do you think I'm a fool? Do you think I never felt? +Ah! when I came to your house a poor young bride, how you all looked me +over--never a kind word--and discussed me, and thought I might just do; +and your mother corrected me, and your sister snubbed me, and you said +funny things about me to show how clever you were! And when Charles died +I was still to run in strings for the honour of your beastly family, +and I was to be cooped up at Sawston and learn to keep house, and all my +chances spoilt of marrying again. No, thank you! No, thank you! 'Bully?' +'Insolent boy?' Who's that, pray, but you? But, thank goodness, I can +stand up against the world now, for I've found Gino, and this time I +marry for love!" + +The coarseness and truth of her attack alike overwhelmed him. But her +supreme insolence found him words, and he too burst forth. + +"Yes! and I forbid you to do it! You despise me, perhaps, and think +I'm feeble. But you're mistaken. You are ungrateful and impertinent and +contemptible, but I will save you in order to save Irma and our name. +There is going to be such a row in this town that you and he'll be sorry +you came to it. I shall shrink from nothing, for my blood is up. It is +unwise of you to laugh. I forbid you to marry Carella, and I shall tell +him so now." + +"Do," she cried. "Tell him so now. Have it out with him. Gino! Gino! +Come in! Avanti! Fra Filippo forbids the banns!" + +Gino appeared so quickly that he must have been listening outside the +door. + +"Fra Filippo's blood's up. He shrinks from nothing. Oh, take care he +doesn't hurt you!" She swayed about in vulgar imitation of Philip's +walk, and then, with a proud glance at the square shoulders of her +betrothed, flounced out of the room. + +Did she intend them to fight? Philip had no intention of doing so; and +no more, it seemed, had Gino, who stood nervously in the middle of the +room with twitching lips and eyes. + +"Please sit down, Signor Carella," said Philip in Italian. "Mrs. +Herriton is rather agitated, but there is no reason we should not be +calm. Might I offer you a cigarette? Please sit down." + +He refused the cigarette and the chair, and remained standing in the +full glare of the lamp. Philip, not averse to such assistance, got his +own face into shadow. + +For a long time he was silent. It might impress Gino, and it also gave +him time to collect himself. He would not this time fall into the error +of blustering, which he had caught so unaccountably from Lilia. He would +make his power felt by restraint. + +Why, when he looked up to begin, was Gino convulsed with silent +laughter? It vanished immediately; but he became nervous, and was even +more pompous than he intended. + +"Signor Carella, I will be frank with you. I have come to prevent you +marrying Mrs. Herriton, because I see you will both be unhappy together. +She is English, you are Italian; she is accustomed to one thing, you to +another. And--pardon me if I say it--she is rich and you are poor." + +"I am not marrying her because she is rich," was the sulky reply. + +"I never suggested that for a moment," said Philip courteously. "You are +honourable, I am sure; but are you wise? And let me remind you that we +want her with us at home. Her little daughter will be motherless, +our home will be broken up. If you grant my request you will earn our +thanks--and you will not be without a reward for your disappointment." + +"Reward--what reward?" He bent over the back of a chair and looked +earnestly at Philip. They were coming to terms pretty quickly. Poor +Lilia! + +Philip said slowly, "What about a thousand lire?" + +His soul went forth into one exclamation, and then he was silent, with +gaping lips. Philip would have given double: he had expected a bargain. + +"You can have them tonight." + +He found words, and said, "It is too late." + +"But why?" + +"Because--" His voice broke. Philip watched his face,--a face without +refinement perhaps, but not without expression,--watched it quiver and +re-form and dissolve from emotion into emotion. There was avarice at one +moment, and insolence, and politeness, and stupidity, and cunning--and +let us hope that sometimes there was love. But gradually one emotion +dominated, the most unexpected of all; for his chest began to heave and +his eyes to wink and his mouth to twitch, and suddenly he stood erect +and roared forth his whole being in one tremendous laugh. + +Philip sprang up, and Gino, who had flung wide his arms to let the +glorious creature go, took him by the shoulders and shook him, and said, +"Because we are married--married--married as soon as I knew you were, +coming. There was no time to tell you. Oh. oh! You have come all the way +for nothing. Oh! And oh, your generosity!" Suddenly he became grave, and +said, "Please pardon me; I am rude. I am no better than a peasant, and +I--" Here he saw Philip's face, and it was too much for him. He gasped +and exploded and crammed his hands into his mouth and spat them out in +another explosion, and gave Philip an aimless push, which toppled him on +to the bed. He uttered a horrified Oh! and then gave up, and bolted away +down the passage, shrieking like a child, to tell the joke to his wife. + +For a time Philip lay on the bed, pretending to himself that he was hurt +grievously. He could scarcely see for temper, and in the passage he ran +against Miss Abbott, who promptly burst into tears. + +"I sleep at the Globo," he told her, "and start for Sawston tomorrow +morning early. He has assaulted me. I could prosecute him. But shall +not." + +"I can't stop here," she sobbed. "I daren't stop here. You will have to +take me with you!" + + + +Chapter 3 + +Opposite the Volterra gate of Monteriano, outside the city, is a very +respectable white-washed mud wall, with a coping of red crinkled tiles +to keep it from dissolution. It would suggest a gentleman's garden if +there was not in its middle a large hole, which grows larger with every +rain-storm. Through the hole is visible, firstly, the iron gate that is +intended to close it; secondly, a square piece of ground which, though +not quite, mud, is at the same time not exactly grass; and finally, +another wall, stone this time, which has a wooden door in the middle and +two wooden-shuttered windows each side, and apparently forms the facade +of a one-storey house. + +This house is bigger than it looks, for it slides for two storeys down +the hill behind, and the wooden door, which is always locked, really +leads into the attic. The knowing person prefers to follow the +precipitous mule-track round the turn of the mud wall till he can take +the edifice in the rear. Then--being now on a level with the cellars--he +lifts up his head and shouts. If his voice sounds like something +light--a letter, for example, or some vegetables, or a bunch of +flowers--a basket is let out of the first-floor windows by a string, +into which he puts his burdens and departs. But if he sounds like +something heavy, such as a log of wood, or a piece of meat, or a +visitor, he is interrogated, and then bidden or forbidden to ascend. +The ground floor and the upper floor of that battered house are alike +deserted, and the inmates keep the central portion, just as in a dying +body all life retires to the heart. There is a door at the top of the +first flight of stairs, and if the visitor is admitted he will find a +welcome which is not necessarily cold. There are several rooms, some +dark and mostly stuffy--a reception-room adorned with horsehair chairs, +wool-work stools, and a stove that is never lit--German bad taste +without German domesticity broods over that room; also a living-room, +which insensibly glides into a bedroom when the refining influence of +hospitality is absent, and real bedrooms; and last, but not least, the +loggia, where you can live day and night if you feel inclined, drinking +vermouth and smoking cigarettes, with leagues of olive-trees and +vineyards and blue-green hills to watch you. + +It was in this house that the brief and inevitable tragedy of Lilia's +married life took place. She made Gino buy it for her, because it was +there she had first seen him sitting on the mud wall that faced the +Volterra gate. She remembered how the evening sun had struck his hair, +and how he had smiled down at her, and being both sentimental and +unrefined, was determined to have the man and the place together. Things +in Italy are cheap for an Italian, and, though he would have preferred +a house in the piazza, or better still a house at Siena, or, bliss above +bliss, a house at Leghorn, he did as she asked, thinking that perhaps +she showed her good taste in preferring so retired an abode. + +The house was far too big for them, and there was a general concourse of +his relatives to fill it up. His father wished to make it a patriarchal +concern, where all the family should have their rooms and meet together +for meals, and was perfectly willing to give up the new practice at +Poggibonsi and preside. Gino was quite willing too, for he was an +affectionate youth who liked a large home-circle, and he told it as +a pleasant bit of news to Lilia, who did not attempt to conceal her +horror. + +At once he was horrified too; saw that the idea was monstrous; abused +himself to her for having suggested it; rushed off to tell his father +that it was impossible. His father complained that prosperity was +already corrupting him and making him unsympathetic and hard; his mother +cried; his sisters accused him of blocking their social advance. He +was apologetic, and even cringing, until they turned on Lilia. Then +he turned on them, saying that they could not understand, much less +associate with, the English lady who was his wife; that there should be +one master in that house--himself. + +Lilia praised and petted him on his return, calling him brave and a hero +and other endearing epithets. But he was rather blue when his clan left +Monteriano in much dignity--a dignity which was not at all impaired +by the acceptance of a cheque. They took the cheque not to Poggibonsi, +after all, but to Empoli--a lively, dusty town some twenty miles off. +There they settled down in comfort, and the sisters said they had been +driven to it by Gino. + +The cheque was, of course, Lilia's, who was extremely generous, and was +quite willing to know anybody so long as she had not to live with them, +relations-in-law being on her nerves. She liked nothing better than +finding out some obscure and distant connection--there were several of +them--and acting the lady bountiful, leaving behind her bewilderment, +and too often discontent. Gino wondered how it was that all his people, +who had formerly seemed so pleasant, had suddenly become plaintive +and disagreeable. He put it down to his lady wife's magnificence, in +comparison with which all seemed common. Her money flew apace, in +spite of the cheap living. She was even richer than he expected; and he +remembered with shame how he had once regretted his inability to accept +the thousand lire that Philip Herriton offered him in exchange for her. +It would have been a shortsighted bargain. + +Lilia enjoyed settling into the house, with nothing to do except give +orders to smiling workpeople, and a devoted husband as interpreter. She +wrote a jaunty account of her happiness to Mrs. Herriton, and Harriet +answered the letter, saying (1) that all future communications should be +addressed to the solicitors; (2) would Lilia return an inlaid box which +Harriet had lent her--but not given--to keep handkerchiefs and collars +in? + +"Look what I am giving up to live with you!" she said to Gino, never +omitting to lay stress on her condescension. He took her to mean the +inlaid box, and said that she need not give it up at all. + +"Silly fellow, no! I mean the life. Those Herritons are very well +connected. They lead Sawston society. But what do I care, so long as I +have my silly fellow!" She always treated him as a boy, which he was, +and as a fool, which he was not, thinking herself so immeasurably +superior to him that she neglected opportunity after opportunity of +establishing her rule. He was good-looking and indolent; therefore he +must be stupid. He was poor; therefore he would never dare to criticize +his benefactress. He was passionately in love with her; therefore she +could do exactly as she liked. + +"It mayn't be heaven below," she thought, "but it's better than +Charles." + +And all the time the boy was watching her, and growing up. + +She was reminded of Charles by a disagreeable letter from the +solicitors, bidding her disgorge a large sum of money for Irma, in +accordance with her late husband's will. It was just like Charles's +suspicious nature to have provided against a second marriage. Gino was +equally indignant, and between them they composed a stinging reply, +which had no effect. He then said that Irma had better come out and live +with them. "The air is good, so is the food; she will be happy here, and +we shall not have to part with the money." But Lilia had not the courage +even to suggest this to the Herritons, and an unexpected terror seized +her at the thought of Irma or any English child being educated at +Monteriano. + +Gino became terribly depressed over the solicitors' letter, more +depressed than she thought necessary. There was no more to do in the +house, and he spent whole days in the loggia leaning over the parapet or +sitting astride it disconsolately. + +"Oh, you idle boy!" she cried, pinching his muscles. "Go and play +pallone." + +"I am a married man," he answered, without raising his head. "I do not +play games any more." + +"Go and see your friends then." + +"I have no friends now." + +"Silly, silly, silly! You can't stop indoors all day!" + +"I want to see no one but you." He spat on to an olive-tree. + +"Now, Gino, don't be silly. Go and see your friends, and bring them to +see me. We both of us like society." + +He looked puzzled, but allowed himself to be persuaded, went out, found +that he was not as friendless as he supposed, and returned after several +hours in altered spirits. Lilia congratulated herself on her good +management. + +"I'm ready, too, for people now," she said. "I mean to wake you all up, +just as I woke up Sawston. Let's have plenty of men--and make them bring +their womenkind. I mean to have real English tea-parties." + +"There is my aunt and her husband; but I thought you did not want to +receive my relatives." + +"I never said such a--" + +"But you would be right," he said earnestly. "They are not for you. +Many of them are in trade, and even we are little more; you should have +gentlefolk and nobility for your friends." + +"Poor fellow," thought Lilia. "It is sad for him to discover that his +people are vulgar." She began to tell him that she loved him just for +his silly self, and he flushed and began tugging at his moustache. + +"But besides your relatives I must have other people here. Your friends +have wives and sisters, haven't they?" + +"Oh, yes; but of course I scarcely know them." + +"Not know your friends' people?" + +"Why, no. If they are poor and have to work for their living I may see +them--but not otherwise. Except--" He stopped. The chief exception was +a young lady, to whom he had once been introduced for matrimonial +purposes. But the dowry had proved inadequate, and the acquaintance +terminated. + +"How funny! But I mean to change all that. Bring your friends to see me, +and I will make them bring their people." + +He looked at her rather hopelessly. + +"Well, who are the principal people here? Who leads society?" + +The governor of the prison, he supposed, and the officers who assisted +him. + +"Well, are they married?" + +"Yes." + +"There we are. Do you know them?" + +"Yes--in a way." + +"I see," she exclaimed angrily. "They look down on you, do they, poor +boy? Wait!" He assented. "Wait! I'll soon stop that. Now, who else is +there?" + +"The marchese, sometimes, and the canons of the Collegiate Church." + +"Married?" + +"The canons--" he began with twinkling eyes. + +"Oh, I forgot your horrid celibacy. In England they would be the centre +of everything. But why shouldn't I know them? Would it make it easier if +I called all round? Isn't that your foreign way?" + +He did not think it would make it easier. + +"But I must know some one! Who were the men you were talking to this +afternoon?" + +Low-class men. He could scarcely recollect their names. + +"But, Gino dear, if they're low class, why did you talk to them? Don't +you care about your position?" + +All Gino cared about at present was idleness and pocket-money, and his +way of expressing it was to exclaim, "Ouf-pouf! How hot it is in here. +No air; I sweat all over. I expire. I must cool myself, or I shall never +get to sleep." In his funny abrupt way he ran out on to the loggia, +where he lay full length on the parapet, and began to smoke and spit +under the silence of the stars. + +Lilia gathered somehow from this conversation that Continental society +was not the go-as-you-please thing she had expected. Indeed she could +not see where Continental society was. Italy is such a delightful place +to live in if you happen to be a man. There one may enjoy that exquisite +luxury of Socialism--that true Socialism which is based not on equality +of income or character, but on the equality of manners. In the democracy +of the caffe or the street the great question of our life has been +solved, and the brotherhood of man is a reality. But is accomplished at +the expense of the sisterhood of women. Why should you not make friends +with your neighbour at the theatre or in the train, when you know and +he knows that feminine criticism and feminine insight and feminine +prejudice will never come between you? Though you become as David and +Jonathan, you need never enter his home, nor he yours. All your lives +you will meet under the open air, the only roof-tree of the South, under +which he will spit and swear, and you will drop your h's, and nobody +will think the worse of either. + +Meanwhile the women--they have, of course, their house and their church, +with its admirable and frequent services, to which they are escorted by +the maid. Otherwise they do not go out much, for it is not genteel to +walk, and you are too poor to keep a carriage. Occasionally you will +take them to the caffe or theatre, and immediately all your wonted +acquaintance there desert you, except those few who are expecting +and expected to marry into your family. It is all very sad. But one +consolation emerges--life is very pleasant in Italy if you are a man. + +Hitherto Gino had not interfered with Lilia. She was so much older than +he was, and so much richer, that he regarded her as a superior being who +answered to other laws. He was not wholly surprised, for strange rumours +were always blowing over the Alps of lands where men and women had the +same amusements and interests, and he had often met that privileged +maniac, the lady tourist, on her solitary walks. Lilia took solitary +walks too, and only that week a tramp had grabbed at her watch--an +episode which is supposed to be indigenous in Italy, though really less +frequent there than in Bond Street. Now that he knew her better, he +was inevitably losing his awe: no one could live with her and keep it, +especially when she had been so silly as to lose a gold watch and chain. +As he lay thoughtful along the parapet, he realized for the first time +the responsibilities of monied life. He must save her from dangers, +physical and social, for after all she was a woman. "And I," he +reflected, "though I am young, am at all events a man, and know what is +right." + +He found her still in the living-room, combing her hair, for she had +something of the slattern in her nature, and there was no need to keep +up appearances. + +"You must not go out alone," he said gently. "It is not safe. If you +want to walk, Perfetta shall accompany you." Perfetta was a widowed +cousin, too humble for social aspirations, who was living with them as +factotum. + +"Very well," smiled Lilia, "very well"--as if she were addressing a +solicitous kitten. But for all that she never took a solitary walk +again, with one exception, till the day of her death. + +Days passed, and no one called except poor relatives. She began to feel +dull. Didn't he know the Sindaco or the bank manager? Even the landlady +of the Stella d'Italia would be better than no one. She, when she went +into the town, was pleasantly received; but people naturally found a +difficulty in getting on with a lady who could not learn their language. +And the tea-party, under Gino's adroit management, receded ever and ever +before her. + +He had a good deal of anxiety over her welfare, for she did not +settle down in the house at all. But he was comforted by a welcome and +unexpected visitor. As he was going one afternoon for the letters--they +were delivered at the door, but it took longer to get them at the +office--some one humorously threw a cloak over his head, and when he +disengaged himself he saw his very dear friend Spiridione Tesi of the +custom-house at Chiasso, whom he had not met for two years. What joy! +what salutations! so that all the passersby smiled with approval on the +amiable scene. Spiridione's brother was now station-master at Bologna, +and thus he himself could spend his holiday travelling over Italy at the +public expense. Hearing of Gino's marriage, he had come to see him on +his way to Siena, where lived his own uncle, lately monied too. + +"They all do it," he exclaimed, "myself excepted." He was not quite +twenty-three. "But tell me more. She is English. That is good, very +good. An English wife is very good indeed. And she is rich?" + +"Immensely rich." + +"Blonde or dark?" + +"Blonde." + +"Is it possible!" + +"It pleases me very much," said Gino simply. "If you remember, I always +desired a blonde." Three or four men had collected, and were listening. + +"We all desire one," said Spiridione. "But you, Gino, deserve your good +fortune, for you are a good son, a brave man, and a true friend, and +from the very first moment I saw you I wished you well." + +"No compliments, I beg," said Gino, standing with his hands crossed on +his chest and a smile of pleasure on his face. + +Spiridione addressed the other men, none of whom he had ever seen +before. "Is it not true? Does not he deserve this wealthy blonde?" + +"He does deserve her," said all the men. + +It is a marvellous land, where you love it or hate it. + +There were no letters, and of course they sat down at the Caffe +Garibaldi, by the Collegiate Church--quite a good caffe that for so +small a city. There were marble-topped tables, and pillars terra-cotta +below and gold above, and on the ceiling was a fresco of the battle of +Solferino. One could not have desired a prettier room. They had vermouth +and little cakes with sugar on the top, which they chose gravely at +the counter, pinching them first to be sure they were fresh. And though +vermouth is barely alcoholic, Spiridione drenched his with soda-water to +be sure that it should not get into his head. + +They were in high spirits, and elaborate compliments alternated +curiously with gentle horseplay. But soon they put up their legs on a +pair of chairs and began to smoke. + +"Tell me," said Spiridione--"I forgot to ask--is she young?" + +"Thirty-three." + +"Ah, well, we cannot have everything." + +"But you would be surprised. Had she told me twenty-eight, I should not +have disbelieved her." + +"Is she SIMPATICA?" (Nothing will translate that word.) + +Gino dabbed at the sugar and said after a silence, "Sufficiently so." + +"It is a most important thing." + +"She is rich, she is generous, she is affable, she addresses her +inferiors without haughtiness." + +There was another silence. "It is not sufficient," said the other. "One +does not define it thus." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Last month +a German was smuggling cigars. The custom-house was dark. Yet I +refused because I did not like him. The gifts of such men do not bring +happiness. NON ERA SIMPATICO. He paid for every one, and the fine for +deception besides." + +"Do you gain much beyond your pay?" asked Gino, diverted for an instant. + +"I do not accept small sums now. It is not worth the risk. But the +German was another matter. But listen, my Gino, for I am older than +you and more full of experience. The person who understands us at first +sight, who never irritates us, who never bores, to whom we can pour +forth every thought and wish, not only in speech but in silence--that is +what I mean by SIMPATICO." + +"There are such men, I know," said Gino. "And I have heard it said of +children. But where will you find such a woman?" + +"That is true. Here you are wiser than I. SONO POCO SIMPATICHE LE DONNE. +And the time we waste over them is much." He sighed dolefully, as if he +found the nobility of his sex a burden. + +"One I have seen who may be so. She spoke very little, but she was a +young lady--different to most. She, too, was English, the companion of +my wife here. But Fra Filippo, the brother-in-law, took her back with +him. I saw them start. He was very angry." + +Then he spoke of his exciting and secret marriage, and they made fun of +the unfortunate Philip, who had travelled over Europe to stop it. + +"I regret though," said Gino, when they had finished laughing, "that I +toppled him on to the bed. A great tall man! And when I am really amused +I am often impolite." + +"You will never see him again," said Spiridione, who carried plenty of +philosophy about him. "And by now the scene will have passed from his +mind." + +"It sometimes happens that such things are recollected longest. I shall +never see him again, of course; but it is no benefit to me that he +should wish me ill. And even if he has forgotten, I am still sorry that +I toppled him on to the bed." + +So their talk continued, at one moment full of childishness and +tender wisdom, the next moment scandalously gross. The shadows of the +terra-cotta pillars lengthened, and tourists, flying through the Palazzo +Pubblico opposite, could observe how the Italians wasted time. + +The sight of tourists reminded Gino of something he might say. "I +want to consult you since you are so kind as to take an interest in my +affairs. My wife wishes to take solitary walks." + +Spiridione was shocked. + +"But I have forbidden her." + +"Naturally." + +"She does not yet understand. She asked me to accompany her +sometimes--to walk without object! You know, she would like me to be +with her all day." + +"I see. I see." He knitted his brows and tried to think how he could +help his friend. "She needs employment. Is she a Catholic?" + +"No." + +"That is a pity. She must be persuaded. It will be a great solace to her +when she is alone." + +"I am a Catholic, but of course I never go to church." + +"Of course not. Still, you might take her at first. That is what my +brother has done with his wife at Bologna and he has joined the Free +Thinkers. He took her once or twice himself, and now she has acquired +the habit and continues to go without him." + +"Most excellent advice, and I thank you for it. But she wishes to give +tea-parties--men and women together whom she has never seen." + +"Oh, the English! they are always thinking of tea. They carry it by the +kilogramme in their trunks, and they are so clumsy that they always pack +it at the top. But it is absurd!" + +"What am I to do about it?" + +"Do nothing. Or ask me!" + +"Come!" cried Gino, springing up. "She will be quite pleased." + +The dashing young fellow coloured crimson. "Of course I was only +joking." + +"I know. But she wants me to take my friends. Come now! Waiter!" + +"If I do come," cried the other, "and take tea with you, this bill must +be my affair." + +"Certainly not; you are in my country!" + +A long argument ensued, in which the waiter took part, suggesting +various solutions. At last Gino triumphed. The bill came to +eightpence-halfpenny, and a halfpenny for the waiter brought it up +to ninepence. Then there was a shower of gratitude on one side and of +deprecation on the other, and when courtesies were at their height they +suddenly linked arms and swung down the street, tickling each other with +lemonade straws as they went. + +Lilia was delighted to see them, and became more animated than Gino had +known her for a long time. The tea tasted of chopped hay, and they asked +to be allowed to drink it out of a wine-glass, and refused milk; but, as +she repeatedly observed, this was something like. Spiridione's manners +were very agreeable. He kissed her hand on introduction, and as his +profession had taught him a little English, conversation did not flag. + +"Do you like music?" she asked. + +"Passionately," he replied. "I have not studied scientific music, but +the music of the heart, yes." + +So she played on the humming piano very badly, and he sang, not so +badly. Gino got out a guitar and sang too, sitting out on the loggia. It +was a most agreeable visit. + +Gino said he would just walk his friend back to his lodgings. As they +went he said, without the least trace of malice or satire in his voice, +"I think you are quite right. I shall not bring people to the house any +more. I do not see why an English wife should be treated differently. +This is Italy." + +"You are very wise," exclaimed the other; "very wise indeed. The more +precious a possession the more carefully it should be guarded." + +They had reached the lodging, but went on as far as the Caffe Garibaldi, +where they spent a long and most delightful evening. + + + +Chapter 4 + +The advance of regret can be so gradual that it is impossible to say +"yesterday I was happy, today I am not." At no one moment did Lilia +realize that her marriage was a failure; yet during the summer and +autumn she became as unhappy as it was possible for her nature to be. +She had no unkind treatment, and few unkind words, from her husband. +He simply left her alone. In the morning he went out to do "business," +which, as far as she could discover, meant sitting in the Farmacia. He +usually returned to lunch, after which he retired to another room and +slept. In the evening he grew vigorous again, and took the air on +the ramparts, often having his dinner out, and seldom returning till +midnight or later. There were, of course, the times when he was away +altogether--at Empoli, Siena, Florence, Bologna--for he delighted in +travel, and seemed to pick up friends all over the country. Lilia often +heard what a favorite he was. + +She began to see that she must assert herself, but she could not see +how. Her self-confidence, which had overthrown Philip, had gradually +oozed away. If she left the strange house there was the strange little +town. If she were to disobey her husband and walk in the country, that +would be stranger still--vast slopes of olives and vineyards, with +chalk-white farms, and in the distance other slopes, with more olives +and more farms, and more little towns outlined against the cloudless +sky. "I don't call this country," she would say. "Why, it's not as wild +as Sawston Park!" And, indeed, there was scarcely a touch of wildness +in it--some of those slopes had been under cultivation for two thousand +years. But it was terrible and mysterious all the same, and its +continued presence made Lilia so uncomfortable that she forgot her +nature and began to reflect. + +She reflected chiefly about her marriage. The ceremony had been hasty +and expensive, and the rites, whatever they were, were not those of the +Church of England. Lilia had no religion in her; but for hours at a +time she would be seized with a vulgar fear that she was not "married +properly," and that her social position in the next world might be as +obscure as it was in this. It might be safer to do the thing thoroughly, +and one day she took the advice of Spiridione and joined the Roman +Catholic Church, or as she called it, "Santa Deodata's." Gino approved; +he, too, thought it safer, and it was fun confessing, though the priest +was a stupid old man, and the whole thing was a good slap in the face +for the people at home. + +The people at home took the slap very soberly; indeed, there were few +left for her to give it to. The Herritons were out of the question; +they would not even let her write to Irma, though Irma was occasionally +allowed to write to her. Mrs. Theobald was rapidly subsiding into +dotage, and, as far as she could be definite about anything, had +definitely sided with the Herritons. And Miss Abbott did likewise. Night +after night did Lilia curse this false friend, who had agreed with her +that the marriage would "do," and that the Herritons would come round to +it, and then, at the first hint of opposition, had fled back to England +shrieking and distraught. Miss Abbott headed the long list of those who +should never be written to, and who should never be forgiven. Almost +the only person who was not on that list was Mr. Kingcroft, who had +unexpectedly sent an affectionate and inquiring letter. He was quite +sure never to cross the Channel, and Lilia drew freely on her fancy in +the reply. + +At first she had seen a few English people, for Monteriano was not the +end of the earth. One or two inquisitive ladies, who had heard at home +of her quarrel with the Herritons, came to call. She was very sprightly, +and they thought her quite unconventional, and Gino a charming boy, so +all that was to the good. But by May the season, such as it was, had +finished, and there would be no one till next spring. As Mrs. Herriton +had often observed, Lilia had no resources. She did not like music, or +reading, or work. Her one qualification for life was rather blowsy +high spirits, which turned querulous or boisterous according to +circumstances. She was not obedient, but she was cowardly, and in the +most gentle way, which Mrs. Herriton might have envied, Gino made her do +what he wanted. At first it had been rather fun to let him get the upper +hand. But it was galling to discover that he could not do otherwise. He +had a good strong will when he chose to use it, and would not have had +the least scruple in using bolts and locks to put it into effect. There +was plenty of brutality deep down in him, and one day Lilia nearly +touched it. + +It was the old question of going out alone. + +"I always do it in England." + +"This is Italy." + +"Yes, but I'm older than you, and I'll settle." + +"I am your husband," he said, smiling. They had finished their mid-day +meal, and he wanted to go and sleep. Nothing would rouse him up, until +at last Lilia, getting more and more angry, said, "And I've got the +money." + +He looked horrified. + +Now was the moment to assert herself. She made the statement again. He +got up from his chair. + +"And you'd better mend your manners," she continued, "for you'd find it +awkward if I stopped drawing cheques." + +She was no reader of character, but she quickly became alarmed. As she +said to Perfetta afterwards, "None of his clothes seemed to fit--too +big in one place, too small in another." His figure rather than his face +altered, the shoulders falling forward till his coat wrinkled across the +back and pulled away from his wrists. He seemed all arms. He edged round +the table to where she was sitting, and she sprang away and held the +chair between them, too frightened to speak or to move. He looked at her +with round, expressionless eyes, and slowly stretched out his left hand. + +Perfetta was heard coming up from the kitchen. It seemed to wake him up, +and he turned away and went to his room without a word. + +"What has happened?" cried Lilia, nearly fainting. "He is ill--ill." + +Perfetta looked suspicious when she heard the account. "What did you say +to him?" She crossed herself. + +"Hardly anything," said Lilia and crossed herself also. Thus did the two +women pay homage to their outraged male. + +It was clear to Lilia at last that Gino had married her for money. But +he had frightened her too much to leave any place for contempt. His +return was terrifying, for he was frightened too, imploring her pardon, +lying at her feet, embracing her, murmuring "It was not I," striving to +define things which he did not understand. He stopped in the house +for three days, positively ill with physical collapse. But for all his +suffering he had tamed her, and she never threatened to cut off supplies +again. + +Perhaps he kept her even closer than convention demanded. But he was +very young, and he could not bear it to be said of him that he did +not know how to treat a lady--or to manage a wife. And his own social +position was uncertain. Even in England a dentist is a troublesome +creature, whom careful people find difficult to class. He hovers between +the professions and the trades; he may be only a little lower than the +doctors, or he may be down among the chemists, or even beneath them. The +son of the Italian dentist felt this too. For himself nothing mattered; +he made friends with the people he liked, for he was that glorious +invariable creature, a man. But his wife should visit nowhere rather +than visit wrongly: seclusion was both decent and safe. The social +ideals of North and South had had their brief contention, and this time +the South had won. + +It would have been well if he had been as strict over his own behaviour +as he was over hers. But the incongruity never occurred to him for +a moment. His morality was that of the average Latin, and as he was +suddenly placed in the position of a gentleman, he did not see why he +should not behave as such. Of course, had Lilia been different--had +she asserted herself and got a grip on his character--he might +possibly--though not probably--have been made a better husband as well +as a better man, and at all events he could have adopted the attitude of +the Englishman, whose standard is higher even when his practice is the +same. But had Lilia been different she might not have married him. + +The discovery of his infidelity--which she made by accident--destroyed +such remnants of self-satisfaction as her life might yet possess. She +broke down utterly and sobbed and cried in Perfetta's arms. Perfetta was +kind and even sympathetic, but cautioned her on no account to speak to +Gino, who would be furious if he was suspected. And Lilia agreed, partly +because she was afraid of him, partly because it was, after all, the +best and most dignified thing to do. She had given up everything for +him--her daughter, her relatives, her friends, all the little comforts +and luxuries of a civilized life--and even if she had the courage to +break away, there was no one who would receive her now. The Herritons +had been almost malignant in their efforts against her, and all her +friends had one by one fallen off. So it was better to live on humbly, +trying not to feel, endeavouring by a cheerful demeanour to put things +right. "Perhaps," she thought, "if I have a child he will be different. +I know he wants a son." + +Lilia had achieved pathos despite herself, for there are some situations +in which vulgarity counts no longer. Not Cordelia nor Imogen more +deserves our tears. + +She herself cried frequently, making herself look plain and old, which +distressed her husband. He was particularly kind to her when he hardly +ever saw her, and she accepted his kindness without resentment, even +with gratitude, so docile had she become. She did not hate him, even as +she had never loved him; with her it was only when she was excited that +the semblance of either passion arose. People said she was headstrong, +but really her weak brain left her cold. + +Suffering, however, is more independent of temperament, and the wisest +of women could hardly have suffered more. + +As for Gino, he was quite as boyish as ever, and carried his iniquities +like a feather. A favourite speech of his was, "Ah, one ought to marry! +Spiridione is wrong; I must persuade him. Not till marriage does one +realize the pleasures and the possibilities of life." So saying, he +would take down his felt hat, strike it in the right place as infallibly +as a German strikes his in the wrong place, and leave her. + +One evening, when he had gone out thus, Lilia could stand it no longer. +It was September. Sawston would be just filling up after the summer +holidays. People would be running in and out of each other's houses +all along the road. There were bicycle gymkhanas, and on the 30th Mrs. +Herriton would be holding the annual bazaar in her garden for the C.M.S. +It seemed impossible that such a free, happy life could exist. She +walked out on to the loggia. Moonlight and stars in a soft purple sky. +The walls of Monteriano should be glorious on such a night as this. But +the house faced away from them. + +Perfetta was banging in the kitchen, and the stairs down led past the +kitchen door. But the stairs up to the attic--the stairs no one ever +used--opened out of the living-room, and by unlocking the door at the +top one might slip out to the square terrace above the house, and thus +for ten minutes walk in freedom and peace. + +The key was in the pocket of Gino's best suit--the English check--which +he never wore. The stairs creaked and the key-hole screamed; but +Perfetta was growing deaf. The walls were beautiful, but as they faced +west they were in shadow. To see the light upon them she must walk round +the town a little, till they were caught by the beams of the rising +moon. She looked anxiously at the house, and started. + +It was easy walking, for a little path ran all outside the ramparts. +The few people she met wished her a civil good-night, taking her, in her +hatless condition, for a peasant. The walls trended round towards the +moon; and presently she came into its light, and saw all the rough +towers turn into pillars of silver and black, and the ramparts +into cliffs of pearl. She had no great sense of beauty, but she was +sentimental, and she began to cry; for here, where a great cypress +interrupted the monotony of the girdle of olives, she had sat with Gino +one afternoon in March, her head upon his shoulder, while Caroline was +looking at the view and sketching. Round the corner was the Siena gate, +from which the road to England started, and she could hear the rumble of +the diligence which was going down to catch the night train to Empoli. +The next moment it was upon her, for the highroad came towards her a +little before it began its long zigzag down the hill. + +The driver slackened, and called to her to get in. He did not know who +she was. He hoped she might be coming to the station. + +"Non vengo!" she cried. + +He wished her good-night, and turned his horses down the corner. As the +diligence came round she saw that it was empty. + +"Vengo..." + +Her voice was tremulous, and did not carry. The horses swung off. + +"Vengo! Vengo!" + +He had begun to sing, and heard nothing. She ran down the road screaming +to him to stop--that she was coming; while the distance grew greater +and the noise of the diligence increased. The man's back was black and +square against the moon, and if he would but turn for an instant she +would be saved. She tried to cut off the corner of the zigzag, stumbling +over the great clods of earth, large and hard as rocks, which lay +between the eternal olives. She was too late; for, just before she +regained the road, the thing swept past her, thunderous, ploughing up +choking clouds of moonlit dust. + +She did not call any more, for she felt very ill, and fainted; and when +she revived she was lying in the road, with dust in her eyes, and dust +in her mouth, and dust down her ears. There is something very terrible +in dust at night-time. + +"What shall I do?" she moaned. "He will be so angry." + +And without further effort she slowly climbed back to captivity, shaking +her garments as she went. + +Ill luck pursued her to the end. It was one of the nights when Gino +happened to come in. He was in the kitchen, swearing and smashing +plates, while Perfetta, her apron over her head, was weeping violently. +At the sight of Lilia he turned upon her and poured forth a flood of +miscellaneous abuse. He was far more angry but much less alarming than +he had been that day when he edged after her round the table. And Lilia +gained more courage from her bad conscience than she ever had from her +good one, for as he spoke she was seized with indignation and feared him +no longer, and saw him for a cruel, worthless, hypocritical, dissolute +upstart, and spoke in return. + +Perfetta screamed for she told him everything--all she knew and all +she thought. He stood with open mouth, all the anger gone out of +him, feeling ashamed, and an utter fool. He was fairly and rightfully +cornered. When had a husband so given himself away before? She finished; +and he was dumb, for she had spoken truly. Then, alas! the absurdity of +his own position grew upon him, and he laughed--as he would have laughed +at the same situation on the stage. + +"You laugh?" stammered Lilia. + +"Ah!" he cried, "who could help it? I, who thought you knew and saw +nothing--I am tricked--I am conquered. I give in. Let us talk of it no +more." + +He touched her on the shoulder like a good comrade, half amused and half +penitent, and then, murmuring and smiling to himself, ran quietly out of +the room. + +Perfetta burst into congratulations. "What courage you have!" she cried; +"and what good fortune! He is angry no longer! He has forgiven you!" + +Neither Perfetta, nor Gino, nor Lilia herself knew the true reason of +all the misery that followed. To the end he thought that kindness and a +little attention would be enough to set things straight. His wife was +a very ordinary woman, and why should her ideas differ from his own? +No one realized that more than personalities were engaged; that the +struggle was national; that generations of ancestors, good, bad, or +indifferent, forbad the Latin man to be chivalrous to the northern +woman, the northern woman to forgive the Latin man. All this might have +been foreseen: Mrs. Herriton foresaw it from the first. + +Meanwhile Lilia prided herself on her high personal standard, and Gino +simply wondered why she did not come round. He hated discomfort and +yearned for sympathy, but shrank from mentioning his difficulties in the +town in case they were put down to his own incompetence. Spiridione was +told, and replied in a philosophical but not very helpful letter. His +other great friend, whom he trusted more, was still serving in Eritrea +or some other desolate outpost. And, besides, what was the good of +letters? Friends cannot travel through the post. + +Lilia, so similar to her husband in many ways, yearned for comfort and +sympathy too. The night he laughed at her she wildly took up paper and +pen and wrote page after page, analysing his character, enumerating his +iniquities, reporting whole conversations, tracing all the causes and +the growth of her misery. She was beside herself with passion, +and though she could hardly think or see, she suddenly attained to +magnificence and pathos which a practised stylist might have envied. It +was written like a diary, and not till its conclusion did she realize +for whom it was meant. + +"Irma, darling Irma, this letter is for you. I almost forgot I have a +daughter. It will make you unhappy, but I want you to know everything, +and you cannot learn things too soon. God bless you, my dearest, and +save you. God bless your miserable mother." + +Fortunately Mrs. Herriton was in when the letter arrived. She seized +it and opened it in her bedroom. Another moment, and Irma's placid +childhood would have been destroyed for ever. + +Lilia received a brief note from Harriet, again forbidding direct +communication between mother and daughter, and concluding with formal +condolences. It nearly drove her mad. + +"Gently! gently!" said her husband. They were sitting together on the +loggia when the letter arrived. He often sat with her now, watching her +for hours, puzzled and anxious, but not contrite. + +"It's nothing." She went in and tore it up, and then began to write--a +very short letter, whose gist was "Come and save me." + +It is not good to see your wife crying when she writes--especially if +you are conscious that, on the whole, your treatment of her has been +reasonable and kind. It is not good, when you accidentally look over her +shoulder, to see that she is writing to a man. Nor should she shake her +fist at you when she leaves the room, under the impression that you are +engaged in lighting a cigar and cannot see her. + +Lilia went to the post herself. But in Italy so many things can be +arranged. The postman was a friend of Gino's, and Mr. Kingcroft never +got his letter. + +So she gave up hope, became ill, and all through the autumn lay in bed. +Gino was distracted. She knew why; he wanted a son. He could talk and +think of nothing else. His one desire was to become the father of a man +like himself, and it held him with a grip he only partially understood, +for it was the first great desire, the first great passion of his life. +Falling in love was a mere physical triviality, like warm sun or cool +water, beside this divine hope of immortality: "I continue." He gave +candles to Santa Deodata, for he was always religious at a crisis, and +sometimes he went to her himself and prayed the crude uncouth demands of +the simple. Impetuously he summoned all his relatives back to bear him +company in his time of need, and Lilia saw strange faces flitting past +her in the darkened room. + +"My love!" he would say, "my dearest Lilia! Be calm. I have never loved +any one but you." + +She, knowing everything, would only smile gently, too broken by +suffering to make sarcastic repartees. + +Before the child was born he gave her a kiss, and said, "I have prayed +all night for a boy." + +Some strangely tender impulse moved her, and she said faintly, "You are +a boy yourself, Gino." + +He answered, "Then we shall be brothers." + +He lay outside the room with his head against the door like a dog. When +they came to tell him the glad news they found him half unconscious, and +his face was wet with tears. + +As for Lilia, some one said to her, "It is a beautiful boy!" But she had +died in giving birth to him. + + + +Chapter 5 + +At the time of Lilia's death Philip Herriton was just twenty-four years +of age--indeed the news reached Sawston on his birthday. He was a tall, +weakly-built young man, whose clothes had to be judiciously padded +on the shoulders in order to make him pass muster. His face was plain +rather than not, and there was a curious mixture in it of good and bad. +He had a fine forehead and a good large nose, and both observation +and sympathy were in his eyes. But below the nose and eyes all was +confusion, and those people who believe that destiny resides in the +mouth and chin shook their heads when they looked at him. + +Philip himself, as a boy, had been keenly conscious of these defects. +Sometimes when he had been bullied or hustled about at school he would +retire to his cubicle and examine his features in a looking-glass, and +he would sigh and say, "It is a weak face. I shall never carve a place +for myself in the world." But as years went on he became either less +self-conscious or more self-satisfied. The world, he found, made a +niche for him as it did for every one. Decision of character might come +later--or he might have it without knowing. At all events he had got +a sense of beauty and a sense of humour, two most desirable gifts. The +sense of beauty developed first. It caused him at the age of twenty to +wear parti-coloured ties and a squashy hat, to be late for dinner on +account of the sunset, and to catch art from Burne-Jones to Praxiteles. +At twenty-two he went to Italy with some cousins, and there he absorbed +into one aesthetic whole olive-trees, blue sky, frescoes, country inns, +saints, peasants, mosaics, statues, beggars. He came back with the air +of a prophet who would either remodel Sawston or reject it. All the +energies and enthusiasms of a rather friendless life had passed into the +championship of beauty. + +In a short time it was over. Nothing had happened either in Sawston or +within himself. He had shocked half-a-dozen people, squabbled with his +sister, and bickered with his mother. He concluded that nothing could +happen, not knowing that human love and love of truth sometimes conquer +where love of beauty fails. + +A little disenchanted, a little tired, but aesthetically intact, he +resumed his placid life, relying more and more on his second gift, the +gift of humour. If he could not reform the world, he could at all +events laugh at it, thus attaining at least an intellectual superiority. +Laughter, he read and believed, was a sign of good moral health, and he +laughed on contentedly, till Lilia's marriage toppled contentment down +for ever. Italy, the land of beauty, was ruined for him. She had no +power to change men and things who dwelt in her. She, too, could produce +avarice, brutality, stupidity--and, what was worse, vulgarity. It was on +her soil and through her influence that a silly woman had married a cad. +He hated Gino, the betrayer of his life's ideal, and now that the sordid +tragedy had come, it filled him with pangs, not of sympathy, but of +final disillusion. + +The disillusion was convenient for Mrs. Herriton, who saw a trying +little period ahead of her, and was glad to have her family united. + +"Are we to go into mourning, do you think?" She always asked her +children's advice where possible. + +Harriet thought that they should. She had been detestable to Lilia +while she lived, but she always felt that the dead deserve attention +and sympathy. "After all she has suffered. That letter kept me awake for +nights. The whole thing is like one of those horrible modern plays where +no one is in 'the right.' But if we have mourning, it will mean telling +Irma." + +"Of course we must tell Irma!" said Philip. + +"Of course," said his mother. "But I think we can still not tell her +about Lilia's marriage." + +"I don't think that. And she must have suspected something by now." + +"So one would have supposed. But she never cared for her mother, and +little girls of nine don't reason clearly. She looks on it as a long +visit. And it is important, most important, that she should not receive +a shock. All a child's life depends on the ideal it has of its parents. +Destroy that and everything goes--morals, behaviour, everything. +Absolute trust in some one else is the essence of education. That is why +I have been so careful about talking of poor Lilia before her." + +"But you forget this wretched baby. Waters and Adamson write that there +is a baby." + +"Mrs. Theobald must be told. But she doesn't count. She is breaking +up very quickly. She doesn't even see Mr. Kingcroft now. He, thank +goodness, I hear, has at last consoled himself with someone else." + +"The child must know some time," persisted Philip, who felt a little +displeased, though he could not tell with what. + +"The later the better. Every moment she is developing." + +"I must say it seems rather hard luck, doesn't it?" + +"On Irma? Why?" + +"On us, perhaps. We have morals and behaviour also, and I don't think +this continual secrecy improves them." + +"There's no need to twist the thing round to that," said Harriet, rather +disturbed. + +"Of course there isn't," said her mother. "Let's keep to the main issue. +This baby's quite beside the point. Mrs. Theobald will do nothing, and +it's no concern of ours." + +"It will make a difference in the money, surely," said he. + +"No, dear; very little. Poor Charles provided for every kind of +contingency in his will. The money will come to you and Harriet, as +Irma's guardians." + +"Good. Does the Italian get anything?" + +"He will get all hers. But you know what that is." + +"Good. So those are our tactics--to tell no one about the baby, not even +Miss Abbott." + +"Most certainly this is the proper course," said Mrs. Herriton, +preferring "course" to "tactics" for Harriet's sake. "And why ever +should we tell Caroline?" + +"She was so mixed up in the affair." + +"Poor silly creature. The less she hears about it the better she will be +pleased. I have come to be very sorry for Caroline. She, if any one, +has suffered and been penitent. She burst into tears when I told her a +little, only a little, of that terrible letter. I never saw such genuine +remorse. We must forgive her and forget. Let the dead bury their dead. +We will not trouble her with them." + +Philip saw that his mother was scarcely logical. But there was no +advantage in saying so. "Here beginneth the New Life, then. Do you +remember, mother, that was what we said when we saw Lilia off?" + +"Yes, dear; but now it is really a New Life, because we are all at +accord. Then you were still infatuated with Italy. It may be full +of beautiful pictures and churches, but we cannot judge a country by +anything but its men." + +"That is quite true," he said sadly. And as the tactics were now +settled, he went out and took an aimless and solitary walk. + +By the time he came back two important things had happened. Irma had +been told of her mother's death, and Miss Abbott, who had called for a +subscription, had been told also. + +Irma had wept loudly, had asked a few sensible questions and a good many +silly ones, and had been content with evasive answers. Fortunately the +school prize-giving was at hand, and that, together with the prospect of +new black clothes, kept her from meditating on the fact that Lilia, who +had been absent so long, would now be absent for ever. + +"As for Caroline," said Mrs. Herriton, "I was almost frightened. She +broke down utterly. She cried even when she left the house. I comforted +her as best I could, and I kissed her. It is something that the breach +between her and ourselves is now entirely healed." + +"Did she ask no questions--as to the nature of Lilia's death, I mean?" + +"She did. But she has a mind of extraordinary delicacy. She saw that I +was reticent, and she did not press me. You see, Philip, I can say to +you what I could not say before Harriet. Her ideas are so crude. Really +we do not want it known in Sawston that there is a baby. All peace and +comfort would be lost if people came inquiring after it." + +His mother knew how to manage him. He agreed enthusiastically. And a few +days later, when he chanced to travel up to London with Miss Abbott, +he had all the time the pleasant thrill of one who is better informed. +Their last journey together had been from Monteriano back across +Europe. It had been a ghastly journey, and Philip, from the force of +association, rather expected something ghastly now. + +He was surprised. Miss Abbott, between Sawston and Charing Cross, +revealed qualities which he had never guessed her to possess. Without +being exactly original, she did show a commendable intelligence, and +though at times she was gauche and even uncourtly, he felt that here was +a person whom it might be well to cultivate. + +At first she annoyed him. They were talking, of course, about Lilia, +when she broke the thread of vague commiseration and said abruptly, "It +is all so strange as well as so tragic. And what I did was as strange as +anything." + +It was the first reference she had ever made to her contemptible +behaviour. "Never mind," he said. "It's all over now. Let the dead bury +their dead. It's fallen out of our lives." + +"But that's why I can talk about it and tell you everything I have +always wanted to. You thought me stupid and sentimental and wicked and +mad, but you never really knew how much I was to blame." + +"Indeed I never think about it now," said Philip gently. He knew that +her nature was in the main generous and upright: it was unnecessary for +her to reveal her thoughts. + +"The first evening we got to Monteriano," she persisted, "Lilia went out +for a walk alone, saw that Italian in a picturesque position on a wall, +and fell in love. He was shabbily dressed, and she did not even know +he was the son of a dentist. I must tell you I was used to this sort +of thing. Once or twice before I had had to send people about their +business." + +"Yes; we counted on you," said Philip, with sudden sharpness. After all, +if she would reveal her thoughts, she must take the consequences. + +"I know you did," she retorted with equal sharpness. "Lilia saw him +several times again, and I knew I ought to interfere. I called her to +my bedroom one night. She was very frightened, for she knew what it was +about and how severe I could be. 'Do you love this man?' I asked. 'Yes +or no?' She said 'Yes.' And I said, 'Why don't you marry him if you +think you'll be happy?'" + +"Really--really," exploded Philip, as exasperated as if the thing had +happened yesterday. "You knew Lilia all your life. Apart from everything +else--as if she could choose what could make her happy!" + +"Had you ever let her choose?" she flashed out. "I'm afraid that's +rude," she added, trying to calm herself. + +"Let us rather say unhappily expressed," said Philip, who always adopted +a dry satirical manner when he was puzzled. + +"I want to finish. Next morning I found Signor Carella and said the same +to him. He--well, he was willing. That's all." + +"And the telegram?" He looked scornfully out of the window. + +Hitherto her voice had been hard, possibly in self-accusation, possibly +in defiance. Now it became unmistakably sad. "Ah, the telegram! That was +wrong. Lilia there was more cowardly than I was. We should have told the +truth. It lost me my nerve, at all events. I came to the station meaning +to tell you everything then. But we had started with a lie, and I got +frightened. And at the end, when you left, I got frightened again and +came with you." + +"Did you really mean to stop?" + +"For a time, at all events." + +"Would that have suited a newly married pair?" + +"It would have suited them. Lilia needed me. And as for him--I can't +help feeling I might have got influence over him." + +"I am ignorant of these matters," said Philip; "but I should have +thought that would have increased the difficulty of the situation." + +The crisp remark was wasted on her. She looked hopelessly at the raw +over-built country, and said, "Well, I have explained." + +"But pardon me, Miss Abbott; of most of your conduct you have given a +description rather than an explanation." + +He had fairly caught her, and expected that she would gape and collapse. +To his surprise she answered with some spirit, "An explanation may bore +you, Mr. Herriton: it drags in other topics." + +"Oh, never mind." + +"I hated Sawston, you see." + +He was delighted. "So did and do I. That's splendid. Go on." + +"I hated the idleness, the stupidity, the respectability, the petty +unselfishness." + +"Petty selfishness," he corrected. Sawston psychology had long been his +specialty. + +"Petty unselfishness," she repeated. "I had got an idea that every one +here spent their lives in making little sacrifices for objects they +didn't care for, to please people they didn't love; that they never +learnt to be sincere--and, what's as bad, never learnt how to enjoy +themselves. That's what I thought--what I thought at Monteriano." + +"Why, Miss Abbott," he cried, "you should have told me this before! +Think it still! I agree with lots of it. Magnificent!" + +"Now Lilia," she went on, "though there were things about her I didn't +like, had somehow kept the power of enjoying herself with sincerity. And +Gino, I thought, was splendid, and young, and strong not only in body, +and sincere as the day. If they wanted to marry, why shouldn't they do +so? Why shouldn't she break with the deadening life where she had got +into a groove, and would go on in it, getting more and more--worse +than unhappy--apathetic till she died? Of course I was wrong. She only +changed one groove for another--a worse groove. And as for him--well, +you know more about him than I do. I can never trust myself to judge +characters again. But I still feel he cannot have been quite bad when +we first met him. Lilia--that I should dare to say it!--must have been +cowardly. He was only a boy--just going to turn into something fine, +I thought--and she must have mismanaged him. So that is the one time I +have gone against what is proper, and there are the results. You have an +explanation now." + +"And much of it has been most interesting, though I don't understand +everything. Did you never think of the disparity of their social +position?" + +"We were mad--drunk with rebellion. We had no common-sense. As soon as +you came, you saw and foresaw everything." + +"Oh, I don't think that." He was vaguely displeased at being credited +with common-sense. For a moment Miss Abbott had seemed to him more +unconventional than himself. + +"I hope you see," she concluded, "why I have troubled you with this long +story. Women--I heard you say the other day--are never at ease till they +tell their faults out loud. Lilia is dead and her husband gone to +the bad--all through me. You see, Mr. Herriton, it makes me specially +unhappy; it's the only time I've ever gone into what my father calls +'real life'--and look what I've made of it! All that winter I seemed to +be waking up to beauty and splendour and I don't know what; and when the +spring came, I wanted to fight against the things I hated--mediocrity +and dulness and spitefulness and society. I actually hated society for +a day or two at Monteriano. I didn't see that all these things are +invincible, and that if we go against them they will break us to pieces. +Thank you for listening to so much nonsense." + +"Oh, I quite sympathize with what you say," said Philip encouragingly; +"it isn't nonsense, and a year or two ago I should have been saying it +too. But I feel differently now, and I hope that you also will change. +Society is invincible--to a certain degree. But your real life is your +own, and nothing can touch it. There is no power on earth that can +prevent your criticizing and despising mediocrity--nothing that can stop +you retreating into splendour and beauty--into the thoughts and beliefs +that make the real life--the real you." + +"I have never had that experience yet. Surely I and my life must be +where I live." + +Evidently she had the usual feminine incapacity for grasping philosophy. +But she had developed quite a personality, and he must see more of her. +"There is another great consolation against invincible mediocrity," he +said--"the meeting a fellow-victim. I hope that this is only the first +of many discussions that we shall have together." + +She made a suitable reply. The train reached Charing Cross, and they +parted,--he to go to a matinee, she to buy petticoats for the corpulent +poor. Her thoughts wandered as she bought them: the gulf between herself +and Mr. Herriton, which she had always known to be great, now seemed to +her immeasurable. + +These events and conversations took place at Christmas-time. The +New Life initiated by them lasted some seven months. Then a little +incident--a mere little vexatious incident--brought it to its close. + +Irma collected picture post-cards, and Mrs. Herriton or Harriet always +glanced first at all that came, lest the child should get hold of +something vulgar. On this occasion the subject seemed perfectly +inoffensive--a lot of ruined factory chimneys--and Harriet was about to +hand it to her niece when her eye was caught by the words on the margin. +She gave a shriek and flung the card into the grate. Of course no fire +was alight in July, and Irma only had to run and pick it out again. + +"How dare you!" screamed her aunt. "You wicked girl! Give it here!" + +Unfortunately Mrs. Herriton was out of the room. Irma, who was not in +awe of Harriet, danced round the table, reading as she did so, "View of +the superb city of Monteriano--from your lital brother." + +Stupid Harriet caught her, boxed her ears, and tore the post-card into +fragments. Irma howled with pain, and began shouting indignantly, "Who +is my little brother? Why have I never heard of him before? Grandmamma! +Grandmamma! Who is my little brother? Who is my--" + +Mrs. Herriton swept into the room, saying, "Come with me, dear, and I +will tell you. Now it is time for you to know." + +Irma returned from the interview sobbing, though, as a matter of +fact, she had learnt very little. But that little took hold of her +imagination. She had promised secrecy--she knew not why. But what harm +in talking of the little brother to those who had heard of him already? + +"Aunt Harriet!" she would say. "Uncle Phil! Grandmamma! What do you +suppose my little brother is doing now? Has he begun to play? Do Italian +babies talk sooner than us, or would he be an English baby born +abroad? Oh, I do long to see him, and be the first to teach him the Ten +Commandments and the Catechism." + +The last remark always made Harriet look grave. + +"Really," exclaimed Mrs. Herriton, "Irma is getting too tiresome. She +forgot poor Lilia soon enough." + +"A living brother is more to her than a dead mother," said Philip +dreamily. "She can knit him socks." + +"I stopped that. She is bringing him in everywhere. It is most +vexatious. The other night she asked if she might include him in the +people she mentions specially in her prayers." + +"What did you say?" + +"Of course I allowed her," she replied coldly. "She has a right to +mention any one she chooses. But I was annoyed with her this morning, +and I fear that I showed it." + +"And what happened this morning?" + +"She asked if she could pray for her 'new father'--for the Italian!" + +"Did you let her?" + +"I got up without saying anything." + +"You must have felt just as you did when I wanted to pray for the +devil." + +"He is the devil," cried Harriet. + +"No, Harriet; he is too vulgar." + +"I will thank you not to scoff against religion!" was Harriet's retort. +"Think of that poor baby. Irma is right to pray for him. What an +entrance into life for an English child!" + +"My dear sister, I can reassure you. Firstly, the beastly baby is +Italian. Secondly, it was promptly christened at Santa Deodata's, and a +powerful combination of saints watch over--" + +"Don't, dear. And, Harriet, don't be so serious--I mean not so serious +when you are with Irma. She will be worse than ever if she thinks we +have something to hide." + +Harriet's conscience could be quite as tiresome as Philip's +unconventionality. Mrs. Herriton soon made it easy for her daughter to +go for six weeks to the Tirol. Then she and Philip began to grapple with +Irma alone. + +Just as they had got things a little quiet the beastly baby sent another +picture post-card--a comic one, not particularly proper. Irma received +it while they were out, and all the trouble began again. + +"I cannot think," said Mrs. Herriton, "what his motive is in sending +them." + +Two years before, Philip would have said that the motive was to give +pleasure. Now he, like his mother, tried to think of something sinister +and subtle. + +"Do you suppose that he guesses the situation--how anxious we are to +hush the scandal up?" + +"That is quite possible. He knows that Irma will worry us about the +baby. Perhaps he hopes that we shall adopt it to quiet her." + +"Hopeful indeed." + +"At the same time he has the chance of corrupting the child's morals." +She unlocked a drawer, took out the post-card, and regarded it gravely. +"He entreats her to send the baby one," was her next remark. + +"She might do it too!" + +"I told her not to; but we must watch her carefully, without, of course, +appearing to be suspicious." + +Philip was getting to enjoy his mother's diplomacy. He did not think of +his own morals and behaviour any more. + +"Who's to watch her at school, though? She may bubble out any moment." + +"We can but trust to our influence," said Mrs. Herriton. + +Irma did bubble out, that very day. She was proof against a single +post-card, not against two. A new little brother is a valuable +sentimental asset to a school-girl, and her school was then passing +through an acute phase of baby-worship. Happy the girl who had her +quiver full of them, who kissed them when she left home in the morning, +who had the right to extricate them from mail-carts in the interval, who +dangled them at tea ere they retired to rest! That one might sing +the unwritten song of Miriam, blessed above all school-girls, who was +allowed to hide her baby brother in a squashy place, where none but +herself could find him! + +How could Irma keep silent when pretentious girls spoke of baby cousins +and baby visitors--she who had a baby brother, who wrote her post-cards +through his dear papa? She had promised not to tell about him--she knew +not why--and she told. And one girl told another, and one girl told her +mother, and the thing was out. + +"Yes, it is all very sad," Mrs. Herriton kept saying. "My +daughter-in-law made a very unhappy marriage, as I dare say you know. +I suppose that the child will be educated in Italy. Possibly his +grandmother may be doing something, but I have not heard of it. I do not +expect that she will have him over. She disapproves of the father. It is +altogether a painful business for her." + +She was careful only to scold Irma for disobedience--that eighth deadly +sin, so convenient to parents and guardians. Harriet would have plunged +into needless explanations and abuse. The child was ashamed, and talked +about the baby less. The end of the school year was at hand, and she +hoped to get another prize. But she also had put her hand to the wheel. + +It was several days before they saw Miss Abbott. Mrs. Herriton had not +come across her much since the kiss of reconciliation, nor Philip since +the journey to London. She had, indeed, been rather a disappointment to +him. Her creditable display of originality had never been repeated: +he feared she was slipping back. Now she came about the Cottage +Hospital--her life was devoted to dull acts of charity--and though she +got money out of him and out of his mother, she still sat tight in her +chair, looking graver and more wooden than ever. + +"I dare say you have heard," said Mrs. Herriton, well knowing what the +matter was. + +"Yes, I have. I came to ask you; have any steps been taken?" + +Philip was astonished. The question was impertinent in the extreme. He +had a regard for Miss Abbott, and regretted that she had been guilty of +it. + +"About the baby?" asked Mrs. Herriton pleasantly. + +"Yes." + +"As far as I know, no steps. Mrs. Theobald may have decided on +something, but I have not heard of it." + +"I was meaning, had you decided on anything?" + +"The child is no relation of ours," said Philip. "It is therefore +scarcely for us to interfere." + +His mother glanced at him nervously. "Poor Lilia was almost a daughter +to me once. I know what Miss Abbott means. But now things have altered. +Any initiative would naturally come from Mrs. Theobald." + +"But does not Mrs. Theobald always take any initiative from you?" asked +Miss Abbott. + +Mrs. Herriton could not help colouring. "I sometimes have given her +advice in the past. I should not presume to do so now." + +"Then is nothing to be done for the child at all?" + +"It is extraordinarily good of you to take this unexpected interest," +said Philip. + +"The child came into the world through my negligence," replied Miss +Abbott. "It is natural I should take an interest in it." + +"My dear Caroline," said Mrs. Herriton, "you must not brood over the +thing. Let bygones be bygones. The child should worry you even less than +it worries us. We never even mention it. It belongs to another world." + +Miss Abbott got up without replying and turned to go. Her extreme +gravity made Mrs. Herriton uneasy. "Of course," she added, "if Mrs. +Theobald decides on any plan that seems at all practicable--I must say +I don't see any such--I shall ask if I may join her in it, for Irma's +sake, and share in any possible expenses." + +"Please would you let me know if she decides on anything. I should like +to join as well." + +"My dear, how you throw about your money! We would never allow it." + +"And if she decides on nothing, please also let me know. Let me know in +any case." + +Mrs. Herriton made a point of kissing her. + +"Is the young person mad?" burst out Philip as soon as she had departed. +"Never in my life have I seen such colossal impertinence. She ought to +be well smacked, and sent back to Sunday-school." + +His mother said nothing. + +"But don't you see--she is practically threatening us? You can't put +her off with Mrs. Theobald; she knows as well as we do that she is a +nonentity. If we don't do anything she's going to raise a scandal--that +we neglect our relatives, &c., which is, of course, a lie. Still she'll +say it. Oh, dear, sweet, sober Caroline Abbott has a screw loose! We +knew it at Monteriano. I had my suspicions last year one day in the +train; and here it is again. The young person is mad." + +She still said nothing. + +"Shall I go round at once and give it her well? I'd really enjoy it." + +In a low, serious voice--such a voice as she had not used to him for +months--Mrs. Herriton said, "Caroline has been extremely impertinent. +Yet there may be something in what she says after all. Ought the child +to grow up in that place--and with that father?" + +Philip started and shuddered. He saw that his mother was not sincere. +Her insincerity to others had amused him, but it was disheartening when +used against himself. + +"Let us admit frankly," she continued, "that after all we may have +responsibilities." + +"I don't understand you, Mother. You are turning absolutely round. What +are you up to?" + +In one moment an impenetrable barrier had been erected between them. +They were no longer in smiling confidence. Mrs. Herriton was off on +tactics of her own--tactics which might be beyond or beneath him. + +His remark offended her. "Up to? I am wondering whether I ought not to +adopt the child. Is that sufficiently plain?" + +"And this is the result of half-a-dozen idiocies of Miss Abbott?" + +"It is. I repeat, she has been extremely impertinent. None the less +she is showing me my duty. If I can rescue poor Lilia's baby from that +horrible man, who will bring it up either as Papist or infidel--who will +certainly bring it up to be vicious--I shall do it." + +"You talk like Harriet." + +"And why not?" said she, flushing at what she knew to be an insult. +"Say, if you choose, that I talk like Irma. That child has seen the +thing more clearly than any of us. She longs for her little brother. She +shall have him. I don't care if I am impulsive." + +He was sure that she was not impulsive, but did not dare to say so. Her +ability frightened him. All his life he had been her puppet. She let him +worship Italy, and reform Sawston--just as she had let Harriet be Low +Church. She had let him talk as much as he liked. But when she wanted a +thing she always got it. + +And though she was frightening him, she did not inspire him with +reverence. Her life, he saw, was without meaning. To what purpose was +her diplomacy, her insincerity, her continued repression of vigour? Did +they make any one better or happier? Did they even bring happiness to +herself? Harriet with her gloomy peevish creed, Lilia with her clutches +after pleasure, were after all more divine than this well-ordered, +active, useless machine. + +Now that his mother had wounded his vanity he could criticize her thus. +But he could not rebel. To the end of his days he could probably go on +doing what she wanted. He watched with a cold interest the duel between +her and Miss Abbott. Mrs. Herriton's policy only appeared gradually. It +was to prevent Miss Abbott interfering with the child at all costs, and +if possible to prevent her at a small cost. Pride was the only solid +element in her disposition. She could not bear to seem less charitable +than others. + +"I am planning what can be done," she would tell people, "and that kind +Caroline Abbott is helping me. It is no business of either of us, but +we are getting to feel that the baby must not be left entirely to that +horrible man. It would be unfair to little Irma; after all, he is her +half-brother. No, we have come to nothing definite." + +Miss Abbott was equally civil, but not to be appeased by good +intentions. The child's welfare was a sacred duty to her, not a matter +of pride or even of sentiment. By it alone, she felt, could she undo a +little of the evil that she had permitted to come into the world. To her +imagination Monteriano had become a magic city of vice, beneath +whose towers no person could grow up happy or pure. Sawston, with its +semi-detached houses and snobby schools, its book teas and bazaars, was +certainly petty and dull; at times she found it even contemptible. But +it was not a place of sin, and at Sawston, either with the Herritons or +with herself, the baby should grow up. + +As soon as it was inevitable, Mrs. Herriton wrote a letter for Waters +and Adamson to send to Gino--the oddest letter; Philip saw a copy of +it afterwards. Its ostensible purpose was to complain of the picture +postcards. Right at the end, in a few nonchalant sentences, she offered +to adopt the child, provided that Gino would undertake never to come +near it, and would surrender some of Lilia's money for its education. + +"What do you think of it?" she asked her son. "It would not do to let +him know that we are anxious for it." + +"Certainly he will never suppose that." + +"But what effect will the letter have on him?" + +"When he gets it he will do a sum. If it is less expensive in the long +run to part with a little money and to be clear of the baby, he will +part with it. If he would lose, he will adopt the tone of the loving +father." + +"Dear, you're shockingly cynical." After a pause she added, "How would +the sum work out?" + +"I don't know, I'm sure. But if you wanted to ensure the baby being +posted by return, you should have sent a little sum to HIM. Oh, I'm not +cynical--at least I only go by what I know of him. But I am weary of +the whole show. Weary of Italy. Weary, weary, weary. Sawston's a kind, +pitiful place, isn't it? I will go walk in it and seek comfort." + +He smiled as he spoke, for the sake of not appearing serious. When he +had left her she began to smile also. + +It was to the Abbotts' that he walked. Mr. Abbott offered him tea, and +Caroline, who was keeping up her Italian in the next room, came in to +pour it out. He told them that his mother had written to Signor Carella, +and they both uttered fervent wishes for her success. + +"Very fine of Mrs. Herriton, very fine indeed," said Mr. Abbott, +who, like every one else, knew nothing of his daughter's exasperating +behaviour. "I'm afraid it will mean a lot of expense. She will get +nothing out of Italy without paying." + +"There are sure to be incidental expenses," said Philip cautiously. +Then he turned to Miss Abbott and said, "Do you suppose we shall have +difficulty with the man?" + +"It depends," she replied, with equal caution. + +"From what you saw of him, should you conclude that he would make an +affectionate parent?" + +"I don't go by what I saw of him, but by what I know of him." + +"Well, what do you conclude from that?" + +"That he is a thoroughly wicked man." + +"Yet thoroughly wicked men have loved their children. Look at Rodrigo +Borgia, for example." + +"I have also seen examples of that in my district." + +With this remark the admirable young woman rose, and returned to keep +up her Italian. She puzzled Philip extremely. He could understand +enthusiasm, but she did not seem the least enthusiastic. He could +understand pure cussedness, but it did not seem to be that either. +Apparently she was deriving neither amusement nor profit from the +struggle. Why, then, had she undertaken it? Perhaps she was not sincere. +Perhaps, on the whole, that was most likely. She must be professing one +thing and aiming at another. What the other thing could be he did not +stop to consider. Insincerity was becoming his stock explanation for +anything unfamiliar, whether that thing was a kindly action or a high +ideal. + +"She fences well," he said to his mother afterwards. + +"What had you to fence about?" she said suavely. Her son might know her +tactics, but she refused to admit that he knew. She still pretended to +him that the baby was the one thing she wanted, and had always wanted, +and that Miss Abbott was her valued ally. + +And when, next week, the reply came from Italy, she showed him no face +of triumph. "Read the letters," she said. "We have failed." + +Gino wrote in his own language, but the solicitors had sent a laborious +English translation, where "Preghiatissima Signora" was rendered +as "Most Praiseworthy Madam," and every delicate compliment and +superlative--superlatives are delicate in Italian--would have felled an +ox. For a moment Philip forgot the matter in the manner; this grotesque +memorial of the land he had loved moved him almost to tears. He knew +the originals of these lumbering phrases; he also had sent "sincere +auguries"; he also had addressed letters--who writes at home?--from the +Caffe Garibaldi. "I didn't know I was still such an ass," he thought. +"Why can't I realize that it's merely tricks of expression? A bounder's +a bounder, whether he lives in Sawston or Monteriano." + +"Isn't it disheartening?" said his mother. + +He then read that Gino could not accept the generous offer. His paternal +heart would not permit him to abandon this symbol of his deplored +spouse. As for the picture post-cards, it displeased him greatly that +they had been obnoxious. He would send no more. Would Mrs. Herriton, +with her notorious kindness, explain this to Irma, and thank her for +those which Irma (courteous Miss!) had sent to him? + +"The sum works out against us," said Philip. "Or perhaps he is putting +up the price." + +"No," said Mrs. Herriton decidedly. "It is not that. For some perverse +reason he will not part with the child. I must go and tell poor +Caroline. She will be equally distressed." + +She returned from the visit in the most extraordinary condition. Her +face was red, she panted for breath, there were dark circles round her +eyes. + +"The impudence!" she shouted. "The cursed impudence! Oh, I'm swearing. +I don't care. That beastly woman--how dare she interfere--I'll--Philip, +dear, I'm sorry. It's no good. You must go." + +"Go where? Do sit down. What's happened?" This outburst of violence from +his elegant ladylike mother pained him dreadfully. He had not known that +it was in her. + +"She won't accept--won't accept the letter as final. You must go to +Monteriano!" + +"I won't!" he shouted back. "I've been and I've failed. I'll never see +the place again. I hate Italy." + +"If you don't go, she will." + +"Abbott?" + +"Yes. Going alone; would start this evening. I offered to write; she +said it was 'too late!' Too late! The child, if you please--Irma's +brother--to live with her, to be brought up by her and her father at our +very gates, to go to school like a gentleman, she paying. Oh, you're a +man! It doesn't matter for you. You can laugh. But I know what people +say; and that woman goes to Italy this evening." + +He seemed to be inspired. "Then let her go! Let her mess with Italy by +herself. She'll come to grief somehow. Italy's too dangerous, too--" + +"Stop that nonsense, Philip. I will not be disgraced by her. I WILL have +the child. Pay all we've got for it. I will have it." + +"Let her go to Italy!" he cried. "Let her meddle with what she doesn't +understand! Look at this letter! The man who wrote it will marry her, +or murder her, or do for her somehow. He's a bounder, but he's not an +English bounder. He's mysterious and terrible. He's got a country behind +him that's upset people from the beginning of the world." + +"Harriet!" exclaimed his mother. "Harriet shall go too. Harriet, now, +will be invaluable!" And before Philip had stopped talking nonsense, she +had planned the whole thing and was looking out the trains. + + + +Chapter 6 + +Italy, Philip had always maintained, is only her true self in the height +of the summer, when the tourists have left her, and her soul awakes +under the beams of a vertical sun. He now had every opportunity of +seeing her at her best, for it was nearly the middle of August before he +went out to meet Harriet in the Tirol. + +He found his sister in a dense cloud five thousand feet above the sea, +chilled to the bone, overfed, bored, and not at all unwilling to be +fetched away. + +"It upsets one's plans terribly," she remarked, as she squeezed out her +sponges, "but obviously it is my duty." + +"Did mother explain it all to you?" asked Philip. + +"Yes, indeed! Mother has written me a really beautiful letter. She +describes how it was that she gradually got to feel that we must rescue +the poor baby from its terrible surroundings, how she has tried by +letter, and it is no good--nothing but insincere compliments and +hypocrisy came back. Then she says, 'There is nothing like personal +influence; you and Philip will succeed where I have failed.' She says, +too, that Caroline Abbott has been wonderful." + +Philip assented. + +"Caroline feels it as keenly almost as us. That is because she knows the +man. Oh, he must be loathsome! Goodness me! I've forgotten to pack the +ammonia!... It has been a terrible lesson for Caroline, but I fancy it +is her turning-point. I can't help liking to think that out of all this +evil good will come." + +Philip saw no prospect of good, nor of beauty either. But the expedition +promised to be highly comic. He was not averse to it any longer; he +was simply indifferent to all in it except the humours. These would be +wonderful. Harriet, worked by her mother; Mrs. Herriton, worked by Miss +Abbott; Gino, worked by a cheque--what better entertainment could he +desire? There was nothing to distract him this time; his sentimentality +had died, so had his anxiety for the family honour. He might be a +puppet's puppet, but he knew exactly the disposition of the strings. + +They travelled for thirteen hours down-hill, whilst the streams +broadened and the mountains shrank, and the vegetation changed, and the +people ceased being ugly and drinking beer, and began instead to drink +wine and to be beautiful. And the train which had picked them at sunrise +out of a waste of glaciers and hotels was waltzing at sunset round the +walls of Verona. + +"Absurd nonsense they talk about the heat," said Philip, as they drove +from the station. "Supposing we were here for pleasure, what could be +more pleasurable than this?" + +"Did you hear, though, they are remarking on the cold?" said Harriet +nervously. "I should never have thought it cold." + +And on the second day the heat struck them, like a hand laid over the +mouth, just as they were walking to see the tomb of Juliet. From +that moment everything went wrong. They fled from Verona. Harriet's +sketch-book was stolen, and the bottle of ammonia in her trunk burst +over her prayer-book, so that purple patches appeared on all her +clothes. Then, as she was going through Mantua at four in the morning, +Philip made her look out of the window because it was Virgil's +birthplace, and a smut flew in her eye, and Harriet with a smut in her +eye was notorious. At Bologna they stopped twenty-four hours to rest. It +was a FESTA, and children blew bladder whistles night and day. "What a +religion!" said Harriet. The hotel smelt, two puppies were asleep on +her bed, and her bedroom window looked into a belfry, which saluted her +slumbering form every quarter of an hour. Philip left his walking-stick, +his socks, and the Baedeker at Bologna; she only left her sponge-bag. +Next day they crossed the Apennines with a train-sick child and a +hot lady, who told them that never, never before had she sweated so +profusely. "Foreigners are a filthy nation," said Harriet. "I don't care +if there are tunnels; open the windows." He obeyed, and she got another +smut in her eye. Nor did Florence improve matters. Eating, walking, even +a cross word would bathe them both in boiling water. Philip, who was +slighter of build, and less conscientious, suffered less. But Harriet +had never been to Florence, and between the hours of eight and eleven +she crawled like a wounded creature through the streets, and swooned +before various masterpieces of art. It was an irritable couple who took +tickets to Monteriano. + +"Singles or returns?" said he. + +"A single for me," said Harriet peevishly; "I shall never get back +alive." + +"Sweet creature!" said her brother, suddenly breaking down. "How helpful +you will be when we come to Signor Carella!" + +"Do you suppose," said Harriet, standing still among a whirl of +porters--"do you suppose I am going to enter that man's house?" + +"Then what have you come for, pray? For ornament?" + +"To see that you do your duty." + +"Oh, thanks!" + +"So mother told me. For goodness sake get the tickets; here comes that +hot woman again! She has the impudence to bow." + +"Mother told you, did she?" said Philip wrathfully, as he went to +struggle for tickets at a slit so narrow that they were handed to him +edgeways. Italy was beastly, and Florence station is the centre of +beastly Italy. But he had a strange feeling that he was to blame for it +all; that a little influx into him of virtue would make the whole land +not beastly but amusing. For there was enchantment, he was sure of that; +solid enchantment, which lay behind the porters and the screaming and +the dust. He could see it in the terrific blue sky beneath which they +travelled, in the whitened plain which gripped life tighter than a +frost, in the exhausted reaches of the Arno, in the ruins of brown +castles which stood quivering upon the hills. He could see it, though +his head ached and his skin was twitching, though he was here as a +puppet, and though his sister knew how he was here. There was nothing +pleasant in that journey to Monteriano station. But nothing--not even +the discomfort--was commonplace. + +"But do people live inside?" asked Harriet. They had exchanged +railway-carriage for the legno, and the legno had emerged from the +withered trees, and had revealed to them their destination. Philip, to +be annoying, answered "No." + +"What do they do there?" continued Harriet, with a frown. + +"There is a caffe. A prison. A theatre. A church. Walls. A view." + +"Not for me, thank you," said Harriet, after a weighty pause. + +"Nobody asked you, Miss, you see. Now Lilia was asked by such a nice +young gentleman, with curls all over his forehead, and teeth just as +white as father makes them." Then his manner changed. "But, Harriet, do +you see nothing wonderful or attractive in that place--nothing at all?" + +"Nothing at all. It's frightful." + +"I know it is. But it's old--awfully old." + +"Beauty is the only test," said Harriet. "At least so you told me when +I sketched old buildings--for the sake, I suppose, of making yourself +unpleasant." + +"Oh, I'm perfectly right. But at the same time--I don't know--so +many things have happened here--people have lived so hard and so +splendidly--I can't explain." + +"I shouldn't think you could. It doesn't seem the best moment to begin +your Italy mania. I thought you were cured of it by now. Instead, will +you kindly tell me what you are going to do when you arrive. I do beg +you will not be taken unawares this time." + +"First, Harriet, I shall settle you at the Stella d'Italia, in the +comfort that befits your sex and disposition. Then I shall make myself +some tea. After tea I shall take a book into Santa Deodata's, and read +there. It is always fresh and cool." + +The martyred Harriet exclaimed, "I'm not clever, Philip. I don't go in +for it, as you know. But I know what's rude. And I know what's wrong." + +"Meaning--?" + +"You!" she shouted, bouncing on the cushions of the legno and startling +all the fleas. "What's the good of cleverness if a man's murdered a +woman?" + +"Harriet, I am hot. To whom do you refer?" + +"He. Her. If you don't look out he'll murder you. I wish he would." + +"Tut tut, tutlet! You'd find a corpse extraordinarily inconvenient." +Then he tried to be less aggravating. "I heartily dislike the fellow, +but we know he didn't murder her. In that letter, though she said a lot, +she never said he was physically cruel." + +"He has murdered her. The things he did--things one can't even +mention--" + +"Things which one must mention if one's to talk at all. And things which +one must keep in their proper place. Because he was unfaithful to his +wife, it doesn't follow that in every way he's absolutely vile." He +looked at the city. It seemed to approve his remark. + +"It's the supreme test. The man who is unchivalrous to a woman--" + +"Oh, stow it! Take it to the Back Kitchen. It's no more a supreme test +than anything else. The Italians never were chivalrous from the first. +If you condemn him for that, you'll condemn the whole lot." + +"I condemn the whole lot." + +"And the French as well?" + +"And the French as well." + +"Things aren't so jolly easy," said Philip, more to himself than to her. + +But for Harriet things were easy, though not jolly, and she turned upon +her brother yet again. "What about the baby, pray? You've said a lot of +smart things and whittled away morality and religion and I don't know +what; but what about the baby? You think me a fool, but I've been +noticing you all today, and you haven't mentioned the baby once. You +haven't thought about it, even. You don't care. Philip! I shall not +speak to you. You are intolerable." + +She kept her promise, and never opened her lips all the rest of the way. +But her eyes glowed with anger and resolution. For she was a straight, +brave woman, as well as a peevish one. + +Philip acknowledged her reproof to be true. He did not care about the +baby one straw. Nevertheless, he meant to do his duty, and he was fairly +confident of success. If Gino would have sold his wife for a thousand +lire, for how much less would he not sell his child? It was just a +commercial transaction. Why should it interfere with other things? His +eyes were fixed on the towers again, just as they had been fixed when he +drove with Miss Abbott. But this time his thoughts were pleasanter, for +he had no such grave business on his mind. It was in the spirit of the +cultivated tourist that he approached his destination. + +One of the towers, rough as any other, was topped by a cross--the tower +of the Collegiate Church of Santa Deodata. She was a holy maiden of the +Dark Ages, the city's patron saint, and sweetness and barbarity mingle +strangely in her story. So holy was she that all her life she lay upon +her back in the house of her mother, refusing to eat, refusing to play, +refusing to work. The devil, envious of such sanctity, tempted her in +various ways. He dangled grapes above her, he showed her fascinating +toys, he pushed soft pillows beneath her aching head. When all proved +vain he tripped up the mother and flung her downstairs before her very +eyes. But so holy was the saint that she never picked her mother up, but +lay upon her back through all, and thus assured her throne in Paradise. +She was only fifteen when she died, which shows how much is within the +reach of any school-girl. Those who think her life was unpractical need +only think of the victories upon Poggibonsi, San Gemignano, Volterra, +Siena itself--all gained through the invocation of her name; they need +only look at the church which rose over her grave. The grand schemes for +a marble facade were never carried out, and it is brown unfinished stone +until this day. But for the inside Giotto was summoned to decorate the +walls of the nave. Giotto came--that is to say, he did not come, German +research having decisively proved--but at all events the nave is covered +with frescoes, and so are two chapels in the left transept, and the +arch into the choir, and there are scraps in the choir itself. There the +decoration stopped, till in the full spring of the Renaissance a +great painter came to pay a few weeks' visit to his friend the Lord of +Monteriano. In the intervals between the banquets and the discussions on +Latin etymology and the dancing, he would stroll over to the church, and +there in the fifth chapel to the right he has painted two frescoes of +the death and burial of Santa Deodata. That is why Baedeker gives the +place a star. + +Santa Deodata was better company than Harriet, and she kept Philip in a +pleasant dream until the legno drew up at the hotel. Every one there was +asleep, for it was still the hour when only idiots were moving. There +were not even any beggars about. The cabman put their bags down in the +passage--they had left heavy luggage at the station--and strolled about +till he came on the landlady's room and woke her, and sent her to them. + +Then Harriet pronounced the monosyllable "Go!" + +"Go where?" asked Philip, bowing to the landlady, who was swimming down +the stairs. + +"To the Italian. Go." + +"Buona sera, signora padrona. Si ritorna volontieri a Monteriano!" +(Don't be a goose. I'm not going now. You're in the way, too.) "Vorrei +due camere--" + +"Go. This instant. Now. I'll stand it no longer. Go!" + +"I'm damned if I'll go. I want my tea." + +"Swear if you like!" she cried. "Blaspheme! Abuse me! But understand, +I'm in earnest." + +"Harriet, don't act. Or act better." + +"We've come here to get the baby back, and for nothing else. I'll not +have this levity and slackness, and talk about pictures and churches. +Think of mother; did she send you out for THEM?" + +"Think of mother and don't straddle across the stairs. Let the cabman +and the landlady come down, and let me go up and choose rooms." + +"I shan't." + +"Harriet, are you mad?" + +"If you like. But you will not come up till you have seen the Italian." + +"La signorina si sente male," said Philip, "C' e il sole." + +"Poveretta!" cried the landlady and the cabman. + +"Leave me alone!" said Harriet, snarling round at them. "I don't care +for the lot of you. I'm English, and neither you'll come down nor he up +till he goes for the baby." + +"La prego-piano-piano-c e un' altra signorina che dorme--" + +"We shall probably be arrested for brawling, Harriet. Have you the very +slightest sense of the ludicrous?" + +Harriet had not; that was why she could be so powerful. She had +concocted this scene in the carriage, and nothing should baulk her +of it. To the abuse in front and the coaxing behind she was equally +indifferent. How long she would have stood like a glorified Horatius, +keeping the staircase at both ends, was never to be known. For the young +lady, whose sleep they were disturbing, awoke and opened her bedroom +door, and came out on to the landing. She was Miss Abbott. + +Philip's first coherent feeling was one of indignation. To be run by +his mother and hectored by his sister was as much as he could stand. The +intervention of a third female drove him suddenly beyond politeness. He +was about to say exactly what he thought about the thing from beginning +to end. But before he could do so Harriet also had seen Miss Abbott. She +uttered a shrill cry of joy. + +"You, Caroline, here of all people!" And in spite of the heat she darted +up the stairs and imprinted an affectionate kiss upon her friend. + +Philip had an inspiration. "You will have a lot to tell Miss Abbott, +Harriet, and she may have as much to tell you. So I'll pay my call on +Signor Carella, as you suggested, and see how things stand." + +Miss Abbott uttered some noise of greeting or alarm. He did not reply to +it or approach nearer to her. Without even paying the cabman, he escaped +into the street. + +"Tear each other's eyes out!" he cried, gesticulating at the facade of +the hotel. "Give it to her, Harriet! Teach her to leave us alone. Give +it to her, Caroline! Teach her to be grateful to you. Go it, ladies; go +it!" + +Such people as observed him were interested, but did not conclude that +he was mad. This aftermath of conversation is not unknown in Italy. + +He tried to think how amusing it was; but it would not do--Miss Abbott's +presence affected him too personally. Either she suspected him of +dishonesty, or else she was being dishonest herself. He preferred to +suppose the latter. Perhaps she had seen Gino, and they had prepared +some elaborate mortification for the Herritons. Perhaps Gino had sold +the baby cheap to her for a joke: it was just the kind of joke that +would appeal to him. Philip still remembered the laughter that had +greeted his fruitless journey, and the uncouth push that had toppled him +on to the bed. And whatever it might mean, Miss Abbott's presence spoilt +the comedy: she would do nothing funny. + +During this short meditation he had walked through the city, and was out +on the other side. "Where does Signor Carella live?" he asked the men at +the Dogana. + +"I'll show you," said a little girl, springing out of the ground as +Italian children will. + +"She will show you," said the Dogana men, nodding reassuringly. "Follow +her always, always, and you will come to no harm. She is a trustworthy +guide. She is my + + daughter." + cousin." + sister." + +Philip knew these relatives well: they ramify, if need be, all over the +peninsula. + +"Do you chance to know whether Signor Carella is in?" he asked her. + +She had just seen him go in. Philip nodded. He was looking forward to +the interview this time: it would be an intellectual duet with a man +of no great intellect. What was Miss Abbott up to? That was one of the +things he was going to discover. While she had it out with Harriet, he +would have it out with Gino. He followed the Dogana's relative softly, +like a diplomatist. + +He did not follow her long, for this was the Volterra gate, and the +house was exactly opposite to it. In half a minute they had scrambled +down the mule-track and reached the only practicable entrance. Philip +laughed, partly at the thought of Lilia in such a building, partly in +the confidence of victory. Meanwhile the Dogana's relative lifted up her +voice and gave a shout. + +For an impressive interval there was no reply. Then the figure of a +woman appeared high up on the loggia. + +"That is Perfetta," said the girl. + +"I want to see Signor Carella," cried Philip. + +"Out!" + +"Out," echoed the girl complacently. + +"Why on earth did you say he was in?" He could have strangled her +for temper. He had been just ripe for an interview--just the right +combination of indignation and acuteness: blood hot, brain cool. But +nothing ever did go right in Monteriano. "When will he be back?" he +called to Perfetta. It really was too bad. + +She did not know. He was away on business. He might be back this +evening, he might not. He had gone to Poggibonsi. + +At the sound of this word the little girl put her fingers to her +nose and swept them at the plain. She sang as she did so, even as her +foremothers had sung seven hundred years back-- + + Poggibonizzi, fatti in la, + Che Monteriano si fa citta! + +Then she asked Philip for a halfpenny. A German lady, friendly to the +Past, had given her one that very spring. + +"I shall have to leave a message," he called. + +"Now Perfetta has gone for her basket," said the little girl. "When she +returns she will lower it--so. Then you will put your card into it. Then +she will raise it--thus. By this means--" + +When Perfetta returned, Philip remembered to ask after the baby. It took +longer to find than the basket, and he stood perspiring in the evening +sun, trying to avoid the smell of the drains and to prevent the little +girl from singing against Poggibonsi. The olive-trees beside him were +draped with the weekly--or more probably the monthly--wash. What a +frightful spotty blouse! He could not think where he had seen it. Then +he remembered that it was Lilia's. She had brought it "to hack about in" +at Sawston, and had taken it to Italy because "in Italy anything does." +He had rebuked her for the sentiment. + +"Beautiful as an angel!" bellowed Perfetta, holding out something which +must be Lilia's baby. "But who am I addressing?" + +"Thank you--here is my card." He had written on it a civil request +to Gino for an interview next morning. But before he placed it in the +basket and revealed his identity, he wished to find something out. "Has +a young lady happened to call here lately--a young English lady?" + +Perfetta begged his pardon: she was a little deaf. + +"A young lady--pale, large, tall." + +She did not quite catch. + +"A YOUNG LADY!" + +"Perfetta is deaf when she chooses," said the Dogana's relative. At +last Philip admitted the peculiarity and strode away. He paid off the +detestable child at the Volterra gate. She got two nickel pieces and was +not pleased, partly because it was too much, partly because he did not +look pleased when he gave it to her. He caught her fathers and cousins +winking at each other as he walked past them. Monteriano seemed in +one conspiracy to make him look a fool. He felt tired and anxious and +muddled, and not sure of anything except that his temper was lost. +In this mood he returned to the Stella d'Italia, and there, as he was +ascending the stairs, Miss Abbott popped out of the dining-room on the +first floor and beckoned to him mysteriously. + +"I was going to make myself some tea," he said, with his hand still on +the banisters. + +"I should be grateful--" + +So he followed her into the dining-room and shut the door. + +"You see," she began, "Harriet knows nothing." + +"No more do I. He was out." + +"But what's that to do with it?" + +He presented her with an unpleasant smile. She fenced well, as he had +noticed before. "He was out. You find me as ignorant as you have left +Harriet." + +"What do you mean? Please, please Mr. Herriton, don't be mysterious: +there isn't the time. Any moment Harriet may be down, and we shan't have +decided how to behave to her. Sawston was different: we had to keep up +appearances. But here we must speak out, and I think I can trust you to +do it. Otherwise we'll never start clear." + +"Pray let us start clear," said Philip, pacing up and down the room. +"Permit me to begin by asking you a question. In which capacity have you +come to Monteriano--spy or traitor?" + +"Spy!" she answered, without a moment's hesitation. She was standing +by the little Gothic window as she spoke--the hotel had been a palace +once--and with her finger she was following the curves of the moulding +as if they might feel beautiful and strange. "Spy," she repeated, for +Philip was bewildered at learning her guilt so easily, and could not +answer a word. "Your mother has behaved dishonourably all through. She +never wanted the child; no harm in that; but she is too proud to let it +come to me. She has done all she could to wreck things; she did not tell +you everything; she has told Harriet nothing at all; she has lied or +acted lies everywhere. I cannot trust your mother. So I have come here +alone--all across Europe; no one knows it; my father thinks I am in +Normandy--to spy on Mrs. Herriton. Don't let's argue!" for he had begun, +almost mechanically, to rebuke her for impertinence. "If you are here to +get the child, I will help you; if you are here to fail, I shall get it +instead of you." + +"It is hopeless to expect you to believe me," he stammered. "But I can +assert that we are here to get the child, even if it costs us all we've +got. My mother has fixed no money limit whatever. I am here to carry +out her instructions. I think that you will approve of them, as you have +practically dictated them. I do not approve of them. They are absurd." + +She nodded carelessly. She did not mind what he said. All she wanted was +to get the baby out of Monteriano. + +"Harriet also carries out your instructions," he continued. "She, +however, approves of them, and does not know that they proceed from you. +I think, Miss Abbott, you had better take entire charge of the rescue +party. I have asked for an interview with Signor Carella tomorrow +morning. Do you acquiesce?" + +She nodded again. + +"Might I ask for details of your interview with him? They might be +helpful to me." + +He had spoken at random. To his delight she suddenly collapsed. Her hand +fell from the window. Her face was red with more than the reflection of +evening. + +"My interview--how do you know of it?" + +"From Perfetta, if it interests you." + +"Who ever is Perfetta?" + +"The woman who must have let you in." + +"In where?" + +"Into Signor Carella's house." + +"Mr. Herriton!" she exclaimed. "How could you believe her? Do you +suppose that I would have entered that man's house, knowing about him +all that I do? I think you have very odd ideas of what is possible for +a lady. I hear you wanted Harriet to go. Very properly she refused. +Eighteen months ago I might have done such a thing. But I trust I have +learnt how to behave by now." + +Philip began to see that there were two Miss Abbotts--the Miss Abbott +who could travel alone to Monteriano, and the Miss Abbott who could +not enter Gino's house when she got there. It was an amusing discovery. +Which of them would respond to his next move? + +"I suppose I misunderstood Perfetta. Where did you have your interview, +then?" + +"Not an interview--an accident--I am very sorry--I meant you to have the +chance of seeing him first. Though it is your fault. You are a day late. +You were due here yesterday. So I came yesterday, and, not finding you, +went up to the Rocca--you know that kitchen-garden where they let you +in, and there is a ladder up to a broken tower, where you can stand +and see all the other towers below you and the plain and all the other +hills?" + +"Yes, yes. I know the Rocca; I told you of it." + +"So I went up in the evening for the sunset: I had nothing to do. He was +in the garden: it belongs to a friend of his." + +"And you talked." + +"It was very awkward for me. But I had to talk: he seemed to make me. +You see he thought I was here as a tourist; he thinks so still. He +intended to be civil, and I judged it better to be civil also." + +"And of what did you talk?" + +"The weather--there will be rain, he says, by tomorrow evening--the +other towns, England, myself, about you a little, and he actually +mentioned Lilia. He was perfectly disgusting; he pretended he loved +her; he offered to show me her grave--the grave of the woman he has +murdered!" + +"My dear Miss Abbott, he is not a murderer. I have just been driving +that into Harriet. And when you know the Italians as well as I do, you +will realize that in all that he said to you he was perfectly sincere. +The Italians are essentially dramatic; they look on death and love as +spectacles. I don't doubt that he persuaded himself, for the moment, +that he had behaved admirably, both as husband and widower." + +"You may be right," said Miss Abbott, impressed for the first time. +"When I tried to pave the way, so to speak--to hint that he had not +behaved as he ought--well, it was no good at all. He couldn't or +wouldn't understand." + +There was something very humorous in the idea of Miss Abbott approaching +Gino, on the Rocca, in the spirit of a district visitor. Philip, whose +temper was returning, laughed. + +"Harriet would say he has no sense of sin." + +"Harriet may be right, I am afraid." + +"If so, perhaps he isn't sinful!" + +Miss Abbott was not one to encourage levity. "I know what he has +done," she said. "What he says and what he thinks is of very little +importance." + +Philip smiled at her crudity. "I should like to hear, though, what he +said about me. Is he preparing a warm reception?" + +"Oh, no, not that. I never told him that you and Harriet were coming. +You could have taken him by surprise if you liked. He only asked for +you, and wished he hadn't been so rude to you eighteen months ago." + +"What a memory the fellow has for little things!" He turned away as he +spoke, for he did not want her to see his face. It was suffused with +pleasure. For an apology, which would have been intolerable eighteen +months ago, was gracious and agreeable now. + +She would not let this pass. "You did not think it a little thing at the +time. You told me he had assaulted you." + +"I lost my temper," said Philip lightly. His vanity had been appeased, +and he knew it. This tiny piece of civility had changed his mood. "Did +he really--what exactly did he say?" + +"He said he was sorry--pleasantly, as Italians do say such things. But +he never mentioned the baby once." + +What did the baby matter when the world was suddenly right way up? +Philip smiled, and was shocked at himself for smiling, and smiled again. +For romance had come back to Italy; there were no cads in her; she was +beautiful, courteous, lovable, as of old. And Miss Abbott--she, too, was +beautiful in her way, for all her gaucheness and conventionality. +She really cared about life, and tried to live it properly. And +Harriet--even Harriet tried. + +This admirable change in Philip proceeds from nothing admirable, and +may therefore provoke the gibes of the cynical. But angels and other +practical people will accept it reverently, and write it down as good. + +"The view from the Rocca (small gratuity) is finest at sunset," he +murmured, more to himself than to her. + +"And he never mentioned the baby once," Miss Abbott repeated. But she +had returned to the window, and again her finger pursued the delicate +curves. He watched her in silence, and was more attracted to her than he +had ever been before. She really was the strangest mixture. + +"The view from the Rocca--wasn't it fine?" + +"What isn't fine here?" she answered gently, and then added, "I wish I +was Harriet," throwing an extraordinary meaning into the words. + +"Because Harriet--?" + +She would not go further, but he believed that she had paid homage +to the complexity of life. For her, at all events, the expedition was +neither easy nor jolly. Beauty, evil, charm, vulgarity, mystery--she +also acknowledged this tangle, in spite of herself. And her voice +thrilled him when she broke silence with "Mr. Herriton--come here--look +at this!" + +She removed a pile of plates from the Gothic window, and they leant out +of it. Close opposite, wedged between mean houses, there rose up one of +the great towers. It is your tower: you stretch a barricade between it +and the hotel, and the traffic is blocked in a moment. Farther up, where +the street empties out by the church, your connections, the Merli and +the Capocchi, do likewise. They command the Piazza, you the Siena gate. +No one can move in either but he shall be instantly slain, either by +bows or by crossbows, or by Greek fire. Beware, however, of the +back bedroom windows. For they are menaced by the tower of the +Aldobrandeschi, and before now arrows have stuck quivering over the +washstand. Guard these windows well, lest there be a repetition of the +events of February 1338, when the hotel was surprised from the rear, and +your dearest friend--you could just make out that it was he--was thrown +at you over the stairs. + +"It reaches up to heaven," said Philip, "and down to the other place." +The summit of the tower was radiant in the sun, while its base was in +shadow and pasted over with advertisements. "Is it to be a symbol of the +town?" + +She gave no hint that she understood him. But they remained together at +the window because it was a little cooler and so pleasant. Philip +found a certain grace and lightness in his companion which he had never +noticed in England. She was appallingly narrow, but her consciousness of +wider things gave to her narrowness a pathetic charm. He did not suspect +that he was more graceful too. For our vanity is such that we hold our +own characters immutable, and we are slow to acknowledge that they have +changed, even for the better. + +Citizens came out for a little stroll before dinner. Some of them stood +and gazed at the advertisements on the tower. + +"Surely that isn't an opera-bill?" said Miss Abbott. + +Philip put on his pince-nez. "'Lucia di Lammermoor. By the Master +Donizetti. Unique representation. This evening.' + +"But is there an opera? Right up here?" + +"Why, yes. These people know how to live. They would sooner have a thing +bad than not have it at all. That is why they have got to have so much +that is good. However bad the performance is tonight, it will be alive. +Italians don't love music silently, like the beastly Germans. The +audience takes its share--sometimes more." + +"Can't we go?" + +He turned on her, but not unkindly. "But we're here to rescue a child!" + +He cursed himself for the remark. All the pleasure and the light went +out of her face, and she became again Miss Abbott of Sawston--good, oh, +most undoubtedly good, but most appallingly dull. Dull and remorseful: +it is a deadly combination, and he strove against it in vain till he was +interrupted by the opening of the dining-room door. + +They started as guiltily as if they had been flirting. Their interview +had taken such an unexpected course. Anger, cynicism, stubborn +morality--all had ended in a feeling of good-will towards each other +and towards the city which had received them. And now Harriet +was here--acrid, indissoluble, large; the same in Italy as in +England--changing her disposition never, and her atmosphere under +protest. + +Yet even Harriet was human, and the better for a little tea. She did not +scold Philip for finding Gino out, as she might reasonably have done. +She showered civilities on Miss Abbott, exclaiming again and again +that Caroline's visit was one of the most fortunate coincidences in the +world. Caroline did not contradict her. + +"You see him tomorrow at ten, Philip. Well, don't forget the blank +cheque. Say an hour for the business. No, Italians are so slow; say two. +Twelve o'clock. Lunch. Well--then it's no good going till the evening +train. I can manage the baby as far as Florence--" + +"My dear sister, you can't run on like that. You don't buy a pair of +gloves in two hours, much less a baby." + +"Three hours, then, or four; or make him learn English ways. At Florence +we get a nurse--" + +"But, Harriet," said Miss Abbott, "what if at first he was to refuse?" + +"I don't know the meaning of the word," said Harriet impressively. "I've +told the landlady that Philip and I only want our rooms one night, and +we shall keep to it." + +"I dare say it will be all right. But, as I told you, I thought the man +I met on the Rocca a strange, difficult man." + +"He's insolent to ladies, we know. But my brother can be trusted to +bring him to his senses. That woman, Philip, whom you saw will carry the +baby to the hotel. Of course you must tip her for it. And try, if you +can, to get poor Lilia's silver bangles. They were nice quiet things, +and will do for Irma. And there is an inlaid box I lent her--lent, not +gave--to keep her handkerchiefs in. It's of no real value; but this is +our only chance. Don't ask for it; but if you see it lying about, just +say--" + +"No, Harriet; I'll try for the baby, but for nothing else. I promise +to do that tomorrow, and to do it in the way you wish. But tonight, as +we're all tired, we want a change of topic. We want relaxation. We want +to go to the theatre." + +"Theatres here? And at such a moment?" + +"We should hardly enjoy it, with the great interview impending," said +Miss Abbott, with an anxious glance at Philip. + +He did not betray her, but said, "Don't you think it's better than +sitting in all the evening and getting nervous?" + +His sister shook her head. "Mother wouldn't like it. It would be most +unsuitable--almost irreverent. Besides all that, foreign theatres +are notorious. Don't you remember those letters in the 'Church Family +Newspaper'?" + +"But this is an opera--'Lucia di Lammermoor'--Sir Walter +Scott--classical, you know." + +Harriet's face grew resigned. "Certainly one has so few opportunities +of hearing music. It is sure to be very bad. But it might be better than +sitting idle all the evening. We have no book, and I lost my crochet at +Florence." + +"Good. Miss Abbott, you are coming too?" + +"It is very kind of you, Mr. Herriton. In some ways I should enjoy +it; but--excuse the suggestion--I don't think we ought to go to cheap +seats." + +"Good gracious me!" cried Harriet, "I should never have thought of that. +As likely as not, we should have tried to save money and sat among the +most awful people. One keeps on forgetting this is Italy." + +"Unfortunately I have no evening dress; and if the seats--" + +"Oh, that'll be all right," said Philip, smiling at his timorous, +scrupulous women-kind. "We'll go as we are, and buy the best we can get. +Monteriano is not formal." + +So this strenuous day of resolutions, plans, alarms, battles, victories, +defeats, truces, ended at the opera. Miss Abbott and Harriet were both +a little shame-faced. They thought of their friends at Sawston, who were +supposing them to be now tilting against the powers of evil. What would +Mrs. Herriton, or Irma, or the curates at the Back Kitchen say if they +could see the rescue party at a place of amusement on the very first day +of its mission? Philip, too, marvelled at his wish to go. He began +to see that he was enjoying his time in Monteriano, in spite of the +tiresomeness of his companions and the occasional contrariness of +himself. + +He had been to this theatre many years before, on the occasion of a +performance of "La Zia di Carlo." Since then it had been thoroughly done +up, in the tints of the beet-root and the tomato, and was in many other +ways a credit to the little town. The orchestra had been enlarged, +some of the boxes had terra-cotta draperies, and over each box was now +suspended an enormous tablet, neatly framed, bearing upon it the number +of that box. There was also a drop-scene, representing a pink and purple +landscape, wherein sported many a lady lightly clad, and two more ladies +lay along the top of the proscenium to steady a large and pallid clock. +So rich and so appalling was the effect, that Philip could scarcely +suppress a cry. There is something majestic in the bad taste of Italy; +it is not the bad taste of a country which knows no better; it has not +the nervous vulgarity of England, or the blinded vulgarity of Germany. +It observes beauty, and chooses to pass it by. But it attains to +beauty's confidence. This tiny theatre of Monteriano spraddled and +swaggered with the best of them, and these ladies with their clock would +have nodded to the young men on the ceiling of the Sistine. + +Philip had tried for a box, but all the best were taken: it was rather +a grand performance, and he had to be content with stalls. Harriet was +fretful and insular. Miss Abbott was pleasant, and insisted on praising +everything: her only regret was that she had no pretty clothes with her. + +"We do all right," said Philip, amused at her unwonted vanity. + +"Yes, I know; but pretty things pack as easily as ugly ones. We had no +need to come to Italy like guys." + +This time he did not reply, "But we're here to rescue a baby." For +he saw a charming picture, as charming a picture as he had seen for +years--the hot red theatre; outside the theatre, towers and dark gates +and mediaeval walls; beyond the walls olive-trees in the starlight and +white winding roads and fireflies and untroubled dust; and here in the +middle of it all, Miss Abbott, wishing she had not come looking like a +guy. She had made the right remark. Most undoubtedly she had made the +right remark. This stiff suburban woman was unbending before the shrine. + +"Don't you like it at all?" he asked her. + +"Most awfully." And by this bald interchange they convinced each other +that Romance was here. + +Harriet, meanwhile, had been coughing ominously at the drop-scene, which +presently rose on the grounds of Ravenswood, and the chorus of Scotch +retainers burst into cry. The audience accompanied with tappings and +drummings, swaying in the melody like corn in the wind. Harriet, though +she did not care for music, knew how to listen to it. She uttered an +acid "Shish!" + +"Shut it," whispered her brother. + +"We must make a stand from the beginning. They're talking." + +"It is tiresome," murmured Miss Abbott; "but perhaps it isn't for us to +interfere." + +Harriet shook her head and shished again. The people were quiet, not +because it is wrong to talk during a chorus, but because it is natural +to be civil to a visitor. For a little time she kept the whole house in +order, and could smile at her brother complacently. + +Her success annoyed him. He had grasped the principle of opera in +Italy--it aims not at illusion but at entertainment--and he did not want +this great evening-party to turn into a prayer-meeting. But soon the +boxes began to fill, and Harriet's power was over. Families greeted each +other across the auditorium. People in the pit hailed their brothers and +sons in the chorus, and told them how well they were singing. When Lucia +appeared by the fountain there was loud applause, and cries of "Welcome +to Monteriano!" + +"Ridiculous babies!" said Harriet, settling down in her stall. + +"Why, it is the famous hot lady of the Apennines," cried Philip; "the +one who had never, never before--" + +"Ugh! Don't. She will be very vulgar. And I'm sure it's even worse here +than in the tunnel. I wish we'd never--" + +Lucia began to sing, and there was a moment's silence. She was stout +and ugly; but her voice was still beautiful, and as she sang the theatre +murmured like a hive of happy bees. All through the coloratura she +was accompanied by sighs, and its top note was drowned in a shout of +universal joy. + +So the opera proceeded. The singers drew inspiration from the audience, +and the two great sextettes were rendered not unworthily. Miss Abbott +fell into the spirit of the thing. She, too, chatted and laughed and +applauded and encored, and rejoiced in the existence of beauty. As for +Philip, he forgot himself as well as his mission. He was not even an +enthusiastic visitor. For he had been in this place always. It was his +home. + +Harriet, like M. Bovary on a more famous occasion, was trying to follow +the plot. Occasionally she nudged her companions, and asked them what +had become of Walter Scott. She looked round grimly. The audience +sounded drunk, and even Caroline, who never took a drop, was swaying +oddly. Violent waves of excitement, all arising from very little, went +sweeping round the theatre. The climax was reached in the mad scene. +Lucia, clad in white, as befitted her malady, suddenly gathered up her +streaming hair and bowed her acknowledgment to the audience. Then from +the back of the stage--she feigned not to see it--there advanced a kind +of bamboo clothes-horse, stuck all over with bouquets. It was very ugly, +and most of the flowers in it were false. Lucia knew this, and so did +the audience; and they all knew that the clothes-horse was a piece of +stage property, brought in to make the performance go year after year. +None the less did it unloose the great deeps. With a scream of amazement +and joy she embraced the animal, pulled out one or two practicable +blossoms, pressed them to her lips, and flung them into her admirers. +They flung them back, with loud melodious cries, and a little boy in one +of the stageboxes snatched up his sister's carnations and offered them. +"Che carino!" exclaimed the singer. She darted at the little boy and +kissed him. Now the noise became tremendous. "Silence! silence!" shouted +many old gentlemen behind. "Let the divine creature continue!" But +the young men in the adjacent box were imploring Lucia to extend her +civility to them. She refused, with a humorous, expressive gesture. One +of them hurled a bouquet at her. She spurned it with her foot. Then, +encouraged by the roars of the audience, she picked it up and tossed it +to them. Harriet was always unfortunate. The bouquet struck her full in +the chest, and a little billet-doux fell out of it into her lap. + +"Call this classical!" she cried, rising from her seat. "It's not even +respectable! Philip! take me out at once." + +"Whose is it?" shouted her brother, holding up the bouquet in one hand +and the billet-doux in the other. "Whose is it?" + +The house exploded, and one of the boxes was violently agitated, as if +some one was being hauled to the front. Harriet moved down the gangway, +and compelled Miss Abbott to follow her. Philip, still laughing +and calling "Whose is it?" brought up the rear. He was drunk with +excitement. The heat, the fatigue, and the enjoyment had mounted into +his head. + +"To the left!" the people cried. "The innamorato is to the left." + +He deserted his ladies and plunged towards the box. A young man was +flung stomach downwards across the balustrade. Philip handed him up the +bouquet and the note. Then his own hands were seized affectionately. It +all seemed quite natural. + +"Why have you not written?" cried the young man. "Why do you take me by +surprise?" + +"Oh, I've written," said Philip hilariously. "I left a note this +afternoon." + +"Silence! silence!" cried the audience, who were beginning to have +enough. "Let the divine creature continue." Miss Abbott and Harriet had +disappeared. + +"No! no!" cried the young man. "You don't escape me now." For Philip was +trying feebly to disengage his hands. Amiable youths bent out of the box +and invited him to enter it. + +"Gino's friends are ours--" + +"Friends?" cried Gino. "A relative! A brother! Fra Filippo, who has come +all the way from England and never written." + +"I left a message." + +The audience began to hiss. + +"Come in to us." + +"Thank you--ladies--there is not time--" + +The next moment he was swinging by his arms. The moment after he shot +over the balustrade into the box. Then the conductor, seeing that the +incident was over, raised his baton. The house was hushed, and Lucia di +Lammermoor resumed her song of madness and death. + +Philip had whispered introductions to the pleasant people who had pulled +him in--tradesmen's sons perhaps they were, or medical students, or +solicitors' clerks, or sons of other dentists. There is no knowing who +is who in Italy. The guest of the evening was a private soldier. He +shared the honour now with Philip. The two had to stand side by side in +the front, and exchange compliments, whilst Gino presided, courteous, +but delightfully familiar. Philip would have a spasm of horror at the +muddle he had made. But the spasm would pass, and again he would be +enchanted by the kind, cheerful voices, the laughter that was never +vapid, and the light caress of the arm across his back. + +He could not get away till the play was nearly finished, and Edgardo was +singing amongst the tombs of ancestors. His new friends hoped to see him +at the Garibaldi tomorrow evening. He promised; then he remembered that +if they kept to Harriet's plan he would have left Monteriano. "At ten +o'clock, then," he said to Gino. "I want to speak to you alone. At ten." + +"Certainly!" laughed the other. + +Miss Abbott was sitting up for him when he got back. Harriet, it seemed, +had gone straight to bed. + +"That was he, wasn't it?" she asked. + +"Yes, rather." + +"I suppose you didn't settle anything?" + +"Why, no; how could I? The fact is--well, I got taken by surprise, +but after all, what does it matter? There's no earthly reason why we +shouldn't do the business pleasantly. He's a perfectly charming person, +and so are his friends. I'm his friend now--his long-lost brother. +What's the harm? I tell you, Miss Abbott, it's one thing for England and +another for Italy. There we plan and get on high moral horses. Here +we find what asses we are, for things go off quite easily, all by +themselves. My hat, what a night! Did you ever see a really purple sky +and really silver stars before? Well, as I was saying, it's absurd to +worry; he's not a porky father. He wants that baby as little as I do. +He's been ragging my dear mother--just as he ragged me eighteen months +ago, and I've forgiven him. Oh, but he has a sense of humour!" + +Miss Abbott, too, had a wonderful evening, nor did she ever remember +such stars or such a sky. Her head, too, was full of music, and that +night when she opened the window her room was filled with warm, sweet +air. She was bathed in beauty within and without; she could not go to +bed for happiness. Had she ever been so happy before? Yes, once before, +and here, a night in March, the night Gino and Lilia had told her of +their love--the night whose evil she had come now to undo. + +She gave a sudden cry of shame. "This time--the same place--the same +thing"--and she began to beat down her happiness, knowing it to be +sinful. She was here to fight against this place, to rescue a little +soul--who was innocent as yet. She was here to champion morality and +purity, and the holy life of an English home. In the spring she had +sinned through ignorance; she was not ignorant now. "Help me!" she +cried, and shut the window as if there was magic in the encircling air. +But the tunes would not go out of her head, and all night long she was +troubled by torrents of music, and by applause and laughter, and angry +young men who shouted the distich out of Baedeker:-- + + Poggibonizzi fatti in la, + Che Monteriano si fa citta! + +Poggibonsi was revealed to her as they sang--a joyless, straggling +place, full of people who pretended. When she woke up she knew that it +had been Sawston. + + + +Chapter 7 + +At about nine o'clock next morning Perfetta went out on to the loggia, +not to look at the view, but to throw some dirty water at it. "Scusi +tanto!" she wailed, for the water spattered a tall young lady who had +for some time been tapping at the lower door. + +"Is Signor Carella in?" the young lady asked. It was no business of +Perfetta's to be shocked, and the style of the visitor seemed to demand +the reception-room. Accordingly she opened its shutters, dusted a round +patch on one of the horsehair chairs, and bade the lady do herself the +inconvenience of sitting down. Then she ran into Monteriano and shouted +up and down its streets until such time as her young master should hear +her. + +The reception-room was sacred to the dead wife. Her shiny portrait hung +upon the wall--similar, doubtless, in all respects to the one which +would be pasted on her tombstone. A little piece of black drapery had +been tacked above the frame to lend a dignity to woe. But two of the +tacks had fallen out, and the effect was now rakish, as of a drunkard's +bonnet. A coon song lay open on the piano, and of the two tables one +supported Baedeker's "Central Italy," the other Harriet's inlaid box. +And over everything there lay a deposit of heavy white dust, which +was only blown off one moment to thicken on another. It is well to +be remembered with love. It is not so very dreadful to be forgotten +entirely. But if we shall resent anything on earth at all, we shall +resent the consecration of a deserted room. + +Miss Abbott did not sit down, partly because the antimacassars might +harbour fleas, partly because she had suddenly felt faint, and was glad +to cling on to the funnel of the stove. She struggled with herself, +for she had need to be very calm; only if she was very calm might her +behaviour be justified. She had broken faith with Philip and Harriet: +she was going to try for the baby before they did. If she failed she +could scarcely look them in the face again. + +"Harriet and her brother," she reasoned, "don't realize what is before +them. She would bluster and be rude; he would be pleasant and take it +as a joke. Both of them--even if they offered money--would fail. But I +begin to understand the man's nature; he does not love the child, but he +will be touchy about it--and that is quite as bad for us. He's charming, +but he's no fool; he conquered me last year; he conquered Mr. Herriton +yesterday, and if I am not careful he will conquer us all today, and the +baby will grow up in Monteriano. He is terribly strong; Lilia found that +out, but only I remember it now." + +This attempt, and this justification of it, were the results of the long +and restless night. Miss Abbott had come to believe that she alone could +do battle with Gino, because she alone understood him; and she had put +this, as nicely as she could, in a note which she had left for Philip. +It distressed her to write such a note, partly because her education +inclined her to reverence the male, partly because she had got to like +Philip a good deal after their last strange interview. His pettiness +would be dispersed, and as for his "unconventionality," which was so +much gossiped about at Sawston, she began to see that it did not differ +greatly from certain familiar notions of her own. If only he would +forgive her for what she was doing now, there might perhaps be before +them a long and profitable friendship. But she must succeed. No one +would forgive her if she did not succeed. She prepared to do battle with +the powers of evil. + +The voice of her adversary was heard at last, singing fearlessly +from his expanded lungs, like a professional. Herein he differed from +Englishmen, who always have a little feeling against music, and sing +only from the throat, apologetically. He padded upstairs, and looked +in at the open door of the reception-room without seeing her. Her heart +leapt and her throat was dry when he turned away and passed, still +singing, into the room opposite. It is alarming not to be seen. + +He had left the door of this room open, and she could see into it, +right across the landing. It was in a shocking mess. Food, bedclothes, +patent-leather boots, dirty plates, and knives lay strewn over a large +table and on the floor. But it was the mess that comes of life, not of +desolation. It was preferable to the charnel-chamber in which she was +standing now, and the light in it was soft and large, as from some +gracious, noble opening. + +He stopped singing, and cried "Where is Perfetta?" + +His back was turned, and he was lighting a cigar. He was not speaking +to Miss Abbott. He could not even be expecting her. The vista of the +landing and the two open doors made him both remote and significant, +like an actor on the stage, intimate and unapproachable at the same +time. She could no more call out to him than if he was Hamlet. + +"You know!" he continued, "but you will not tell me. Exactly like you." +He reclined on the table and blew a fat smoke-ring. "And why won't you +tell me the numbers? I have dreamt of a red hen--that is two hundred and +five, and a friend unexpected--he means eighty-two. But I try for the +Terno this week. So tell me another number." + +Miss Abbott did not know of the Tombola. His speech terrified her. She +felt those subtle restrictions which come upon us in fatigue. Had she +slept well she would have greeted him as soon as she saw him. Now it was +impossible. He had got into another world. + +She watched his smoke-ring. The air had carried it slowly away from him, +and brought it out intact upon the landing. + +"Two hundred and five--eighty-two. In any case I shall put them on Bari, +not on Florence. I cannot tell you why; I have a feeling this week for +Bari." Again she tried to speak. But the ring mesmerized her. It had +become vast and elliptical, and floated in at the reception-room door. + +"Ah! you don't care if you get the profits. You won't even say 'Thank +you, Gino.' Say it, or I'll drop hot, red-hot ashes on you. 'Thank you, +Gino--'" + +The ring had extended its pale blue coils towards her. She lost +self-control. It enveloped her. As if it was a breath from the pit, she +screamed. + +There he was, wanting to know what had frightened her, how she had got +here, why she had never spoken. He made her sit down. He brought her +wine, which she refused. She had not one word to say to him. + +"What is it?" he repeated. "What has frightened you?" + +He, too, was frightened, and perspiration came starting through the tan. +For it is a serious thing to have been watched. We all radiate something +curiously intimate when we believe ourselves to be alone. + +"Business--" she said at last. + +"Business with me?" + +"Most important business." She was lying, white and limp, in the dusty +chair. + +"Before business you must get well; this is the best wine." + +She refused it feebly. He poured out a glass. She drank it. As she did +so she became self-conscious. However important the business, it was not +proper of her to have called on him, or to accept his hospitality. + +"Perhaps you are engaged," she said. "And as I am not very well--" + +"You are not well enough to go back. And I am not engaged." + +She looked nervously at the other room. + +"Ah, now I understand," he exclaimed. "Now I see what frightened you. +But why did you never speak?" And taking her into the room where he +lived, he pointed to--the baby. + +She had thought so much about this baby, of its welfare, its soul, its +morals, its probable defects. But, like most unmarried people, she had +only thought of it as a word--just as the healthy man only thinks of the +word death, not of death itself. The real thing, lying asleep on a dirty +rug, disconcerted her. It did not stand for a principle any longer. +It was so much flesh and blood, so many inches and ounces of life--a +glorious, unquestionable fact, which a man and another woman had given +to the world. You could talk to it; in time it would answer you; in time +it would not answer you unless it chose, but would secrete, within the +compass of its body, thoughts and wonderful passions of its own. And +this was the machine on which she and Mrs. Herriton and Philip and +Harriet had for the last month been exercising their various ideals--had +determined that in time it should move this way or that way, should +accomplish this and not that. It was to be Low Church, it was to be +high-principled, it was to be tactful, gentlemanly, artistic--excellent +things all. Yet now that she saw this baby, lying asleep on a dirty rug, +she had a great disposition not to dictate one of them, and to exert +no more influence than there may be in a kiss or in the vaguest of the +heartfelt prayers. + +But she had practised self-discipline, and her thoughts and actions were +not yet to correspond. To recover her self-esteem she tried to imagine +that she was in her district, and to behave accordingly. + +"What a fine child, Signor Carella. And how nice of you to talk to it. +Though I see that the ungrateful little fellow is asleep! Seven months? +No, eight; of course eight. Still, he is a remarkably fine child for his +age." + +Italian is a bad medium for condescension. The patronizing words came +out gracious and sincere, and he smiled with pleasure. + +"You must not stand. Let us sit on the loggia, where it is cool. I am +afraid the room is very untidy," he added, with the air of a hostess who +apologizes for a stray thread on the drawing-room carpet. Miss Abbott +picked her way to the chair. He sat near her, astride the parapet, with +one foot in the loggia and the other dangling into the view. His face +was in profile, and its beautiful contours drove artfully against +the misty green of the opposing hills. "Posing!" said Miss Abbott to +herself. "A born artist's model." + +"Mr. Herriton called yesterday," she began, "but you were out." + +He started an elaborate and graceful explanation. He had gone for the +day to Poggibonsi. Why had the Herritons not written to him, so that he +could have received them properly? Poggibonsi would have done any day; +not but what his business there was fairly important. What did she +suppose that it was? + +Naturally she was not greatly interested. She had not come from Sawston +to guess why he had been to Poggibonsi. She answered politely that she +had no idea, and returned to her mission. + +"But guess!" he persisted, clapping the balustrade between his hands. + +She suggested, with gentle sarcasm, that perhaps he had gone to +Poggibonsi to find something to do. + +He intimated that it was not as important as all that. Something to +do--an almost hopeless quest! "E manca questo!" He rubbed his thumb and +forefinger together, to indicate that he had no money. Then he +sighed, and blew another smoke-ring. Miss Abbott took heart and turned +diplomatic. + +"This house," she said, "is a large house." + +"Exactly," was his gloomy reply. "And when my poor wife died--" He got +up, went in, and walked across the landing to the reception-room door, +which he closed reverently. Then he shut the door of the living-room +with his foot, returned briskly to his seat, and continued his sentence. +"When my poor wife died I thought of having my relatives to live here. +My father wished to give up his practice at Empoli; my mother and +sisters and two aunts were also willing. But it was impossible. They +have their ways of doing things, and when I was younger I was content +with them. But now I am a man. I have my own ways. Do you understand?" + +"Yes, I do," said Miss Abbott, thinking of her own dear father, whose +tricks and habits, after twenty-five years spent in their company, were +beginning to get on her nerves. She remembered, though, that she was +not here to sympathize with Gino--at all events, not to show that +she sympathized. She also reminded herself that he was not worthy of +sympathy. "It is a large house," she repeated. + +"Immense; and the taxes! But it will be better when--Ah! but you have +never guessed why I went to Poggibonsi--why it was that I was out when +he called." + +"I cannot guess, Signor Carella. I am here on business." + +"But try." + +"I cannot; I hardly know you." + +"But we are old friends," he said, "and your approval will be grateful +to me. You gave it me once before. Will you give it now?" + +"I have not come as a friend this time," she answered stiffly. "I am not +likely, Signor Carella, to approve of anything you do." + +"Oh, Signorina!" He laughed, as if he found her piquant and amusing. +"Surely you approve of marriage?" + +"Where there is love," said Miss Abbott, looking at him hard. His face +had altered in the last year, but not for the worse, which was baffling. + +"Where there is love," said he, politely echoing the English view. Then +he smiled on her, expecting congratulations. + +"Do I understand that you are proposing to marry again?" + +He nodded. + +"I forbid you, then!" + +He looked puzzled, but took it for some foreign banter, and laughed. + +"I forbid you!" repeated Miss Abbott, and all the indignation of her sex +and her nationality went thrilling through the words. + +"But why?" He jumped up, frowning. His voice was squeaky and petulant, +like that of a child who is suddenly forbidden a toy. + +"You have ruined one woman; I forbid you to ruin another. It is not a +year since Lilia died. You pretended to me the other day that you loved +her. It is a lie. You wanted her money. Has this woman money too?" + +"Why, yes!" he said irritably. "A little." + +"And I suppose you will say that you love her." + +"I shall not say it. It will be untrue. Now my poor wife--" He stopped, +seeing that the comparison would involve him in difficulties. And indeed +he had often found Lilia as agreeable as any one else. + +Miss Abbott was furious at this final insult to her dead acquaintance. +She was glad that after all she could be so angry with the boy. She +glowed and throbbed; her tongue moved nimbly. At the finish, if the +real business of the day had been completed, she could have swept +majestically from the house. But the baby still remained, asleep on a +dirty rug. + +Gino was thoughtful, and stood scratching his head. He respected Miss +Abbott. He wished that she would respect him. "So you do not advise me?" +he said dolefully. "But why should it be a failure?" + +Miss Abbott tried to remember that he was really a child still--a child +with the strength and the passions of a disreputable man. "How can it +succeed," she said solemnly, "where there is no love?" + +"But she does love me! I forgot to tell you that." + +"Indeed." + +"Passionately." He laid his hand upon his own heart. + +"Then God help her!" + +He stamped impatiently. "Whatever I say displeases you, Signorina. God +help you, for you are most unfair. You say that I ill-treated my dear +wife. It is not so. I have never ill-treated any one. You complain that +there is no love in this marriage. I prove that there is, and you become +still more angry. What do you want? Do you suppose she will not be +contented? Glad enough she is to get me, and she will do her duty well." + +"Her duty!" cried Miss Abbott, with all the bitterness of which she was +capable. + +"Why, of course. She knows why I am marrying her." + +"To succeed where Lilia failed! To be your housekeeper, your slave, +you--" The words she would like to have said were too violent for her. + +"To look after the baby, certainly," said he. + +"The baby--?" She had forgotten it. + +"It is an English marriage," he said proudly. "I do not care about the +money. I am having her for my son. Did you not understand that?" + +"No," said Miss Abbott, utterly bewildered. Then, for a moment, she saw +light. "It is not necessary, Signor Carella. Since you are tired of the +baby--" + +Ever after she remembered it to her credit that she saw her mistake at +once. "I don't mean that," she added quickly. + +"I know," was his courteous response. "Ah, in a foreign language (and +how perfectly you speak Italian) one is certain to make slips." + +She looked at his face. It was apparently innocent of satire. + +"You meant that we could not always be together yet, he and I. You are +right. What is to be done? I cannot afford a nurse, and Perfetta is too +rough. When he was ill I dare not let her touch him. When he has to +be washed, which happens now and then, who does it? I. I feed him, or +settle what he shall have. I sleep with him and comfort him when he is +unhappy in the night. No one talks, no one may sing to him but I. Do not +be unfair this time; I like to do these things. But nevertheless (his +voice became pathetic) they take up a great deal of time, and are not +all suitable for a young man." + +"Not at all suitable," said Miss Abbott, and closed her eyes wearily. +Each moment her difficulties were increasing. She wished that she was +not so tired, so open to contradictory impressions. She longed for +Harriet's burly obtuseness or for the soulless diplomacy of Mrs. +Herriton. + +"A little more wine?" asked Gino kindly. + +"Oh, no, thank you! But marriage, Signor Carella, is a very serious +step. Could you not manage more simply? Your relative, for example--" + +"Empoli! I would as soon have him in England!" + +"England, then--" + +He laughed. + +"He has a grandmother there, you know--Mrs. Theobald." + +"He has a grandmother here. No, he is troublesome, but I must have him +with me. I will not even have my father and mother too. For they would +separate us," he added. + +"How?" + +"They would separate our thoughts." + +She was silent. This cruel, vicious fellow knew of strange refinements. +The horrible truth, that wicked people are capable of love, stood naked +before her, and her moral being was abashed. It was her duty to rescue +the baby, to save it from contagion, and she still meant to do her duty. +But the comfortable sense of virtue left her. She was in the presence of +something greater than right or wrong. + +Forgetting that this was an interview, he had strolled back into the +room, driven by the instinct she had aroused in him. "Wake up!" he cried +to his baby, as if it was some grown-up friend. Then he lifted his foot +and trod lightly on its stomach. + +Miss Abbott cried, "Oh, take care!" She was unaccustomed to this method +of awakening the young. + +"He is not much longer than my boot, is he? Can you believe that in time +his own boots will be as large? And that he also--" + +"But ought you to treat him like that?" + +He stood with one foot resting on the little body, suddenly musing, +filled with the desire that his son should be like him, and should have +sons like him, to people the earth. It is the strongest desire that can +come to a man--if it comes to him at all--stronger even than love or the +desire for personal immortality. All men vaunt it, and declare that it +is theirs; but the hearts of most are set elsewhere. It is the exception +who comprehends that physical and spiritual life may stream out of him +for ever. Miss Abbott, for all her goodness, could not comprehend it, +though such a thing is more within the comprehension of women. And +when Gino pointed first to himself and then to his baby and said +"father-son," she still took it as a piece of nursery prattle, and +smiled mechanically. + +The child, the first fruits, woke up and glared at her. Gino did not +greet it, but continued the exposition of his policy. + +"This woman will do exactly what I tell her. She is fond of children. +She is clean; she has a pleasant voice. She is not beautiful; I cannot +pretend that to you for a moment. But she is what I require." + +The baby gave a piercing yell. + +"Oh, do take care!" begged Miss Abbott. "You are squeezing it." + +"It is nothing. If he cries silently then you may be frightened. He +thinks I am going to wash him, and he is quite right." + +"Wash him!" she cried. "You? Here?" The homely piece of news seemed +to shatter all her plans. She had spent a long half-hour in elaborate +approaches, in high moral attacks; she had neither frightened her enemy +nor made him angry, nor interfered with the least detail of his domestic +life. + +"I had gone to the Farmacia," he continued, "and was sitting there +comfortably, when suddenly I remembered that Perfetta had heated water +an hour ago--over there, look, covered with a cushion. I came away at +once, for really he must be washed. You must excuse me. I can put it off +no longer." + +"I have wasted your time," she said feebly. + +He walked sternly to the loggia and drew from it a large earthenware +bowl. It was dirty inside; he dusted it with a tablecloth. Then he +fetched the hot water, which was in a copper pot. He poured it out. He +added cold. He felt in his pocket and brought out a piece of soap. Then +he took up the baby, and, holding his cigar between his teeth, began to +unwrap it. Miss Abbott turned to go. + +"But why are you going? Excuse me if I wash him while we talk." + +"I have nothing more to say," said Miss Abbott. All she could do now +was to find Philip, confess her miserable defeat, and bid him go in +her stead and prosper better. She cursed her feebleness; she longed to +expose it, without apologies or tears. + +"Oh, but stop a moment!" he cried. "You have not seen him yet." + +"I have seen as much as I want, thank you." + +The last wrapping slid off. He held out to her in his two hands a little +kicking image of bronze. + +"Take him!" + +She would not touch the child. + +"I must go at once," she cried; for the tears--the wrong tears--were +hurrying to her eyes. + +"Who would have believed his mother was blonde? For he is brown all +over--brown every inch of him. Ah, but how beautiful he is! And he is +mine; mine for ever. Even if he hates me he will be mine. He cannot help +it; he is made out of me; I am his father." + +It was too late to go. She could not tell why, but it was too late. +She turned away her head when Gino lifted his son to his lips. This was +something too remote from the prettiness of the nursery. The man was +majestic; he was a part of Nature; in no ordinary love scene could he +ever be so great. For a wonderful physical tie binds the parents to the +children; and--by some sad, strange irony--it does not bind us children +to our parents. For if it did, if we could answer their love not with +gratitude but with equal love, life would lose much of its pathos +and much of its squalor, and we might be wonderfully happy. Gino +passionately embracing, Miss Abbott reverently averting her eyes--both +of them had parents whom they did not love so very much. + +"May I help you to wash him?" she asked humbly. + +He gave her his son without speaking, and they knelt side by side, +tucking up their sleeves. The child had stopped crying, and his arms and +legs were agitated by some overpowering joy. Miss Abbott had a woman's +pleasure in cleaning anything--more especially when the thing was human. +She understood little babies from long experience in a district, and +Gino soon ceased to give her directions, and only gave her thanks. + +"It is very kind of you," he murmured, "especially in your beautiful +dress. He is nearly clean already. Why, I take the whole morning! There +is so much more of a baby than one expects. And Perfetta washes him just +as she washes clothes. Then he screams for hours. My wife is to have a +light hand. Ah, how he kicks! Has he splashed you? I am very sorry." + +"I am ready for a soft towel now," said Miss Abbott, who was strangely +exalted by the service. + +"Certainly! certainly!" He strode in a knowing way to a cupboard. But +he had no idea where the soft towel was. Generally he dabbed the baby on +the first dry thing he found. + +"And if you had any powder." + +He struck his forehead despairingly. Apparently the stock of powder was +just exhausted. + +She sacrificed her own clean handkerchief. He put a chair for her on the +loggia, which faced westward, and was still pleasant and cool. There she +sat, with twenty miles of view behind her, and he placed the dripping +baby on her knee. It shone now with health and beauty: it seemed to +reflect light, like a copper vessel. Just such a baby Bellini sets +languid on his mother's lap, or Signorelli flings wriggling on pavements +of marble, or Lorenzo di Credi, more reverent but less divine, lays +carefully among flowers, with his head upon a wisp of golden straw. For +a time Gino contemplated them standing. Then, to get a better view, he +knelt by the side of the chair, with his hands clasped before him. + +So they were when Philip entered, and saw, to all intents and purposes, +the Virgin and Child, with Donor. + +"Hullo!" he exclaimed; for he was glad to find things in such cheerful +trim. + +She did not greet him, but rose up unsteadily and handed the baby to his +father. + +"No, do stop!" whispered Philip. "I got your note. I'm not offended; +you're quite right. I really want you; I could never have done it +alone." + +No words came from her, but she raised her hands to her mouth, like one +who is in sudden agony. + +"Signorina, do stop a little--after all your kindness." + +She burst into tears. + +"What is it?" said Philip kindly. + +She tried to speak, and then went away weeping bitterly. + +The two men stared at each other. By a common impulse they ran on to the +loggia. They were just in time to see Miss Abbott disappear among the +trees. + +"What is it?" asked Philip again. There was no answer, and somehow he +did not want an answer. Some strange thing had happened which he could +not presume to understand. He would find out from Miss Abbott, if ever +he found out at all. + +"Well, your business," said Gino, after a puzzled sigh. + +"Our business--Miss Abbott has told you of that." + +"No." + +"But surely--" + +"She came for business. But she forgot about it; so did I." + +Perfetta, who had a genius for missing people, now returned, loudly +complaining of the size of Monteriano and the intricacies of its +streets. Gino told her to watch the baby. Then he offered Philip a +cigar, and they proceeded to the business. + + + +Chapter 8 + +"Mad!" screamed Harriet,--"absolutely stark, staring, raving mad!" + +Philip judged it better not to contradict her. + +"What's she here for? Answer me that. What's she doing in Monteriano in +August? Why isn't she in Normandy? Answer that. She won't. I can: she's +come to thwart us; she's betrayed us--got hold of mother's plans. Oh, +goodness, my head!" + +He was unwise enough to reply, "You mustn't accuse her of that. Though +she is exasperating, she hasn't come here to betray us." + +"Then why has she come here? Answer me that." + +He made no answer. But fortunately his sister was too much agitated +to wait for one. "Bursting in on me--crying and looking a disgusting +sight--and says she has been to see the Italian. Couldn't even talk +properly; pretended she had changed her opinions. What are her opinions +to us? I was very calm. I said: 'Miss Abbott, I think there is a +little misapprehension in this matter. My mother, Mrs. Herriton--' Oh, +goodness, my head! Of course you've failed--don't trouble to answer--I +know you've failed. Where's the baby, pray? Of course you haven't got +it. Dear sweet Caroline won't let you. Oh, yes, and we're to go away at +once and trouble the father no more. Those are her commands. Commands! +COMMANDS!" And Harriet also burst into tears. + +Philip governed his temper. His sister was annoying, but quite +reasonable in her indignation. Moreover, Miss Abbott had behaved even +worse than she supposed. + +"I've not got the baby, Harriet, but at the same time I haven't +exactly failed. I and Signor Carella are to have another interview +this afternoon, at the Caffe Garibaldi. He is perfectly reasonable and +pleasant. Should you be disposed to come with me, you would find him +quite willing to discuss things. He is desperately in want of money, and +has no prospect of getting any. I discovered that. At the same time, he +has a certain affection for the child." For Philip's insight, or perhaps +his opportunities, had not been equal to Miss Abbott's. + +Harriet would only sob, and accuse her brother of insulting her; how +could a lady speak to such a horrible man? That, and nothing else, was +enough to stamp Caroline. Oh, poor Lilia! + +Philip drummed on the bedroom window-sill. He saw no escape from the +deadlock. For though he spoke cheerfully about his second interview with +Gino, he felt at the bottom of his heart that it would fail. Gino was +too courteous: he would not break off negotiations by sharp denial; he +loved this civil, half-humorous bargaining. And he loved fooling his +opponent, and did it so nicely that his opponent did not mind being +fooled. + +"Miss Abbott has behaved extraordinarily," he said at last; "but at the +same time--" + +His sister would not hear him. She burst forth again on the madness, the +interference, the intolerable duplicity of Caroline. + +"Harriet, you must listen. My dear, you must stop crying. I have +something quite important to say." + +"I shall not stop crying," said she. But in time, finding that he would +not speak to her, she did stop. + +"Remember that Miss Abbott has done us no harm. She said nothing to him +about the matter. He assumes that she is working with us: I gathered +that." + +"Well, she isn't." + +"Yes; but if you're careful she may be. I interpret her behaviour thus: +She went to see him, honestly intending to get the child away. In the +note she left me she says so, and I don't believe she'd lie." + +"I do." + +"When she got there, there was some pretty domestic scene between him +and the baby, and she has got swept off in a gush of sentimentalism. +Before very long, if I know anything about psychology, there will be a +reaction. She'll be swept back." + +"I don't understand your long words. Say plainly--" + +"When she's swept back, she'll be invaluable. For she has made quite an +impression on him. He thinks her so nice with the baby. You know, she +washed it for him." + +"Disgusting!" + +Harriet's ejaculations were more aggravating than the rest of her. But +Philip was averse to losing his temper. The access of joy that had come +to him yesterday in the theatre promised to be permanent. He was more +anxious than heretofore to be charitable towards the world. + +"If you want to carry off the baby, keep your peace with Miss Abbott. +For if she chooses, she can help you better than I can." + +"There can be no peace between me and her," said Harriet gloomily. + +"Did you--" + +"Oh, not all I wanted. She went away before I had finished +speaking--just like those cowardly people!--into the church." + +"Into Santa Deodata's?" + +"Yes; I'm sure she needs it. Anything more unchristian--" + +In time Philip went to the church also, leaving his sister a little +calmer and a little disposed to think over his advice. What had come +over Miss Abbott? He had always thought her both stable and sincere. +That conversation he had had with her last Christmas in the train to +Charing Cross--that alone furnished him with a parallel. For the second +time, Monteriano must have turned her head. He was not angry with her, +for he was quite indifferent to the outcome of their expedition. He was +only extremely interested. + +It was now nearly midday, and the streets were clearing. But the intense +heat had broken, and there was a pleasant suggestion of rain. The +Piazza, with its three great attractions--the Palazzo Pubblico, the +Collegiate Church, and the Caffe Garibaldi: the intellect, the soul, and +the body--had never looked more charming. For a moment Philip stood in +its centre, much inclined to be dreamy, and thinking how wonderful it +must feel to belong to a city, however mean. He was here, however, as +an emissary of civilization and as a student of character, and, after a +sigh, he entered Santa Deodata's to continue his mission. + +There had been a FESTA two days before, and the church still smelt of +incense and of garlic. The little son of the sacristan was sweeping the +nave, more for amusement than for cleanliness, sending great clouds +of dust over the frescoes and the scattered worshippers. The sacristan +himself had propped a ladder in the centre of the Deluge--which fills +one of the nave spandrels--and was freeing a column from its wealth of +scarlet calico. Much scarlet calico also lay upon the floor--for the +church can look as fine as any theatre--and the sacristan's little +daughter was trying to fold it up. She was wearing a tinsel crown. The +crown really belonged to St. Augustine. But it had been cut too big: +it fell down over his cheeks like a collar: you never saw anything so +absurd. One of the canons had unhooked it just before the FIESTA began, +and had given it to the sacristan's daughter. + +"Please," cried Philip, "is there an English lady here?" + +The man's mouth was full of tin-tacks, but he nodded cheerfully towards +a kneeling figure. In the midst of this confusion Miss Abbott was +praying. + +He was not much surprised: a spiritual breakdown was quite to be +expected. For though he was growing more charitable towards mankind, +he was still a little jaunty, and too apt to stake out beforehand the +course that will be pursued by the wounded soul. It did not surprise +him, however, that she should greet him naturally, with none of the sour +self-consciousness of a person who had just risen from her knees. This +was indeed the spirit of Santa Deodata's, where a prayer to God is +thought none the worse of because it comes next to a pleasant word to +a neighbour. "I am sure that I need it," said she; and he, who had +expected her to be ashamed, became confused, and knew not what to reply. + +"I've nothing to tell you," she continued. "I have simply changed +straight round. If I had planned the whole thing out, I could not have +treated you worse. I can talk it over now; but please believe that I +have been crying." + +"And please believe that I have not come to scold you," said Philip. "I +know what has happened." + +"What?" asked Miss Abbott. Instinctively she led the way to the famous +chapel, the fifth chapel on the right, wherein Giovanni da Empoli has +painted the death and burial of the saint. Here they could sit out of +the dust and the noise, and proceed with a discussion which promised to +be important. + +"What might have happened to me--he had made you believe that he loved +the child." + +"Oh, yes; he has. He will never give it up." + +"At present it is still unsettled." + +"It will never be settled." + +"Perhaps not. Well, as I said, I know what has happened, and I am not +here to scold you. But I must ask you to withdraw from the thing for the +present. Harriet is furious. But she will calm down when she realizes +that you have done us no harm, and will do none." + +"I can do no more," she said. "But I tell you plainly I have changed +sides." + +"If you do no more, that is all we want. You promise not to prejudice +our cause by speaking to Signor Carella?" + +"Oh, certainly. I don't want to speak to him again; I shan't ever see +him again." + +"Quite nice, wasn't he?" + +"Quite." + +"Well, that's all I wanted to know. I'll go and tell Harriet of your +promise, and I think things'll quiet down now." + +But he did not move, for it was an increasing pleasure to him to be +near her, and her charm was at its strongest today. He thought less of +psychology and feminine reaction. The gush of sentimentalism which had +carried her away had only made her more alluring. He was content to +observe her beauty and to profit by the tenderness and the wisdom that +dwelt within her. + +"Why aren't you angry with me?" she asked, after a pause. + +"Because I understand you--all sides, I think,--Harriet, Signor Carella, +even my mother." + +"You do understand wonderfully. You are the only one of us who has a +general view of the muddle." + +He smiled with pleasure. It was the first time she had ever praised +him. His eyes rested agreeably on Santa Deodata, who was dying in full +sanctity, upon her back. There was a window open behind her, revealing +just such a view as he had seen that morning, and on her widowed +mother's dresser there stood just such another copper pot. The saint +looked neither at the view nor at the pot, and at her widowed mother +still less. For lo! she had a vision: the head and shoulders of St. +Augustine were sliding like some miraculous enamel along the rough-cast +wall. It is a gentle saint who is content with half another saint to see +her die. In her death, as in her life, Santa Deodata did not accomplish +much. + +"So what are you going to do?" said Miss Abbott. + +Philip started, not so much at the words as at the sudden change in the +voice. "Do?" he echoed, rather dismayed. "This afternoon I have another +interview." + +"It will come to nothing. Well?" + +"Then another. If that fails I shall wire home for instructions. I dare +say we may fail altogether, but we shall fail honourably." + +She had often been decided. But now behind her decision there was a note +of passion. She struck him not as different, but as more important, and +he minded it very much when she said-- + +"That's not doing anything! You would be doing something if you +kidnapped the baby, or if you went straight away. But that! To fail +honourably! To come out of the thing as well as you can! Is that all you +are after?" + +"Why, yes," he stammered. "Since we talk openly, that is all I am after +just now. What else is there? If I can persuade Signor Carella to give +in, so much the better. If he won't, I must report the failure to my +mother and then go home. Why, Miss Abbott, you can't expect me to follow +you through all these turns--" + +"I don't! But I do expect you to settle what is right and to follow +that. Do you want the child to stop with his father, who loves him and +will bring him up badly, or do you want him to come to Sawston, where +no one loves him, but where he will be brought up well? There is the +question put dispassionately enough even for you. Settle it. Settle +which side you'll fight on. But don't go talking about an 'honourable +failure,' which means simply not thinking and not acting at all." + +"Because I understand the position of Signor Carella and of you, it's no +reason that--" + +"None at all. Fight as if you think us wrong. Oh, what's the use of your +fair-mindedness if you never decide for yourself? Any one gets hold of +you and makes you do what they want. And you see through them and laugh +at them--and do it. It's not enough to see clearly; I'm muddle-headed +and stupid, and not worth a quarter of you, but I have tried to do +what seemed right at the time. And you--your brain and your insight are +splendid. But when you see what's right you're too idle to do it. You +told me once that we shall be judged by our intentions, not by our +accomplishments. I thought it a grand remark. But we must intend to +accomplish--not sit intending on a chair." + +"You are wonderful!" he said gravely. + +"Oh, you appreciate me!" she burst out again. "I wish you didn't. You +appreciate us all--see good in all of us. And all the time you are +dead--dead--dead. Look, why aren't you angry?" She came up to him, and +then her mood suddenly changed, and she took hold of both his hands. +"You are so splendid, Mr. Herriton, that I can't bear to see you wasted. +I can't bear--she has not been good to you--your mother." + +"Miss Abbott, don't worry over me. Some people are born not to do +things. I'm one of them; I never did anything at school or at the Bar. +I came out to stop Lilia's marriage, and it was too late. I came out +intending to get the baby, and I shall return an 'honourable failure.' I +never expect anything to happen now, and so I am never disappointed. +You would be surprised to know what my great events are. Going to the +theatre yesterday, talking to you now--I don't suppose I shall ever +meet anything greater. I seem fated to pass through the world without +colliding with it or moving it--and I'm sure I can't tell you whether +the fate's good or evil. I don't die--I don't fall in love. And if other +people die or fall in love they always do it when I'm just not there. +You are quite right; life to me is just a spectacle, which--thank God, +and thank Italy, and thank you--is now more beautiful and heartening +than it has ever been before." + +She said solemnly, "I wish something would happen to you, my dear +friend; I wish something would happen to you." + +"But why?" he asked, smiling. "Prove to me why I don't do as I am." + +She also smiled, very gravely. She could not prove it. No argument +existed. Their discourse, splendid as it had been, resulted in nothing, +and their respective opinions and policies were exactly the same when +they left the church as when they had entered it. + +Harriet was rude at lunch. She called Miss Abbott a turncoat and a +coward to her face. Miss Abbott resented neither epithet, feeling that +one was justified and the other not unreasonable. She tried to avoid +even the suspicion of satire in her replies. But Harriet was sure +that she was satirical because she was so calm. She got more and more +violent, and Philip at one time feared that she would come to blows. + +"Look here!" he cried, with something of the old manner, "it's too +hot for this. We've been talking and interviewing each other all the +morning, and I have another interview this afternoon. I do stipulate for +silence. Let each lady retire to her bedroom with a book." + +"I retire to pack," said Harriet. "Please remind Signor Carella, Philip, +that the baby is to be here by half-past eight this evening." + +"Oh, certainly, Harriet. I shall make a point of reminding him." + +"And order a carriage to take us to the evening train." + +"And please," said Miss Abbott, "would you order a carriage for me too?" + +"You going?" he exclaimed. + +"Of course," she replied, suddenly flushing. "Why not?" + +"Why, of course you would be going. Two carriages, then. Two carriages +for the evening train." He looked at his sister hopelessly. "Harriet, +whatever are you up to? We shall never be ready." + +"Order my carriage for the evening train," said Harriet, and departed. + +"Well, I suppose I shall. And I shall also have my interview with Signor +Carella." + +Miss Abbott gave a little sigh. + +"But why should you mind? Do you suppose that I shall have the slightest +influence over him?" + +"No. But--I can't repeat all that I said in the church. You ought never +to see him again. You ought to bundle Harriet into a carriage, not this +evening, but now, and drive her straight away." + +"Perhaps I ought. But it isn't a very big 'ought.' Whatever Harriet and +I do the issue is the same. Why, I can see the splendour of it--even the +humour. Gino sitting up here on the mountain-top with his cub. We come +and ask for it. He welcomes us. We ask for it again. He is equally +pleasant. I'm agreeable to spend the whole week bargaining with him. But +I know that at the end of it I shall descend empty-handed to the +plains. It might be finer of me to make up my mind. But I'm not a fine +character. And nothing hangs on it." + +"Perhaps I am extreme," she said humbly. "I've been trying to run you, +just like your mother. I feel you ought to fight it out with Harriet. +Every little trifle, for some reason, does seem incalculably important +today, and when you say of a thing that 'nothing hangs on it,' it sounds +like blasphemy. There's never any knowing--(how am I to put it?)--which +of our actions, which of our idlenesses won't have things hanging on it +for ever." + +He assented, but her remark had only an aesthetic value. He was not +prepared to take it to his heart. All the afternoon he rested--worried, +but not exactly despondent. The thing would jog out somehow. Probably +Miss Abbott was right. The baby had better stop where it was loved. And +that, probably, was what the fates had decreed. He felt little interest +in the matter, and he was sure that he had no influence. + +It was not surprising, therefore, that the interview at the Caffe +Garibaldi came to nothing. Neither of them took it very seriously. And +before long Gino had discovered how things lay, and was ragging his +companion hopelessly. Philip tried to look offended, but in the end +he had to laugh. "Well, you are right," he said. "This affair is being +managed by the ladies." + +"Ah, the ladies--the ladies!" cried the other, and then he roared like +a millionaire for two cups of black coffee, and insisted on treating his +friend, as a sign that their strife was over. + +"Well, I have done my best," said Philip, dipping a long slice of sugar +into his cup, and watching the brown liquid ascend into it. "I shall +face my mother with a good conscience. Will you bear me witness that +I've done my best?" + +"My poor fellow, I will!" He laid a sympathetic hand on Philip's knee. + +"And that I have--" The sugar was now impregnated with coffee, and he +bent forward to swallow it. As he did so his eyes swept the opposite of +the Piazza, and he saw there, watching them, Harriet. "Mia sorella!" he +exclaimed. Gino, much amused, laid his hand upon the little table, and +beat the marble humorously with his fists. Harriet turned away and began +gloomily to inspect the Palazzo Pubblico. + +"Poor Harriet!" said Philip, swallowing the sugar. "One more wrench and +it will all be over for her; we are leaving this evening." + +Gino was sorry for this. "Then you will not be here this evening as you +promised us. All three leaving?" + +"All three," said Philip, who had not revealed the secession of Miss +Abbott; "by the night train; at least, that is my sister's plan. So I'm +afraid I shan't be here." + +They watched the departing figure of Harriet, and then entered upon the +final civilities. They shook each other warmly by both hands. Philip +was to come again next year, and to write beforehand. He was to be +introduced to Gino's wife, for he was told of the marriage now. He was +to be godfather to his next baby. As for Gino, he would remember some +time that Philip liked vermouth. He begged him to give his love to Irma. +Mrs. Herriton--should he send her his sympathetic regards? No; perhaps +that would hardly do. + +So the two young men parted with a good deal of genuine affection. For +the barrier of language is sometimes a blessed barrier, which only lets +pass what is good. Or--to put the thing less cynically--we may be better +in new clean words, which have never been tainted by our pettiness or +vice. Philip, at all events, lived more graciously in Italian, the very +phrases of which entice one to be happy and kind. It was horrible to +think of the English of Harriet, whose every word would be as hard, as +distinct, and as unfinished as a lump of coal. + +Harriet, however, talked little. She had seen enough to know that her +brother had failed again, and with unwonted dignity she accepted the +situation. She did her packing, she wrote up her diary, she made a brown +paper cover for the new Baedeker. Philip, finding her so amenable, tried +to discuss their future plans. But she only said that they would sleep +in Florence, and told him to telegraph for rooms. They had supper +alone. Miss Abbott did not come down. The landlady told them that Signor +Carella had called on Miss Abbott to say good-bye, but she, though in, +had not been able to see him. She also told them that it had begun +to rain. Harriet sighed, but indicated to her brother that he was not +responsible. + +The carriages came round at a quarter past eight. It was not raining +much, but the night was extraordinarily dark, and one of the drivers +wanted to go slowly to the station. Miss Abbott came down and said that +she was ready, and would start at once. + +"Yes, do," said Philip, who was standing in the hall. "Now that we have +quarrelled we scarcely want to travel in procession all the way down the +hill. Well, good-bye; it's all over at last; another scene in my pageant +has shifted." + +"Good-bye; it's been a great pleasure to see you. I hope that won't +shift, at all events." She gripped his hand. + +"You sound despondent," he said, laughing. "Don't forget that you return +victorious." + +"I suppose I do," she replied, more despondently than ever, and got into +the carriage. He concluded that she was thinking of her reception at +Sawston, whither her fame would doubtless precede her. Whatever would +Mrs. Herriton do? She could make things quite unpleasant when she +thought it right. She might think it right to be silent, but then there +was Harriet. Who would bridle Harriet's tongue? Between the two of +them Miss Abbott was bound to have a bad time. Her reputation, both for +consistency and for moral enthusiasm, would be lost for ever. + +"It's hard luck on her," he thought. "She is a good person. I must do +for her anything I can." Their intimacy had been very rapid, but he too +hoped that it would not shift. He believed that he understood her, +and that she, by now, had seen the worst of him. What if after a +long time--if after all--he flushed like a boy as he looked after her +carriage. + +He went into the dining-room to look for Harriet. Harriet was not to +be found. Her bedroom, too, was empty. All that was left of her was +the purple prayer-book which lay open on the bed. Philip took it up +aimlessly, and saw--"Blessed be the Lord my God who teacheth my hands to +war and my fingers to fight." He put the book in his pocket, and began +to brood over more profitable themes. + +Santa Deodata gave out half past eight. All the luggage was on, and +still Harriet had not appeared. "Depend upon it," said the landlady, +"she has gone to Signor Carella's to say good-bye to her little nephew." +Philip did not think it likely. They shouted all over the house and +still there was no Harriet. He began to be uneasy. He was helpless +without Miss Abbott; her grave, kind face had cheered him wonderfully, +even when it looked displeased. Monteriano was sad without her; the rain +was thickening; the scraps of Donizetti floated tunelessly out of the +wineshops, and of the great tower opposite he could only see the base, +fresh papered with the advertisements of quacks. + +A man came up the street with a note. Philip read, "Start at once. Pick +me up outside the gate. Pay the bearer. H. H." + +"Did the lady give you this note?" he cried. + +The man was unintelligible. + +"Speak up!" exclaimed Philip. "Who gave it you--and where?" + +Nothing but horrible sighings and bubblings came out of the man. + +"Be patient with him," said the driver, turning round on the box. "It is +the poor idiot." And the landlady came out of the hotel and echoed "The +poor idiot. He cannot speak. He takes messages for us all." + +Philip then saw that the messenger was a ghastly creature, quite bald, +with trickling eyes and grey twitching nose. In another country he would +have been shut up; here he was accepted as a public institution, and +part of Nature's scheme. + +"Ugh!" shuddered the Englishman. "Signora padrona, find out from him; +this note is from my sister. What does it mean? Where did he see her?" + +"It is no good," said the landlady. "He understands everything but he +can explain nothing." + +"He has visions of the saints," said the man who drove the cab. + +"But my sister--where has she gone? How has she met him?" + +"She has gone for a walk," asserted the landlady. It was a nasty +evening, but she was beginning to understand the English. "She has gone +for a walk--perhaps to wish good-bye to her little nephew. Preferring to +come back another way, she has sent you this note by the poor idiot and +is waiting for you outside the Siena gate. Many of my guests do this." + +There was nothing to do but to obey the message. He shook hands with +the landlady, gave the messenger a nickel piece, and drove away. After +a dozen yards the carriage stopped. The poor idiot was running and +whimpering behind. + +"Go on," cried Philip. "I have paid him plenty." + +A horrible hand pushed three soldi into his lap. It was part of the +idiot's malady only to receive what was just for his services. This was +the change out of the nickel piece. + +"Go on!" shouted Philip, and flung the money into the road. He was +frightened at the episode; the whole of life had become unreal. It was +a relief to be out of the Siena gate. They drew up for a moment on the +terrace. But there was no sign of Harriet. The driver called to the +Dogana men. But they had seen no English lady pass. + +"What am I to do?" he cried; "it is not like the lady to be late. We +shall miss the train." + +"Let us drive slowly," said the driver, "and you shall call her by name +as we go." + +So they started down into the night, Philip calling "Harriet! Harriet! +Harriet!" And there she was, waiting for them in the wet, at the first +turn of the zigzag. + +"Harriet, why don't you answer?" + +"I heard you coming," said she, and got quickly in. Not till then did he +see that she carried a bundle. + +"What's that?" + +"Hush--" + +"Whatever is that?" + +"Hush--sleeping." + +Harriet had succeeded where Miss Abbott and Philip had failed. It was +the baby. + +She would not let him talk. The baby, she repeated, was asleep, and she +put up an umbrella to shield it and her from the rain. He should +hear all later, so he had to conjecture the course of the wonderful +interview--an interview between the South pole and the North. It was +quite easy to conjecture: Gino crumpling up suddenly before the intense +conviction of Harriet; being told, perhaps, to his face that he was a +villain; yielding his only son perhaps for money, perhaps for nothing. +"Poor Gino," he thought. "He's no greater than I am, after all." + +Then he thought of Miss Abbott, whose carriage must be descending the +darkness some mile or two below them, and his easy self-accusation +failed. She, too, had conviction; he had felt its force; he would feel +it again when she knew this day's sombre and unexpected close. + +"You have been pretty secret," he said; "you might tell me a little now. +What do we pay for him? All we've got?" + +"Hush!" answered Harriet, and dandled the bundle laboriously, like some +bony prophetess--Judith, or Deborah, or Jael. He had last seen the baby +sprawling on the knees of Miss Abbott, shining and naked, with twenty +miles of view behind him, and his father kneeling by his feet. And +that remembrance, together with Harriet, and the darkness, and the +poor idiot, and the silent rain, filled him with sorrow and with the +expectation of sorrow to come. + +Monteriano had long disappeared, and he could see nothing but the +occasional wet stem of an olive, which their lamp illumined as they +passed it. They travelled quickly, for this driver did not care how fast +he went to the station, and would dash down each incline and scuttle +perilously round the curves. + +"Look here, Harriet," he said at last, "I feel bad; I want to see the +baby." + +"Hush!" + +"I don't mind if I do wake him up. I want to see him. I've as much right +in him as you." + +Harriet gave in. But it was too dark for him to see the child's face. +"Wait a minute," he whispered, and before she could stop him he had +lit a match under the shelter of her umbrella. "But he's awake!" he +exclaimed. The match went out. + +"Good ickle quiet boysey, then." + +Philip winced. "His face, do you know, struck me as all wrong." + +"All wrong?" + +"All puckered queerly." + +"Of course--with the shadows--you couldn't see him." + +"Well, hold him up again." She did so. He lit another match. It went out +quickly, but not before he had seen that the baby was crying. + +"Nonsense," said Harriet sharply. "We should hear him if he cried." + +"No, he's crying hard; I thought so before, and I'm certain now." + +Harriet touched the child's face. It was bathed in tears. "Oh, the night +air, I suppose," she said, "or perhaps the wet of the rain." + +"I say, you haven't hurt it, or held it the wrong way, or anything; +it is too uncanny--crying and no noise. Why didn't you get Perfetta to +carry it to the hotel instead of muddling with the messenger? It's a +marvel he understood about the note." + +"Oh, he understands." And he could feel her shudder. "He tried to carry +the baby--" + +"But why not Gino or Perfetta?" + +"Philip, don't talk. Must I say it again? Don't talk. The baby wants +to sleep." She crooned harshly as they descended, and now and then she +wiped up the tears which welled inexhaustibly from the little eyes. +Philip looked away, winking at times himself. It was as if they were +travelling with the whole world's sorrow, as if all the mystery, all the +persistency of woe were gathered to a single fount. The roads were +now coated with mud, and the carriage went more quietly but not less +swiftly, sliding by long zigzags into the night. He knew the landmarks +pretty well: here was the crossroad to Poggibonsi; and the last view of +Monteriano, if they had light, would be from here. Soon they ought to +come to that little wood where violets were so plentiful in spring. He +wished the weather had not changed; it was not cold, but the air was +extraordinarily damp. It could not be good for the child. + +"I suppose he breathes, and all that sort of thing?" he said. + +"Of course," said Harriet, in an angry whisper. "You've started him +again. I'm certain he was asleep. I do wish you wouldn't talk; it makes +me so nervous." + +"I'm nervous too. I wish he'd scream. It's too uncanny. Poor Gino! I'm +terribly sorry for Gino." + +"Are you?" + +"Because he's weak--like most of us. He doesn't know what he wants. He +doesn't grip on to life. But I like that man, and I'm sorry for him." + +Naturally enough she made no answer. + +"You despise him, Harriet, and you despise me. But you do us no good +by it. We fools want some one to set us on our feet. Suppose a really +decent woman had set up Gino--I believe Caroline Abbott might have done +it--mightn't he have been another man?" + +"Philip," she interrupted, with an attempt at nonchalance, "do you +happen to have those matches handy? We might as well look at the baby +again if you have." + +The first match blew out immediately. So did the second. He suggested +that they should stop the carriage and borrow the lamp from the driver. + +"Oh, I don't want all that bother. Try again." + +They entered the little wood as he tried to strike the third match. +At last it caught. Harriet poised the umbrella rightly, and for a full +quarter minute they contemplated the face that trembled in the light of +the trembling flame. Then there was a shout and a crash. They were lying +in the mud in darkness. The carriage had overturned. + +Philip was a good deal hurt. He sat up and rocked himself to and fro, +holding his arm. He could just make out the outline of the carriage +above him, and the outlines of the carriage cushions and of their +luggage upon the grey road. The accident had taken place in the wood, +where it was even darker than in the open. + +"Are you all right?" he managed to say. Harriet was screaming, the horse +was kicking, the driver was cursing some other man. + +Harriet's screams became coherent. "The baby--the baby--it slipped--it's +gone from my arms--I stole it!" + +"God help me!" said Philip. A cold circle came round his mouth, and, he +fainted. + +When he recovered it was still the same confusion. The horse was +kicking, the baby had not been found, and Harriet still screamed like a +maniac, "I stole it! I stole it! I stole it! It slipped out of my arms!" + +"Keep still!" he commanded the driver. "Let no one move. We may tread on +it. Keep still." + +For a moment they all obeyed him. He began to crawl through the mud, +touching first this, then that, grasping the cushions by mistake, +listening for the faintest whisper that might guide him. He tried to +light a match, holding the box in his teeth and striking at it with the +uninjured hand. At last he succeeded, and the light fell upon the bundle +which he was seeking. + +It had rolled off the road into the wood a little way, and had fallen +across a great rut. So tiny it was that had it fallen lengthways it +would have disappeared, and he might never have found it. + +"I stole it! I and the idiot--no one was there." She burst out laughing. + +He sat down and laid it on his knee. Then he tried to cleanse the face +from the mud and the rain and the tears. His arm, he supposed, was +broken, but he could still move it a little, and for the moment he +forgot all pain. He was listening--not for a cry, but for the tick of a +heart or the slightest tremor of breath. + +"Where are you?" called a voice. It was Miss Abbott, against whose +carriage they had collided. She had relit one of the lamps, and was +picking her way towards him. + +"Silence!" he called again, and again they obeyed. He shook the bundle; +he breathed into it; he opened his coat and pressed it against him. Then +he listened, and heard nothing but the rain and the panting horses, and +Harriet, who was somewhere chuckling to herself in the dark. + +Miss Abbott approached, and took it gently from him. The face was +already chilly, but thanks to Philip it was no longer wet. Nor would it +again be wetted by any tear. + + + +Chapter 9 + +The details of Harriet's crime were never known. In her illness +she spoke more of the inlaid box that she lent to Lilia--lent, not +given--than of recent troubles. It was clear that she had gone prepared +for an interview with Gino, and finding him out, she had yielded to a +grotesque temptation. But how far this was the result of ill-temper, to +what extent she had been fortified by her religion, when and how she had +met the poor idiot--these questions were never answered, nor did they +interest Philip greatly. Detection was certain: they would have been +arrested by the police of Florence or Milan, or at the frontier. As it +was, they had been stopped in a simpler manner a few miles out of the +town. + +As yet he could scarcely survey the thing. It was too great. Round the +Italian baby who had died in the mud there centred deep passions and +high hopes. People had been wicked or wrong in the matter; no one save +himself had been trivial. Now the baby had gone, but there remained this +vast apparatus of pride and pity and love. For the dead, who seemed +to take away so much, really take with them nothing that is ours. The +passion they have aroused lives after them, easy to transmute or to +transfer, but well-nigh impossible to destroy. And Philip knew that he +was still voyaging on the same magnificent, perilous sea, with the sun +or the clouds above him, and the tides below. + +The course of the moment--that, at all events, was certain. He and no +one else must take the news to Gino. It was easy to talk of Harriet's +crime--easy also to blame the negligent Perfetta or Mrs. Herriton at +home. Every one had contributed--even Miss Abbott and Irma. If one +chose, one might consider the catastrophe composite or the work of fate. +But Philip did not so choose. It was his own fault, due to acknowledged +weakness in his own character. Therefore he, and no one else, must take +the news of it to Gino. + +Nothing prevented him. Miss Abbott was engaged with Harriet, and people +had sprung out of the darkness and were conducting them towards some +cottage. Philip had only to get into the uninjured carriage and order +the driver to return. He was back at Monteriano after a two hours' +absence. Perfetta was in the house now, and greeted him cheerfully. +Pain, physical and mental, had made him stupid. It was some time before +he realized that she had never missed the child. + +Gino was still out. The woman took him to the reception-room, just as +she had taken Miss Abbott in the morning, and dusted a circle for him on +one of the horsehair chairs. But it was dark now, so she left the guest +a little lamp. + +"I will be as quick as I can," she told him. "But there are many streets +in Monteriano; he is sometimes difficult to find. I could not find him +this morning." + +"Go first to the Caffe Garibaldi," said Philip, remembering that this +was the hour appointed by his friends of yesterday. + +He occupied the time he was left alone not in thinking--there was +nothing to think about; he simply had to tell a few facts--but in trying +to make a sling for his broken arm. The trouble was in the elbow-joint, +and as long as he kept this motionless he could go on as usual. But +inflammation was beginning, and the slightest jar gave him agony. The +sling was not fitted before Gino leapt up the stairs, crying-- + +"So you are back! How glad I am! We are all waiting--" + +Philip had seen too much to be nervous. In low, even tones he told what +had happened; and the other, also perfectly calm, heard him to the end. +In the silence Perfetta called up that she had forgotten the baby's +evening milk; she must fetch it. When she had gone Gino took up the lamp +without a word, and they went into the other room. + +"My sister is ill," said Philip, "and Miss Abbott is guiltless. I should +be glad if you did not have to trouble them." + +Gino had stooped down by the way, and was feeling the place where his +son had lain. Now and then he frowned a little and glanced at Philip. + +"It is through me," he continued. "It happened because I was cowardly +and idle. I have come to know what you will do." + +Gino had left the rug, and began to pat the table from the end, as if +he was blind. The action was so uncanny that Philip was driven to +intervene. + +"Gently, man, gently; he is not here." + +He went up and touched him on the shoulder. + +He twitched away, and began to pass his hands over things more +rapidly--over the table, the chairs, the entire floor, the walls as high +as he could reach them. Philip had not presumed to comfort him. But now +the tension was too great--he tried. + +"Break down, Gino; you must break down. Scream and curse and give in for +a little; you must break down." + +There was no reply, and no cessation of the sweeping hands. + +"It is time to be unhappy. Break down or you will be ill like my sister. +You will go--" + +The tour of the room was over. He had touched everything in it except +Philip. Now he approached him. He face was that of a man who has lost +his old reason for life and seeks a new one. + +"Gino!" + +He stopped for a moment; then he came nearer. Philip stood his ground. + +"You are to do what you like with me, Gino. Your son is dead, Gino. He +died in my arms, remember. It does not excuse me; but he did die in my +arms." + +The left hand came forward, slowly this time. It hovered before Philip +like an insect. Then it descended and gripped him by his broken elbow. + +Philip struck out with all the strength of his other arm. Gino fell to +the blow without a cry or a word. + +"You brute!" exclaimed the Englishman. "Kill me if you like! But just +you leave my broken arm alone." + +Then he was seized with remorse, and knelt beside his adversary and +tried to revive him. He managed to raise him up, and propped his body +against his own. He passed his arm round him. Again he was filled with +pity and tenderness. He awaited the revival without fear, sure that both +of them were safe at last. + +Gino recovered suddenly. His lips moved. For one blessed moment it +seemed that he was going to speak. But he scrambled up in silence, +remembering everything, and he made not towards Philip, but towards the +lamp. + +"Do what you like; but think first--" + +The lamp was tossed across the room, out through the loggia. It broke +against one of the trees below. Philip began to cry out in the dark. + +Gino approached from behind and gave him a sharp pinch. Philip spun +round with a yell. He had only been pinched on the back, but he knew +what was in store for him. He struck out, exhorting the devil to fight +him, to kill him, to do anything but this. Then he stumbled to the door. +It was open. He lost his head, and, instead of turning down the stairs, +he ran across the landing into the room opposite. There he lay down on +the floor between the stove and the skirting-board. + +His senses grew sharper. He could hear Gino coming in on tiptoe. He even +knew what was passing in his mind, how now he was at fault, now he +was hopeful, now he was wondering whether after all the victim had not +escaped down the stairs. There was a quick swoop above him, and then +a low growl like a dog's. Gino had broken his finger-nails against the +stove. + +Physical pain is almost too terrible to bear. We can just bear it when +it comes by accident or for our good--as it generally does in modern +life--except at school. But when it is caused by the malignity of a +man, full grown, fashioned like ourselves, all our control disappears. +Philip's one thought was to get away from that room at whatever +sacrifice of nobility or pride. + +Gino was now at the further end of the room, groping by the little +tables. Suddenly the instinct came to him. He crawled quickly to where +Philip lay and had him clean by the elbow. + +The whole arm seemed red-hot, and the broken bone grated in the joint, +sending out shoots of the essence of pain. His other arm was pinioned +against the wall, and Gino had trampled in behind the stove and was +kneeling on his legs. For the space of a minute he yelled and yelled +with all the force of his lungs. Then this solace was denied him. The +other hand, moist and strong, began to close round his throat. + +At first he was glad, for here, he thought, was death at last. But +it was only a new torture; perhaps Gino inherited the skill of his +ancestors--and childlike ruffians who flung each other from the towers. +Just as the windpipe closed, the hand fell off, and Philip was revived +by the motion of his arm. And just as he was about to faint and gain at +last one moment of oblivion, the motion stopped, and he would struggle +instead against the pressure on his throat. + +Vivid pictures were dancing through the pain--Lilia dying some months +back in this very house, Miss Abbott bending over the baby, his mother +at home, now reading evening prayers to the servants. He felt that he +was growing weaker; his brain wandered; the agony did not seem so great. +Not all Gino's care could indefinitely postpone the end. His yells and +gurgles became mechanical--functions of the tortured flesh rather than +true notes of indignation and despair. He was conscious of a horrid +tumbling. Then his arm was pulled a little too roughly, and everything +was quiet at last. + +"But your son is dead, Gino. Your son is dead, dear Gino. Your son is +dead." + +The room was full of light, and Miss Abbott had Gino by the shoulders, +holding him down in a chair. She was exhausted with the struggle, and +her arms were trembling. + +"What is the good of another death? What is the good of more pain?" + +He too began to tremble. Then he turned and looked curiously at Philip, +whose face, covered with dust and foam, was visible by the stove. Miss +Abbott allowed him to get up, though she still held him firmly. He gave +a loud and curious cry--a cry of interrogation it might be called. Below +there was the noise of Perfetta returning with the baby's milk. + +"Go to him," said Miss Abbott, indicating Philip. "Pick him up. Treat +him kindly." + +She released him, and he approached Philip slowly. His eyes were filling +with trouble. He bent down, as if he would gently raise him up. + +"Help! help!" moaned Philip. His body had suffered too much from Gino. +It could not bear to be touched by him. + +Gino seemed to understand. He stopped, crouched above him. Miss Abbott +herself came forward and lifted her friend in her arms. + +"Oh, the foul devil!" he murmured. "Kill him! Kill him for me." + +Miss Abbott laid him tenderly on the couch and wiped his face. Then she +said gravely to them both, "This thing stops here." + +"Latte! latte!" cried Perfetta, hilariously ascending the stairs. + +"Remember," she continued, "there is to be no revenge. I will have no +more intentional evil. We are not to fight with each other any more." + +"I shall never forgive him," sighed Philip. + +"Latte! latte freschissima! bianca come neve!" Perfetta came in with +another lamp and a little jug. + +Gino spoke for the first time. "Put the milk on the table," he said. +"It will not be wanted in the other room." The peril was over at last. +A great sob shook the whole body, another followed, and then he gave a +piercing cry of woe, and stumbled towards Miss Abbott like a child and +clung to her. + +All through the day Miss Abbott had seemed to Philip like a goddess, and +more than ever did she seem so now. Many people look younger and more +intimate during great emotion. But some there are who look older, and +remote, and he could not think that there was little difference in +years, and none in composition, between her and the man whose head was +laid upon her breast. Her eyes were open, full of infinite pity and +full of majesty, as if they discerned the boundaries of sorrow, and saw +unimaginable tracts beyond. Such eyes he had seen in great pictures but +never in a mortal. Her hands were folded round the sufferer, stroking +him lightly, for even a goddess can do no more than that. And it seemed +fitting, too, that she should bend her head and touch his forehead with +her lips. + +Philip looked away, as he sometimes looked away from the great pictures +where visible forms suddenly become inadequate for the things they have +shown to us. He was happy; he was assured that there was greatness in +the world. There came to him an earnest desire to be good through the +example of this good woman. He would try henceforward to be worthy of +the things she had revealed. Quietly, without hysterical prayers or +banging of drums, he underwent conversion. He was saved. + +"That milk," said she, "need not be wasted. Take it, Signor Carella, and +persuade Mr. Herriton to drink." + +Gino obeyed her, and carried the child's milk to Philip. And Philip +obeyed also and drank. + +"Is there any left?" + +"A little," answered Gino. + +"Then finish it." For she was determined to use such remnants as lie +about the world. + +"Will you not have some?" + +"I do not care for milk; finish it all." + +"Philip, have you had enough milk?" + +"Yes, thank you, Gino; finish it all." + +He drank the milk, and then, either by accident or in some spasm of +pain, broke the jug to pieces. Perfetta exclaimed in bewilderment. "It +does not matter," he told her. "It does not matter. It will never be +wanted any more." + + + +Chapter 10 + +"He will have to marry her," said Philip. "I heard from him this +morning, just as we left Milan. He finds he has gone too far to back +out. It would be expensive. I don't know how much he minds--not as much +as we suppose, I think. At all events there's not a word of blame in the +letter. I don't believe he even feels angry. I never was so completely +forgiven. Ever since you stopped him killing me, it has been a vision of +perfect friendship. He nursed me, he lied for me at the inquest, and at +the funeral, though he was crying, you would have thought it was my son +who had died. Certainly I was the only person he had to be kind to; +he was so distressed not to make Harriet's acquaintance, and that he +scarcely saw anything of you. In his letter he says so again." + +"Thank him, please, when you write," said Miss Abbott, "and give him my +kindest regards." + +"Indeed I will." He was surprised that she could slide away from the +man so easily. For his own part, he was bound by ties of almost alarming +intimacy. Gino had the southern knack of friendship. In the intervals +of business he would pull out Philip's life, turn it inside out, +remodel it, and advise him how to use it for the best. The sensation was +pleasant, for he was a kind as well as a skilful operator. But Philip +came away feeling that he had not a secret corner left. In that +very letter Gino had again implored him, as a refuge from domestic +difficulties, "to marry Miss Abbott, even if her dowry is small." And +how Miss Abbott herself, after such tragic intercourse, could resume +the conventions and send calm messages of esteem, was more than he could +understand. + +"When will you see him again?" she asked. They were standing together in +the corridor of the train, slowly ascending out of Italy towards the San +Gothard tunnel. + +"I hope next spring. Perhaps we shall paint Siena red for a day or +two with some of the new wife's money. It was one of the arguments for +marrying her." + +"He has no heart," she said severely. "He does not really mind about the +child at all." + +"No; you're wrong. He does. He is unhappy, like the rest of us. But he +doesn't try to keep up appearances as we do. He knows that the things +that have made him happy once will probably make him happy again--" + +"He said he would never be happy again." + +"In his passion. Not when he was calm. We English say it when we are +calm--when we do not really believe it any longer. Gino is not ashamed +of inconsistency. It is one of the many things I like him for." + +"Yes; I was wrong. That is so." + +"He's much more honest with himself than I am," continued Philip, "and +he is honest without an effort and without pride. But you, Miss Abbott, +what about you? Will you be in Italy next spring?" + +"No." + +"I'm sorry. When will you come back, do you think?" + +"I think never." + +"For whatever reason?" He stared at her as if she were some monstrosity. + +"Because I understand the place. There is no need." + +"Understand Italy!" he exclaimed. + +"Perfectly." + +"Well, I don't. And I don't understand you," he murmured to himself, as +he paced away from her up the corridor. By this time he loved her very +much, and he could not bear to be puzzled. He had reached love by the +spiritual path: her thoughts and her goodness and her nobility had +moved him first, and now her whole body and all its gestures had become +transfigured by them. The beauties that are called obvious--the beauties +of her hair and her voice and her limbs--he had noticed these +last; Gino, who never traversed any path at all, had commended them +dispassionately to his friend. + +Why was he so puzzling? He had known so much about her once--what she +thought, how she felt, the reasons for her actions. And now he only knew +that he loved her, and all the other knowledge seemed passing from him +just as he needed it most. Why would she never come to Italy again? Why +had she avoided himself and Gino ever since the evening that she had +saved their lives? The train was nearly empty. Harriet slumbered in +a compartment by herself. He must ask her these questions now, and he +returned quickly to her down the corridor. + +She greeted him with a question of her own. "Are your plans decided?" + +"Yes. I can't live at Sawston." + +"Have you told Mrs. Herriton?" + +"I wrote from Monteriano. I tried to explain things; but she will +never understand me. Her view will be that the affair is settled--sadly +settled since the baby is dead. Still it's over; our family circle need +be vexed no more. She won't even be angry with you. You see, you have +done us no harm in the long run. Unless, of course, you talk about +Harriet and make a scandal. So that is my plan--London and work. What is +yours?" + +"Poor Harriet!" said Miss Abbott. "As if I dare judge Harriet! Or +anybody." And without replying to Philip's question she left him to +visit the other invalid. + +Philip gazed after her mournfully, and then he looked mournfully out of +the window at the decreasing streams. All the excitement was over--the +inquest, Harriet's short illness, his own visit to the surgeon. He was +convalescent, both in body and spirit, but convalescence brought no joy. +In the looking-glass at the end of the corridor he saw his face haggard, +and his shoulders pulled forward by the weight of the sling. Life was +greater than he had supposed, but it was even less complete. He had seen +the need for strenuous work and for righteousness. And now he saw what a +very little way those things would go. + +"Is Harriet going to be all right?" he asked. Miss Abbott had come back +to him. + +"She will soon be her old self," was the reply. For Harriet, after a +short paroxysm of illness and remorse, was quickly returning to her +normal state. She had been "thoroughly upset" as she phrased it, but +she soon ceased to realize that anything was wrong beyond the death of +a poor little child. Already she spoke of "this unlucky accident," and +"the mysterious frustration of one's attempts to make things better." +Miss Abbott had seen that she was comfortable, and had given her a kind +kiss. But she returned feeling that Harriet, like her mother, considered +the affair as settled. + +"I'm clear enough about Harriet's future, and about parts of my own. But +I ask again, What about yours?" + +"Sawston and work," said Miss Abbott. + +"No." + +"Why not?" she asked, smiling. + +"You've seen too much. You've seen as much and done more than I have." + +"But it's so different. Of course I shall go to Sawston. You forget +my father; and even if he wasn't there, I've a hundred ties: my +district--I'm neglecting it shamefully--my evening classes, the St. +James'--" + +"Silly nonsense!" he exploded, suddenly moved to have the whole thing +out with her. "You're too good--about a thousand times better than I am. +You can't live in that hole; you must go among people who can hope to +understand you. I mind for myself. I want to see you often--again and +again." + +"Of course we shall meet whenever you come down; and I hope that it will +mean often." + +"It's not enough; it'll only be in the old horrible way, each with a +dozen relatives round us. No, Miss Abbott; it's not good enough." + +"We can write at all events." + +"You will write?" he cried, with a flush of pleasure. At times his hopes +seemed so solid. + +"I will indeed." + +"But I say it's not enough--you can't go back to the old life if you +wanted to. Too much has happened." + +"I know that," she said sadly. + +"Not only pain and sorrow, but wonderful things: that tower in the +sunlight--do you remember it, and all you said to me? The theatre, even. +And the next day--in the church; and our times with Gino." + +"All the wonderful things are over," she said. "That is just where it +is." + +"I don't believe it. At all events not for me. The most wonderful things +may be to come--" + +"The wonderful things are over," she repeated, and looked at him so +mournfully that he dare not contradict her. The train was crawling up +the last ascent towards the Campanile of Airolo and the entrance of the +tunnel. + +"Miss Abbott," he murmured, speaking quickly, as if their free +intercourse might soon be ended, "what is the matter with you? I +thought I understood you, and I don't. All those two great first days at +Monteriano I read you as clearly as you read me still. I saw why you +had come, and why you changed sides, and afterwards I saw your wonderful +courage and pity. And now you're frank with me one moment, as you used +to be, and the next moment you shut me up. You see I owe too much to +you--my life, and I don't know what besides. I won't stand it. You've +gone too far to turn mysterious. I'll quote what you said to me: 'Don't +be mysterious; there isn't the time.' I'll quote something else: 'I and +my life must be where I live.' You can't live at Sawston." + +He had moved her at last. She whispered to herself hurriedly. "It is +tempting--" And those three words threw him into a tumult of joy. What +was tempting to her? After all was the greatest of things possible? +Perhaps, after long estrangement, after much tragedy, the South had +brought them together in the end. That laughter in the theatre, those +silver stars in the purple sky, even the violets of a departed spring, +all had helped, and sorrow had helped also, and so had tenderness to +others. + +"It is tempting," she repeated, "not to be mysterious. I've wanted often +to tell you, and then been afraid. I could never tell any one else, +certainly no woman, and I think you're the one man who might understand +and not be disgusted." + +"Are you lonely?" he whispered. "Is it anything like that?" + +"Yes." The train seemed to shake him towards her. He was resolved that +though a dozen people were looking, he would yet take her in his +arms. "I'm terribly lonely, or I wouldn't speak. I think you must know +already." Their faces were crimson, as if the same thought was surging +through them both. + +"Perhaps I do." He came close to her. "Perhaps I could speak instead. +But if you will say the word plainly you'll never be sorry; I will thank +you for it all my life." + +She said plainly, "That I love him." Then she broke down. Her body was +shaken with sobs, and lest there should be any doubt she cried between +the sobs for Gino! Gino! Gino! + +He heard himself remark "Rather! I love him too! When I can forget how +he hurt me that evening. Though whenever we shake hands--" One of them +must have moved a step or two, for when she spoke again she was already +a little way apart. + +"You've upset me." She stifled something that was perilously near +hysterics. "I thought I was past all this. You're taking it wrongly. I'm +in love with Gino--don't pass it off--I mean it crudely--you know what I +mean. So laugh at me." + +"Laugh at love?" asked Philip. + +"Yes. Pull it to pieces. Tell me I'm a fool or worse--that he's a cad. +Say all you said when Lilia fell in love with him. That's the help +I want. I dare tell you this because I like you--and because you're +without passion; you look on life as a spectacle; you don't enter it; +you only find it funny or beautiful. So I can trust you to cure me. +Mr. Herriton, isn't it funny?" She tried to laugh herself, but became +frightened and had to stop. "He's not a gentleman, nor a Christian, nor +good in any way. He's never flattered me nor honoured me. But because +he's handsome, that's been enough. The son of an Italian dentist, with +a pretty face." She repeated the phrase as if it was a charm against +passion. "Oh, Mr. Herriton, isn't it funny!" Then, to his relief, she +began to cry. "I love him, and I'm not ashamed of it. I love him, and +I'm going to Sawston, and if I mayn't speak about him to you sometimes, +I shall die." + +In that terrible discovery Philip managed to think not of himself but of +her. He did not lament. He did not even speak to her kindly, for he saw +that she could not stand it. A flippant reply was what she asked and +needed--something flippant and a little cynical. And indeed it was the +only reply he could trust himself to make. + +"Perhaps it is what the books call 'a passing fancy'?" + +She shook her head. Even this question was too pathetic. For as far +as she knew anything about herself, she knew that her passions, once +aroused, were sure. "If I saw him often," she said, "I might remember +what he is like. Or he might grow old. But I dare not risk it, so +nothing can alter me now." + +"Well, if the fancy does pass, let me know." After all, he could say +what he wanted. + +"Oh, you shall know quick enough--" + +"But before you retire to Sawston--are you so mighty sure?" + +"What of?" She had stopped crying. He was treating her exactly as she +had hoped. + +"That you and he--" He smiled bitterly at the thought of them together. +Here was the cruel antique malice of the gods, such as they once sent +forth against Pasiphae. Centuries of aspiration and culture--and the +world could not escape it. "I was going to say--whatever have you got in +common?" + +"Nothing except the times we have seen each other." Again her face was +crimson. He turned his own face away. + +"Which--which times?" + +"The time I thought you weak and heedless, and went instead of you to +get the baby. That began it, as far as I know the beginning. Or it may +have begun when you took us to the theatre, and I saw him mixed up with +music and light. But didn't understand till the morning. Then you opened +the door--and I knew why I had been so happy. Afterwards, in the church, +I prayed for us all; not for anything new, but that we might just be as +we were--he with the child he loved, you and I and Harriet safe out of +the place--and that I might never see him or speak to him again. I could +have pulled through then--the thing was only coming near, like a wreath +of smoke; it hadn't wrapped me round." + +"But through my fault," said Philip solemnly, "he is parted from the +child he loves. And because my life was in danger you came and saw +him and spoke to him again." For the thing was even greater than she +imagined. Nobody but himself would ever see round it now. And to see +round it he was standing at an immense distance. He could even be glad +that she had once held the beloved in her arms. + +"Don't talk of 'faults.' You're my friend for ever, Mr. Herriton, I +think. Only don't be charitable and shift or take the blame. Get over +supposing I'm refined. That's what puzzles you. Get over that." + +As he spoke she seemed to be transfigured, and to have indeed no part +with refinement or unrefinement any longer. Out of this wreck there was +revealed to him something indestructible--something which she, who had +given it, could never take away. + +"I say again, don't be charitable. If he had asked me, I might have +given myself body and soul. That would have been the end of my rescue +party. But all through he took me for a superior being--a goddess. I +who was worshipping every inch of him, and every word he spoke. And that +saved me." + +Philip's eyes were fixed on the Campanile of Airolo. But he saw instead +the fair myth of Endymion. This woman was a goddess to the end. For +her no love could be degrading: she stood outside all degradation. This +episode, which she thought so sordid, and which was so tragic for him, +remained supremely beautiful. To such a height was he lifted, that +without regret he could now have told her that he was her worshipper +too. But what was the use of telling her? For all the wonderful things +had happened. + +"Thank you," was all that he permitted himself. "Thank you for +everything." + +She looked at him with great friendliness, for he had made her life +endurable. At that moment the train entered the San Gothard tunnel. They +hurried back to the carriage to close the windows lest the smuts should +get into Harriet's eyes. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Where Angels Fear to Tread, by E. M. 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Even Mrs. Theobald, +squired by Mr. Kingcroft, had braved the journey from +Yorkshire to bid her only daughter good-bye. Miss Abbott +was likewise attended by numerous relatives, and the sight +of so many people talking at once and saying such different +things caused Lilia to break into ungovernable peals of laughter. + +"Quite an ovation," she cried, sprawling out of her +first-class carriage. "They'll take us for royalty. Oh, +Mr. Kingcroft, get us foot-warmers." + +The good-natured young man hurried away, and Philip, +taking his place, flooded her with a final stream of advice +and injunctions--where to stop, how to learn Italian, when to +use mosquito-nets, what pictures to look at. "Remember," he +concluded, "that it is only by going off the track that you +get to know the country. See the little towns--Gubbio, +Pienza, Cortona, San Gemignano, Monteriano. And don't, let +me beg you, go with that awful tourist idea that Italy's +only a museum of antiquities and art. Love and understand +the Italians, for the people are more marvellous than the land." + +"How I wish you were coming, Philip," she said, +flattered at the unwonted notice her brother-in-law was +giving her. + +"I wish I were." He could have managed it without great +difficulty, for his career at the Bar was not so intense as +to prevent occasional holidays. But his family disliked his +continual visits to the Continent, and he himself often +found pleasure in the idea that he was too busy to leave town. + +"Good-bye, dear every one. What a whirl!" She caught +sight of her little daughter Irma, and felt that a touch of +maternal solemnity was required. "Good-bye, darling. Mind +you're always good, and do what Granny tells you." + +She referred not to her own mother, but to her +mother-in-law, Mrs. Herriton, who hated the title of Granny. + +Irma lifted a serious face to be kissed, and said +cautiously, "I'll do my best." + +"She is sure to be good," said Mrs. Herriton, who was +standing pensively a little out of the hubbub. But Lilia +was already calling to Miss Abbott, a tall, grave, rather +nice-looking young lady who was conducting her adieus in a +more decorous manner on the platform. + +"Caroline, my Caroline! Jump in, or your chaperon will +go off without you." + +And Philip, whom the idea of Italy always intoxicated, +had started again, telling her of the supreme moments of her +coming journey--the Campanile of Airolo, which would burst on +her when she emerged from the St. Gothard tunnel, presaging +the future; the view of the Ticino and Lago Maggiore as the +train climbed the slopes of Monte Cenere; the view of +Lugano, the view of Como--Italy gathering thick around her +now--the arrival at her first resting-place, when, after long +driving through dark and dirty streets, she should at last +behold, amid the roar of trams and the glare of arc lamps, +the buttresses of the cathedral of Milan. + +"Handkerchiefs and collars," screamed Harriet, "in my +inlaid box! I've lent you my inlaid box." + +"Good old Harry!" She kissed every one again, and there +was a moment's silence. They all smiled steadily, excepting +Philip, who was choking in the fog, and old Mrs. Theobald, +who had begun to cry. Miss Abbott got into the carriage. +The guard himself shut the door, and told Lilia that she +would be all right. Then the train moved, and they all +moved with it a couple of steps, and waved their +handkerchiefs, and uttered cheerful little cries. At that +moment Mr. Kingcroft reappeared, carrying a footwarmer by +both ends, as if it was a tea-tray. He was sorry that he +was too late, and called out in a quivering voice, +"Good-bye, Mrs. Charles. May you enjoy yourself, and may +God bless you." + +Lilia smiled and nodded, and then the absurd position of +the foot-warmer overcame her, and she began to laugh again. + +"Oh, I am so sorry," she cried back, "but you do look so +funny. Oh, you all look so funny waving! Oh, pray!" And +laughing helplessly, she was carried out into the fog. + +"High spirits to begin so long a journey," said Mrs. +Theobald, dabbing her eyes. + +Mr. Kingcroft solemnly moved his head in token of +agreement. "I wish," said he, "that Mrs. Charles had gotten +the footwarmer. These London porters won't take heed to a +country chap." + +"But you did your best," said Mrs. Herriton. "And I +think it simply noble of you to have brought Mrs. Theobald +all the way here on such a day as this." Then, rather +hastily, she shook hands, and left him to take Mrs. Theobald +all the way back. + +Sawston, her own home, was within easy reach of London, +and they were not late for tea. Tea was in the dining-room, +with an egg for Irma, to keep up the child's spirits. The +house seemed strangely quiet after a fortnight's bustle, and +their conversation was spasmodic and subdued. They wondered +whether the travellers had got to Folkestone, whether it +would be at all rough, and if so what would happen to poor +Miss Abbott. + +"And, Granny, when will the old ship get to Italy?" +asked Irma. + +"'Grandmother,' dear; not 'Granny,'" said Mrs. Herriton, +giving her a kiss. "And we say 'a boat' or 'a steamer,' not +'a ship.' Ships have sails. And mother won't go all the way +by sea. You look at the map of Europe, and you'll see why. +Harriet, take her. Go with Aunt Harriet, and she'll show +you the map." + +"Righto!" said the little girl, and dragged the +reluctant Harriet into the library. Mrs. Herriton and her +son were left alone. There was immediately confidence +between them. + +"Here beginneth the New Life," said Philip. + +"Poor child, how vulgar!" murmured Mrs. Herriton. "It's +surprising that she isn't worse. But she has got a look of +poor Charles about her." + +"And--alas, alas!--a look of old Mrs. Theobald. What +appalling apparition was that! I did think the lady was +bedridden as well as imbecile. Why ever did she come?" + +"Mr. Kingcroft made her. I am certain of it. He wanted +to see Lilia again, and this was the only way." + +"I hope he is satisfied. I did not think my +sister-in-law distinguished herself in her farewells." + +Mrs. Herriton shuddered. "I mind nothing, so long as +she has gone--and gone with Miss Abbott. It is mortifying to +think that a widow of thirty-three requires a girl ten years +younger to look after her." + +"I pity Miss Abbott. Fortunately one admirer is chained +to England. Mr. Kingcroft cannot leave the crops or the +climate or something. I don't think, either, he improved +his chances today. He, as well as Lilia, has the knack of +being absurd in public." + +Mrs. Herriton replied, "When a man is neither well bred, +nor well connected, nor handsome, nor clever, nor rich, even +Lilia may discard him in time." + +"No. I believe she would take any one. Right up to the +last, when her boxes were packed, she was 'playing' the +chinless curate. Both the curates are chinless, but hers +had the dampest hands. I came on them in the Park. They +were speaking of the Pentateuch." + +"My dear boy! If possible, she has got worse and +worse. It was your idea of Italian travel that saved us!" + +Philip brightened at the little compliment. "The odd +part is that she was quite eager--always asking me for +information; and of course I was very glad to give it. I +admit she is a Philistine, appallingly ignorant, and her +taste in art is false. Still, to have any taste at all is +something. And I do believe that Italy really purifies and +ennobles all who visit her. She is the school as well as +the playground of the world. It is really to Lilia's credit +that she wants to go there." + +"She would go anywhere," said his mother, who had heard +enough of the praises of Italy. "I and Caroline Abbott had +the greatest difficulty in dissuading her from the Riviera." + +"No, Mother; no. She was really keen on Italy. This +travel is quite a crisis for her." He found the situation +full of whimsical romance: there was something half +attractive, half repellent in the thought of this vulgar +woman journeying to places he loved and revered. Why should +she not be transfigured? The same had happened to the Goths. + +Mrs. Herriton did not believe in romance nor in +transfiguration, nor in parallels from history, nor in +anything else that may disturb domestic life. She adroitly +changed the subject before Philip got excited. Soon Harriet +returned, having given her lesson in geography. Irma went +to bed early, and was tucked up by her grandmother. Then +the two ladies worked and played cards. Philip read a +book. And so they all settled down to their quiet, +profitable existence, and continued it without interruption +through the winter. + +It was now nearly ten years since Charles had fallen in +love with Lilia Theobald because she was pretty, and during +that time Mrs. Herriton had hardly known a moment's rest. +For six months she schemed to prevent the match, and when it +had taken place she turned to another task--the supervision +of her daughter-in-law. Lilia must be pushed through life +without bringing discredit on the family into which she had +married. She was aided by Charles, by her daughter Harriet, +and, as soon as he was old enough, by the clever one of the +family, Philip. The birth of Irma made things still more +difficult. But fortunately old Mrs. Theobald, who had +attempted interference, began to break up. It was an effort +to her to leave Whitby, and Mrs. Herriton discouraged the +effort as far as possible. That curious duel which is +fought over every baby was fought and decided early. Irma +belonged to her father's family, not to her mother's. + +Charles died, and the struggle recommenced. Lilia tried +to assert herself, and said that she should go to take care +of Mrs. Theobald. It required all Mrs. Herriton's kindness +to prevent her. A house was finally taken for her at +Sawston, and there for three years she lived with Irma, +continually subject to the refining influences of her late +husband's family. + +During one of her rare Yorkshire visits trouble began +again. Lilia confided to a friend that she liked a Mr. +Kingcroft extremely, but that she was not exactly engaged to +him. The news came round to Mrs. Herriton, who at once +wrote, begging for information, and pointing out that Lilia +must either be engaged or not, since no intermediate state +existed. It was a good letter, and flurried Lilia +extremely. She left Mr. Kingcroft without even the pressure +of a rescue-party. She cried a great deal on her return to +Sawston, and said she was very sorry. Mrs. Herriton took +the opportunity of speaking more seriously about the duties +of widowhood and motherhood than she had ever done before. +But somehow things never went easily after. Lilia would not +settle down in her place among Sawston matrons. She was a +bad housekeeper, always in the throes of some domestic +crisis, which Mrs. Herriton, who kept her servants for +years, had to step across and adjust. She let Irma stop +away from school for insufficient reasons, and she allowed +her to wear rings. She learnt to bicycle, for the purpose +of waking the place up, and coasted down the High Street one +Sunday evening, falling off at the turn by the church. If +she had not been a relative, it would have been +entertaining. But even Philip, who in theory loved +outraging English conventions, rose to the occasion, and +gave her a talking which she remembered to her dying day. +It was just then, too, that they discovered that she still +allowed Mr. Kingcroft to write to her "as a gentleman +friend," and to send presents to Irma. + +Philip thought of Italy, and the situation was saved. +Caroline, charming, sober, Caroline Abbott, who lived two +turnings away, was seeking a companion for a year's travel. +Lilia gave up her house, sold half her furniture, left the +other half and Irma with Mrs. Herriton, and had now +departed, amid universal approval, for a change of scene. + +She wrote to them frequently during the winter--more +frequently than she wrote to her mother. Her letters were +always prosperous. Florence she found perfectly sweet, +Naples a dream, but very whiffy. In Rome one had simply to +sit still and feel. Philip, however, declared that she was +improving. He was particularly gratified when in the early +spring she began to visit the smaller towns that he had +recommended. "In a place like this," she wrote, "one really +does feel in the heart of things, and off the beaten track. +Looking out of a Gothic window every morning, it seems +impossible that the middle ages have passed away." The +letter was from Monteriano, and concluded with a not +unsuccessful description of the wonderful little town. + +"It is something that she is contented," said Mrs. +Herriton. "But no one could live three months with Caroline +Abbott and not be the better for it." + +Just then Irma came in from school, and she read her +mother's letter to her, carefully correcting any grammatical +errors, for she was a loyal supporter of parental +authority--Irma listened politely, but soon changed the +subject to hockey, in which her whole being was absorbed. +They were to vote for colours that afternoon--yellow and +white or yellow and green. What did her grandmother think? + +Of course Mrs. Herriton had an opinion, which she +sedately expounded, in spite of Harriet, who said that +colours were unnecessary for children, and of Philip, who +said that they were ugly. She was getting proud of Irma, +who had certainly greatly improved, and could no longer be +called that most appalling of things--a vulgar child. She +was anxious to form her before her mother returned. So she +had no objection to the leisurely movements of the +travellers, and even suggested that they should overstay +their year if it suited them. + +Lilia's next letter was also from Monteriano, and Philip +grew quite enthusiastic. + +"They've stopped there over a week!" he cried. "Why! I +shouldn't have done as much myself. They must be really +keen, for the hotel's none too comfortable." + +"I cannot understand people," said Harriet. "What can +they be doing all day? And there is no church there, I suppose." + +"There is Santa Deodata, one of the most beautiful +churches in Italy." + +"Of course I mean an English church," said Harriet +stiffly. "Lilia promised me that she would always be in a +large town on Sundays." + +"If she goes to a service at Santa Deodata's, she will +find more beauty and sincerity than there is in all the Back +Kitchens of Europe." + +The Back Kitchen was his nickname for St. James's, a +small depressing edifice much patronized by his sister. She +always resented any slight on it, and Mrs. Herriton had to +intervene. + +"Now, dears, don't. Listen to Lilia's letter. 'We love +this place, and I do not know how I shall ever thank Philip +for telling me it. It is not only so quaint, but one sees +the Italians unspoiled in all their simplicity and charm +here. The frescoes are wonderful. Caroline, who grows +sweeter every day, is very busy sketching.' " + +"Every one to his taste!" said Harriet, who always +delivered a platitude as if it was an epigram. She was +curiously virulent about Italy, which she had never visited, +her only experience of the Continent being an occasional six +weeks in the Protestant parts of Switzerland. + +"Oh, Harriet is a bad lot!" said Philip as soon as she +left the room. His mother laughed, and told him not to be +naughty; and the appearance of Irma, just off to school, +prevented further discussion. Not only in Tracts is a child +a peacemaker. + +"One moment, Irma," said her uncle. "I'm going to the +station. I'll give you the pleasure of my company." + +They started together. Irma was gratified; but +conversation flagged, for Philip had not the art of talking +to the young. Mrs. Herriton sat a little longer at the +breakfast table, re-reading Lilia's letter. Then she helped +the cook to clear, ordered dinner, and started the housemaid +turning out the drawing-room, Tuesday being its day. The +weather was lovely, and she thought she would do a little +gardening, as it was quite early. She called Harriet, who +had recovered from the insult to St. James's, and together +they went to the kitchen garden and began to sow some early +vegetables. + +"We will save the peas to the last; they are the +greatest fun," said Mrs. Herriton, who had the gift of +making work a treat. She and her elderly daughter always +got on very well, though they had not a great deal in +common. Harriet's education had been almost too +successful. As Philip once said, she had "bolted all the +cardinal virtues and couldn't digest them." Though pious +and patriotic, and a great moral asset for the house, she +lacked that pliancy and tact which her mother so much +valued, and had expected her to pick up for herself. +Harriet, if she had been allowed, would have driven Lilia to +an open rupture, and, what was worse, she would have done +the same to Philip two years before, when he returned full +of passion for Italy, and ridiculing Sawston and its ways. + +"It's a shame, Mother!" she had cried. "Philip laughs +at everything--the Book Club, the Debating Society, the +Progressive Whist, the bazaars. People won't like it. We +have our reputation. A house divided against itself cannot stand." + +Mrs. Herriton replied in the memorable words, "Let +Philip say what he likes, and he will let us do what we +like." And Harriet had acquiesced. + +They sowed the duller vegetables first, and a pleasant +feeling of righteous fatigue stole over them as they +addressed themselves to the peas. Harriet stretched a +string to guide the row straight, and Mrs. Herriton +scratched a furrow with a pointed stick. At the end of it +she looked at her watch. + +"It's twelve! The second post's in. Run and see if +there are any letters." + +Harriet did not want to go. "Let's finish the peas. +There won't be any letters." + +"No, dear; please go. I'll sow the peas, but you shall +cover them up--and mind the birds don't see 'em!" + +Mrs. Herriton was very careful to let those peas trickle +evenly from her hand, and at the end of the row she was +conscious that she had never sown better. They were +expensive too. + +"Actually old Mrs. Theobald!" said Harriet, returning. + +"Read me the letter. My hands are dirty. How +intolerable the crested paper is." + +Harriet opened the envelope. + +"I don't understand," she said; "it doesn't make sense." + +"Her letters never did." + +"But it must be sillier than usual," said Harriet, and +her voice began to quaver. "Look here, read it, Mother; I +can't make head or tail." + +Mrs. Herriton took the letter indulgently. "What is the +difficulty?" she said after a long pause. "What is it that +puzzles you in this letter?" + +"The meaning--" faltered Harriet. The sparrows hopped +nearer and began to eye the peas. + +"The meaning is quite clear--Lilia is engaged to be +married. Don't cry, dear; please me by not crying--don't +talk at all. It's more than I could bear. She is going to +marry some one she has met in a hotel. Take the letter and +read for yourself." Suddenly she broke down over what might +seem a small point. "How dare she not tell me direct! How +dare she write first to Yorkshire! Pray, am I to hear +through Mrs. Theobald--a patronizing, insolent letter like +this? Have I no claim at all? Bear witness, dear"--she +choked with passion--"bear witness that for this I'll never +forgive her!" + +"Oh, what is to be done?" moaned Harriet. "What is to +be done?" + +"This first!" She tore the letter into little pieces +and scattered it over the mould. "Next, a telegram for +Lilia! No! a telegram for Miss Caroline Abbott. She, too, +has something to explain." + +"Oh, what is to be done?" repeated Harriet, as she +followed her mother to the house. She was helpless before +such effrontery. What awful thing--what awful person had +come to Lilia? "Some one in the hotel." The letter only +said that. What kind of person? A gentleman? An +Englishman? The letter did not say. + +"Wire reason of stay at Monteriano. Strange rumours," +read Mrs. Herriton, and addressed the telegram to Abbott, +Stella d'Italia, Monteriano, Italy. "If there is an office +there," she added, "we might get an answer this evening. +Since Philip is back at seven, and the eight-fifteen catches +the midnight boat at Dover--Harriet, when you go with this, +get 100 pounds in 5 pound notes at the bank." + +"Go, dear, at once; do not talk. I see Irma coming back; +go quickly.... Well, Irma dear, and whose team are you in +this afternoon--Miss Edith's or Miss May's?" + +But as soon as she had behaved as usual to her +grand-daughter, she went to the library and took out the +large atlas, for she wanted to know about Monteriano. The +name was in the smallest print, in the midst of a +woolly-brown tangle of hills which were called the +"Sub-Apennines." It was not so very far from Siena, which +she had learnt at school. Past it there wandered a thin +black line, notched at intervals like a saw, and she knew +that this was a railway. But the map left a good deal to +imagination, and she had not got any. She looked up the +place in "Childe Harold," but Byron had not been there. Nor +did Mark Twain visit it in the "Tramp Abroad." The +resources of literature were exhausted: she must wait till +Philip came home. And the thought of Philip made her try +Philip's room, and there she found "Central Italy," by +Baedeker, and opened it for the first time in her life and +read in it as follows:-- + + +MONTERIANO (pop. 4800). Hotels: Stella d'Italia, +moderate only; Globo, dirty. * Caffe Garibaldi. Post and +Telegraph office in Corso Vittorio Emmanuele, next to +theatre. Photographs at Seghena's (cheaper in +Florence). Diligence (1 lira) meets principal trains. + +Chief attractions (2-3 hours): Santa Deodata, Palazzo +Pubblico, Sant' Agostino, Santa Caterina, Sant' Ambrogio, +Palazzo Capocchi. Guide (2 lire) unnecessary. A walk +round the Walls should on no account be omitted. The +view from the Rocca (small gratuity) is finest at sunset. + +History: Monteriano, the Mons Rianus of Antiquity, +whose Ghibelline tendencies are noted by Dante (Purg. +xx.), definitely emancipated itself from Poggibonsi in +1261. Hence the distich, "POGGIBONIZZI, FAUI IN LA, CHE +MONTERIANO SI FA CITTA!" till recently enscribed over +the Siena gate. It remained independent till 1530, when +it was sacked by the Papal troops and became part of the +Grand Duchy of Tuscany. It is now of small importance, +and seat of the district prison. The inhabitants are +still noted for their agreeable manners. + + - - - - - + +The traveller will proceed direct from the Siena gate to +the Collegiate Church of Santa Deodata, and inspect (5th +chapel on right) the charming * Frescoes.... + + +Mrs. Herriton did not proceed. She was not one to +detect the hidden charms of Baedeker. Some of the +information seemed to her unnecessary, all of it was dull. +Whereas Philip could never read "The view from the Rocca +(small gratuity) is finest at sunset" without a catching at +the heart. Restoring the book to its place, she went +downstairs, and looked up and down the asphalt paths for her +daughter. She saw her at last, two turnings away, vainly +trying to shake off Mr. Abbott, Miss Caroline Abbott's +father. Harriet was always unfortunate. At last she +returned, hot, agitated, crackling with bank-notes, and Irma +bounced to greet her, and trod heavily on her corn. + +"Your feet grow larger every day," said the agonized +Harriet, and gave her niece a violent push. Then Irma +cried, and Mrs. Herriton was annoyed with Harriet for +betraying irritation. Lunch was nasty; and during pudding +news arrived that the cook, by sheer dexterity, had broken a +very vital knob off the kitchen-range. "It is too bad," +said Mrs. Herriton. Irma said it was three bad, and was +told not to be rude. After lunch Harriet would get out +Baedeker, and read in injured tones about Monteriano, the +Mons Rianus of Antiquity, till her mother stopped her. + +"It's ridiculous to read, dear. She's not trying to +marry any one in the place. Some tourist, obviously, who's +stopping in the hotel. The place has nothing to do with it +at all." + +"But what a place to go to! What nice person, too, do +you meet in a hotel?" + +"Nice or nasty, as I have told you several times before, +is not the point. Lilia has insulted our family, and she +shall suffer for it. And when you speak against hotels, I +think you forget that I met your father at Chamounix. You +can contribute nothing, dear, at present, and I think you +had better hold your tongue. I am going to the kitchen, to +speak about the range." + +She spoke just too much, and the cook said that if she +could not give satisfaction--she had better leave. A small +thing at hand is greater than a great thing remote, and +Lilia, misconducting herself upon a mountain in Central +Italy, was immediately hidden. Mrs. Herriton flew to a +registry office, failed; flew to another, failed again; came +home, was told by the housemaid that things seemed so +unsettled that she had better leave as well; had tea, wrote +six letters, was interrupted by cook and housemaid, both +weeping, asking her pardon, and imploring to be taken back. +In the flush of victory the door-bell rang, and there was +the telegram: "Lilia engaged to Italian nobility. Writing. +Abbott." + +"No answer," said Mrs. Herriton. "Get down Mr. Philip's +Gladstone from the attic." + +She would not allow herself to be frightened by the +unknown. Indeed she knew a little now. The man was not an +Italian noble, otherwise the telegram would have said so. +It must have been written by Lilia. None but she would have +been guilty of the fatuous vulgarity of "Italian nobility." +She recalled phrases of this morning's letter: "We love this +place--Caroline is sweeter than ever, and busy +sketching--Italians full of simplicity and charm." And the +remark of Baedeker, "The inhabitants are still noted for +their agreeable manners," had a baleful meaning now. If +Mrs. Herriton had no imagination, she had intuition, a more +useful quality, and the picture she made to herself of +Lilia's FIANCE did not prove altogether wrong. + +So Philip was received with the news that he must start +in half an hour for Monteriano. He was in a painful +position. For three years he had sung the praises of the +Italians, but he had never contemplated having one as a +relative. He tried to soften the thing down to his mother, +but in his heart of hearts he agreed with her when she said, +"The man may be a duke or he may be an organ-grinder. That +is not the point. If Lilia marries him she insults the +memory of Charles, she insults Irma, she insults us. +Therefore I forbid her, and if she disobeys we have done +with her for ever." + +"I will do all I can," said Philip in a low voice. It +was the first time he had had anything to do. He kissed his +mother and sister and puzzled Irma. The hall was warm and +attractive as he looked back into it from the cold March +night, and he departed for Italy reluctantly, as for +something commonplace and dull. + +Before Mrs. Herriton went to bed she wrote to Mrs. +Theobald, using plain language about Lilia's conduct, and +hinting that it was a question on which every one must +definitely choose sides. She added, as if it was an +afterthought, that Mrs. Theobald's letter had arrived that +morning. + +Just as she was going upstairs she remembered that she +never covered up those peas. It upset her more than +anything, and again and again she struck the banisters with +vexation. Late as it was, she got a lantern from the +tool-shed and went down the garden to rake the earth over +them. The sparrows had taken every one. But countless +fragments of the letter remained, disfiguring the tidy +ground. + + + +Chapter 2 + +When the bewildered tourist alights at the station of +Monteriano, he finds himself in the middle of the country. +There are a few houses round the railway, and many more +dotted over the plain and the slopes of the hills, but of a +town, mediaeval or otherwise, not the slightest sign. He +must take what is suitably termed a "legno"--a piece of +wood--and drive up eight miles of excellent road into the +middle ages. For it is impossible, as well as sacrilegious, +to be as quick as Baedeker. + +It was three in the afternoon when Philip left the +realms of commonsense. He was so weary with travelling that +he had fallen asleep in the train. His fellow-passengers +had the usual Italian gift of divination, and when +Monteriano came they knew he wanted to go there, and dropped +him out. His feet sank into the hot asphalt of the +platform, and in a dream he watched the train depart, while +the porter who ought to have been carrying his bag, ran up +the line playing touch-you-last with the guard. Alas! he +was in no humour for Italy. Bargaining for a legno bored +him unutterably. The man asked six lire; and though Philip +knew that for eight miles it should scarcely be more than +four, yet he was about to give what he was asked, and so +make the man discontented and unhappy for the rest of the +day. He was saved from this social blunder by loud shouts, +and looking up the road saw one cracking his whip and waving +his reins and driving two horses furiously, and behind him +there appeared the swaying figure of a woman, holding +star-fish fashion on to anything she could touch. It was +Miss Abbott, who had just received his letter from Milan +announcing the time of his arrival, and had hurried down to +meet him. + +He had known Miss Abbott for years, and had never had +much opinion about her one way or the other. She was good, +quiet, dull, and amiable, and young only because she was +twenty-three: there was nothing in her appearance or manner +to suggest the fire of youth. All her life had been spent +at Sawston with a dull and amiable father, and her pleasant, +pallid face, bent on some respectable charity, was a +familiar object of the Sawston streets. Why she had ever +wished to leave them was surprising; but as she truly said, +"I am John Bull to the backbone, yet I do want to see Italy, +just once. Everybody says it is marvellous, and that one +gets no idea of it from books at all." The curate suggested +that a year was a long time; and Miss Abbott, with decorous +playfulness, answered him, "Oh, but you must let me have my +fling! I promise to have it once, and once only. It will +give me things to think about and talk about for the rest of +my life." The curate had consented; so had Mr. Abbott. And +here she was in a legno, solitary, dusty, frightened, with +as much to answer and to answer for as the most dashing +adventuress could desire. + +They shook hands without speaking. She made room for +Philip and his luggage amidst the loud indignation of the +unsuccessful driver, whom it required the combined eloquence +of the station-master and the station beggar to confute. +The silence was prolonged until they started. For three +days he had been considering what he should do, and still +more what he should say. He had invented a dozen imaginary +conversations, in all of which his logic and eloquence +procured him certain victory. But how to begin? He was in +the enemy's country, and everything--the hot sun, the cold +air behind the heat, the endless rows of olive-trees, +regular yet mysterious--seemed hostile to the placid +atmosphere of Sawston in which his thoughts took birth. At +the outset he made one great concession. If the match was +really suitable, and Lilia were bent on it, he would give +in, and trust to his influence with his mother to set things +right. He would not have made the concession in England; +but here in Italy, Lilia, however wilful and silly, was at +all events growing to be a human being. + +"Are we to talk it over now?" he asked. + +"Certainly, please," said Miss Abbott, in great +agitation. "If you will be so very kind." + +"Then how long has she been engaged?" + +Her face was that of a perfect fool--a fool in terror. + +"A short time--quite a short time," she stammered, as if +the shortness of the time would reassure him. + +"I should like to know how long, if you can remember." + +She entered into elaborate calculations on her fingers. +"Exactly eleven days," she said at last. + +"How long have you been here?" + +More calculations, while he tapped irritably with his +foot. "Close on three weeks." + +"Did you know him before you came?" + +"No." + +"Oh! Who is he?" + +"A native of the place." + +The second silence took place. They had left the plain +now and were climbing up the outposts of the hills, the +olive-trees still accompanying. The driver, a jolly fat +man, had got out to ease the horses, and was walking by the +side of the carriage. + +"I understood they met at the hotel." + +"It was a mistake of Mrs. Theobald's." + +"I also understand that he is a member of the Italian nobility." + +She did not reply. + +"May I be told his name?" + +Miss Abbott whispered, "Carella." But the driver heard +her, and a grin split over his face. The engagement must be +known already. + +"Carella? Conte or Marchese, or what?" + +"Signor," said Miss Abbott, and looked helplessly aside. + +"Perhaps I bore you with these questions. If so, I will +stop." + +"Oh, no, please; not at all. I am here--my own idea--to +give all information which you very naturally--and to see if +somehow--please ask anything you like." + +"Then how old is he?" + +"Oh, quite young. Twenty-one, I believe." + +There burst from Philip the exclamation, "Good Lord!" + +"One would never believe it," said Miss Abbott, +flushing. "He looks much older." + +"And is he good-looking?" he asked, with gathering sarcasm. + +She became decisive. "Very good-looking. All his +features are good, and he is well built--though I dare say +English standards would find him too short." + +Philip, whose one physical advantage was his height, +felt annoyed at her implied indifference to it. + +"May I conclude that you like him?" + +She replied decisively again, "As far as I have seen +him, I do." + +At that moment the carriage entered a little wood, which +lay brown and sombre across the cultivated hill. The trees +of the wood were small and leafless, but noticeable for +this--that their stems stood in violets as rocks stand in the +summer sea. There are such violets in England, but not so +many. Nor are there so many in Art, for no painter has the +courage. The cart-ruts were channels, the hollow lagoons; +even the dry white margin of the road was splashed, like a +causeway soon to be submerged under the advancing tide of +spring. Philip paid no attention at the time: he was +thinking what to say next. But his eyes had registered the +beauty, and next March he did not forget that the road to +Monteriano must traverse innumerable flowers. + +"As far as I have seen him, I do like him," repeated +Miss Abbott, after a pause. + +He thought she sounded a little defiant, and crushed her +at once. + +"What is he, please? You haven't told me that. What's +his position?" + +She opened her mouth to speak, and no sound came from +it. Philip waited patiently. She tried to be audacious, +and failed pitiably. + +"No position at all. He is kicking his heels, as my +father would say. You see, he has only just finished his +military service." + +"As a private?" + +"I suppose so. There is general conscription. He was +in the Bersaglieri, I think. Isn't that the crack regiment?" + +"The men in it must be short and broad. They must also +be able to walk six miles an hour." + +She looked at him wildly, not understanding all that he +said, but feeling that he was very clever. Then she +continued her defence of Signor Carella. + +"And now, like most young men, he is looking out for +something to do." + +"Meanwhile?" + +"Meanwhile, like most young men, he lives with his +people--father, mother, two sisters, and a tiny tot of a brother." + +There was a grating sprightliness about her that drove +him nearly mad. He determined to silence her at last. + +"One more question, and only one more. What is his father?" + +"His father," said Miss Abbott. "Well, I don't suppose +you'll think it a good match. But that's not the point. I +mean the point is not--I mean that social differences--love, +after all--not but what--I--" + +Philip ground his teeth together and said nothing. + +"Gentlemen sometimes judge hardly. But I feel that you, +and at all events your mother--so really good in every sense, +so really unworldly--after all, love-marriages are made in heaven." + +"Yes, Miss Abbott, I know. But I am anxious to hear +heaven's choice. You arouse my curiosity. Is my +sister-in-law to marry an angel?" + +"Mr. Herriton, don't--please, Mr. Herriton--a dentist. +His father's a dentist." + +Philip gave a cry of personal disgust and pain. He +shuddered all over, and edged away from his companion. A +dentist! A dentist at Monteriano. A dentist in fairyland! +False teeth and laughing gas and the tilting chair at a +place which knew the Etruscan League, and the Pax Romana, +and Alaric himself, and the Countess Matilda, and the Middle +Ages, all fighting and holiness, and the Renaissance, all +fighting and beauty! He thought of Lilia no longer. He was +anxious for himself: he feared that Romance might die. + +Romance only dies with life. No pair of pincers will +ever pull it out of us. But there is a spurious sentiment +which cannot resist the unexpected and the incongruous and +the grotesque. A touch will loosen it, and the sooner it +goes from us the better. It was going from Philip now, and +therefore he gave the cry of pain. + +"I cannot think what is in the air," he began. "If +Lilia was determined to disgrace us, she might have found a +less repulsive way. A boy of medium height with a pretty +face, the son of a dentist at Monteriano. Have I put it +correctly? May I surmise that he has not got one penny? +May I also surmise that his social position is nil? +Furthermore--" + +"Stop! I'll tell you no more." + +"Really, Miss Abbott, it is a little late for +reticence. You have equipped me admirably!" + +"I'll tell you not another word!" she cried, with a +spasm of terror. Then she got out her handkerchief, and +seemed as if she would shed tears. After a silence, which +he intended to symbolize to her the dropping of a curtain on +the scene, he began to talk of other subjects. + +They were among olives again, and the wood with its +beauty and wildness had passed away. But as they climbed +higher the country opened out, and there appeared, high on a +hill to the right, Monteriano. The hazy green of the olives +rose up to its walls, and it seemed to float in isolation +between trees and sky, like some fantastic ship city of a +dream. Its colour was brown, and it revealed not a single +house--nothing but the narrow circle of the walls, and behind +them seventeen towers--all that was left of the fifty-two +that had filled the city in her prime. Some were only +stumps, some were inclining stiffly to their fall, some were +still erect, piercing like masts into the blue. It was +impossible to praise it as beautiful, but it was also +impossible to damn it as quaint. + +Meanwhile Philip talked continually, thinking this to be +great evidence of resource and tact. It showed Miss Abbott +that he had probed her to the bottom, but was able to +conquer his disgust, and by sheer force of intellect +continue to be as agreeable and amusing as ever. He did not +know that he talked a good deal of nonsense, and that the +sheer force of his intellect was weakened by the sight of +Monteriano, and by the thought of dentistry within those walls. + +The town above them swung to the left, to the right, to +the left again, as the road wound upward through the trees, +and the towers began to glow in the descending sun. As they +drew near, Philip saw the heads of people gathering black +upon the walls, and he knew well what was happening--how the +news was spreading that a stranger was in sight, and the +beggars were aroused from their content and bid to adjust +their deformities; how the alabaster man was running for his +wares, and the Authorized Guide running for his peaked cap +and his two cards of recommendation--one from Miss M'Gee, +Maida Vale, the other, less valuable, from an Equerry to the +Queen of Peru; how some one else was running to tell the +landlady of the Stella d'Italia to put on her pearl necklace +and brown boots and empty the slops from the spare bedroom; +and how the landlady was running to tell Lilia and her boy +that their fate was at hand. + +Perhaps it was a pity Philip had talked so profusely. +He had driven Miss Abbott half demented, but he had given +himself no time to concert a plan. The end came so +suddenly. They emerged from the trees on to the terrace +before the walk, with the vision of half Tuscany radiant in +the sun behind them, and then they turned in through the +Siena gate, and their journey was over. The Dogana men +admitted them with an air of gracious welcome, and they +clattered up the narrow dark street, greeted by that mixture +of curiosity and kindness which makes each Italian arrival +so wonderful. + +He was stunned and knew not what to do. At the hotel he +received no ordinary reception. The landlady wrung him by +the hand; one person snatched his umbrella, another his bag; +people pushed each other out of his way. The entrance +seemed blocked with a crowd. Dogs were barking, bladder +whistles being blown, women waving their handkerchiefs, +excited children screaming on the stairs, and at the top of +the stairs was Lilia herself, very radiant, with her best +blouse on. + +"Welcome!" she cried. "Welcome to Monteriano!" He +greeted her, for he did not know what else to do, and a +sympathetic murmur rose from the crowd below. + +"You told me to come here," she continued, "and I don't +forget it. Let me introduce Signor Carella!" + +Philip discerned in the corner behind her a young man who +might eventually prove handsome and well-made, but certainly +did not seem so then. He was half enveloped in the drapery +of a cold dirty curtain, and nervously stuck out a hand, +which Philip took and found thick and damp. There were more +murmurs of approval from the stairs. + +"Well, din-din's nearly ready," said Lilia. "Your +room's down the passage, Philip. You needn't go changing." + +He stumbled away to wash his hands, utterly crushed by +her effrontery. + +"Dear Caroline!" whispered Lilia as soon as he had +gone. "What an angel you've been to tell him! He takes it +so well. But you must have had a MAUVAIS QUART D'HEURE." + +Miss Abbott's long terror suddenly turned into acidity. +"I've told nothing," she snapped. "It's all for you--and if +it only takes a quarter of an hour you'll be lucky!" + +Dinner was a nightmare. They had the smelly dining-room +to themselves. Lilia, very smart and vociferous, was at the +head of the table; Miss Abbott, also in her best, sat by +Philip, looking, to his irritated nerves, more like the +tragedy confidante every moment. That scion of the Italian +nobility, Signor Carella, sat opposite. Behind him loomed a +bowl of goldfish, who swam round and round, gaping at the guests. + +The face of Signor Carella was twitching too much for +Philip to study it. But he could see the hands, which were +not particularly clean, and did not get cleaner by fidgeting +amongst the shining slabs of hair. His starched cuffs were +not clean either, and as for his suit, it had obviously been +bought for the occasion as something really English--a +gigantic check, which did not even fit. His handkerchief he +had forgotten, but never missed it. Altogether, he was +quite unpresentable, and very lucky to have a father who was +a dentist in Monteriano. And why, even Lilia--But as soon as +the meal began it furnished Philip with an explanation. + +For the youth was hungry, and his lady filled his plate +with spaghetti, and when those delicious slippery worms were +flying down his throat, his face relaxed and became for a +moment unconscious and calm. And Philip had seen that face +before in Italy a hundred times--seen it and loved it, for it +was not merely beautiful, but had the charm which is the +rightful heritage of all who are born on that soil. But he +did not want to see it opposite him at dinner. It was not +the face of a gentleman. + +Conversation, to give it that name, was carried on in a +mixture of English and Italian. Lilia had picked up hardly +any of the latter language, and Signor Carella had not yet +learnt any of the former. Occasionally Miss Abbott had to +act as interpreter between the lovers, and the situation +became uncouth and revolting in the extreme. Yet Philip was +too cowardly to break forth and denounce the engagement. He +thought he should be more effective with Lilia if he had her +alone, and pretended to himself that he must hear her +defence before giving judgment. + +Signor Carella, heartened by the spaghetti and the +throat-rasping wine, attempted to talk, and, looking +politely towards Philip, said, "England is a great country. +The Italians love England and the English." + +Philip, in no mood for international amenities, merely bowed. + +"Italy too," the other continued a little resentfully, +"is a great country. She has produced many famous men--for +example Garibaldi and Dante. The latter wrote the +'Inferno,' the 'Purgatorio,' the 'Paradiso.' The 'Inferno' +is the most beautiful." And with the complacent tone of one +who has received a solid education, he quoted the opening +lines-- + + Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita + Mi ritrovai per una selva oscura + Che la diritta via era smarrita-- + +a quotation which was more apt than he supposed. + +Lilia glanced at Philip to see whether he noticed that +she was marrying no ignoramus. Anxious to exhibit all the +good qualities of her betrothed, she abruptly introduced the +subject of pallone, in which, it appeared, he was a +proficient player. He suddenly became shy and developed a +conceited grin--the grin of the village yokel whose cricket +score is mentioned before a stranger. Philip himself had +loved to watch pallone, that entrancing combination of +lawn-tennis and fives. But he did not expect to love it +quite so much again. + +"Oh, look!" exclaimed Lilia, "the poor wee fish!" + +A starved cat had been worrying them all for pieces of +the purple quivering beef they were trying to swallow. +Signor Carella, with the brutality so common in Italians, +had caught her by the paw and flung her away from him. Now +she had climbed up to the bowl and was trying to hook out +the fish. He got up, drove her off, and finding a large +glass stopper by the bowl, entirely plugged up the aperture +with it. + +"But may not the fish die?" said Miss Abbott. "They +have no air." + +"Fish live on water, not on air," he replied in a +knowing voice, and sat down. Apparently he was at his ease +again, for he took to spitting on the floor. Philip glanced +at Lilia but did not detect her wincing. She talked bravely +till the end of the disgusting meal, and then got up saying, +"Well, Philip, I am sure you are ready for by-bye. We shall +meet at twelve o'clock lunch tomorrow, if we don't meet +before. They give us caffe later in our rooms." + +It was a little too impudent. Philip replied, "I should +like to see you now, please, in my room, as I have come all +the way on business." He heard Miss Abbott gasp. Signor +Carella, who was lighting a rank cigar, had not understood. + +It was as he expected. When he was alone with Lilia he +lost all nervousness. The remembrance of his long +intellectual supremacy strengthened him, and he began volubly-- + +"My dear Lilia, don't let's have a scene. Before I +arrived I thought I might have to question you. It is +unnecessary. I know everything. Miss Abbott has told me a +certain amount, and the rest I see for myself." + +"See for yourself?" she exclaimed, and he remembered +afterwards that she had flushed crimson. + +"That he is probably a ruffian and certainly a cad." + +"There are no cads in Italy," she said quickly. + +He was taken aback. It was one of his own remarks. And +she further upset him by adding, "He is the son of a +dentist. Why not?" + +"Thank you for the information. I know everything, as I +told you before. I am also aware of the social position of +an Italian who pulls teeth in a minute provincial town." + +He was not aware of it, but he ventured to conclude that +it was pretty, low. Nor did Lilia contradict him. But she +was sharp enough to say, "Indeed, Philip, you surprise me. +I understood you went in for equality and so on." + +"And I understood that Signor Carella was a member of +the Italian nobility." + +"Well, we put it like that in the telegram so as not to +shock dear Mrs. Herriton. But it is true. He is a younger +branch. Of course families ramify--just as in yours there is +your cousin Joseph." She adroitly picked out the only +undesirable member of the Herriton clan. "Gino's father is +courtesy itself, and rising rapidly in his profession. This +very month he leaves Monteriano, and sets up at Poggibonsi. +And for my own poor part, I think what people are is what +matters, but I don't suppose you'll agree. And I should +like you to know that Gino's uncle is a priest--the same as a +clergyman at home." + +Philip was aware of the social position of an Italian +priest, and said so much about it that Lilia interrupted him +with, "Well, his cousin's a lawyer at Rome." + +"What kind of 'lawyer'?" + +"Why, a lawyer just like you are--except that he has lots +to do and can never get away." + +The remark hurt more than he cared to show. He changed +his method, and in a gentle, conciliating tone delivered the +following speech:-- + +"The whole thing is like a bad dream--so bad that it +cannot go on. If there was one redeeming feature about the +man I might be uneasy. As it is I can trust to time. For +the moment, Lilia, he has taken you in, but you will find +him out soon. It is not possible that you, a lady, +accustomed to ladies and gentlemen, will tolerate a man +whose position is--well, not equal to the son of the +servants' dentist in Coronation Place. I am not blaming you +now. But I blame the glamour of Italy--I have felt it +myself, you know--and I greatly blame Miss Abbott." + +"Caroline! Why blame her? What's all this to do with Caroline?" + +"Because we expected her to--" He saw that the answer +would involve him in difficulties, and, waving his hand, +continued, "So I am confident, and you in your heart agree, +that this engagement will not last. Think of your life at +home--think of Irma! And I'll also say think of us; for you +know, Lilia, that we count you more than a relation. I +should feel I was losing my own sister if you did this, and +my mother would lose a daughter." + +She seemed touched at last, for she turned away her face +and said, "I can't break it off now!" + +"Poor Lilia," said he, genuinely moved. "I know it may +be painful. But I have come to rescue you, and, book-worm +though I may be, I am not frightened to stand up to a +bully. He's merely an insolent boy. He thinks he can keep +you to your word by threats. He will be different when he +sees he has a man to deal with." + +What follows should be prefaced with some simile--the +simile of a powder-mine, a thunderbolt, an earthquake--for it +blew Philip up in the air and flattened him on the ground +and swallowed him up in the depths. Lilia turned on her +gallant defender and said-- + +"For once in my life I'll thank you to leave me alone. +I'll thank your mother too. For twelve years you've trained +me and tortured me, and I'll stand it no more. Do you think +I'm a fool? Do you think I never felt? Ah! when I came to +your house a poor young bride, how you all looked me +over--never a kind word--and discussed me, and thought I might +just do; and your mother corrected me, and your sister +snubbed me, and you said funny things about me to show how +clever you were! And when Charles died I was still to run +in strings for the honour of your beastly family, and I was +to be cooped up at Sawston and learn to keep house, and all +my chances spoilt of marrying again. No, thank you! No, +thank you! 'Bully?' 'Insolent boy?' Who's that, pray, but +you? But, thank goodness, I can stand up against the world +now, for I've found Gino, and this time I marry for love!" + +The coarseness and truth of her attack alike overwhelmed +him. But her supreme insolence found him words, and he too +burst forth. + +"Yes! and I forbid you to do it! You despise me, +perhaps, and think I'm feeble. But you're mistaken. You +are ungrateful and impertinent and contemptible, but I will +save you in order to save Irma and our name. There is going +to be such a row in this town that you and he'll be sorry +you came to it. I shall shrink from nothing, for my blood +is up. It is unwise of you to laugh. I forbid you to marry +Carella, and I shall tell him so now." + +"Do," she cried. "Tell him so now. Have it out with +him. Gino! Gino! Come in! Avanti! Fra Filippo forbids +the banns!" + +Gino appeared so quickly that he must have been +listening outside the door. + +"Fra Filippo's blood's up. He shrinks from nothing. +Oh, take care he doesn't hurt you!" She swayed about in +vulgar imitation of Philip's walk, and then, with a proud +glance at the square shoulders of her betrothed, flounced +out of the room. + +Did she intend them to fight? Philip had no intention +of doing so; and no more, it seemed, had Gino, who stood +nervously in the middle of the room with twitching lips and eyes. + +"Please sit down, Signor Carella," said Philip in +Italian. "Mrs. Herriton is rather agitated, but there is no +reason we should not be calm. Might I offer you a +cigarette? Please sit down." + +He refused the cigarette and the chair, and remained +standing in the full glare of the lamp. Philip, not averse +to such assistance, got his own face into shadow. + +For a long time he was silent. It might impress Gino, +and it also gave him time to collect himself. He would not +this time fall into the error of blustering, which he had +caught so unaccountably from Lilia. He would make his power +felt by restraint. + +Why, when he looked up to begin, was Gino convulsed with +silent laughter? It vanished immediately; but he became +nervous, and was even more pompous than he intended. + +"Signor Carella, I will be frank with you. I have come +to prevent you marrying Mrs. Herriton, because I see you +will both be unhappy together. She is English, you are +Italian; she is accustomed to one thing, you to another. +And--pardon me if I say it--she is rich and you are poor." + +"I am not marrying her because she is rich," was the +sulky reply. + +"I never suggested that for a moment," said Philip +courteously. "You are honourable, I am sure; but are you +wise? And let me remind you that we want her with us at +home. Her little daughter will be motherless, our home will +be broken up. If you grant my request you will earn our +thanks--and you will not be without a reward for your +disappointment." + +"Reward--what reward?" He bent over the back of a chair +and looked earnestly at Philip. They were coming to terms +pretty quickly. Poor Lilia! + +Philip said slowly, "What about a thousand lire?" + +His soul went forth into one exclamation, and then he +was silent, with gaping lips. Philip would have given +double: he had expected a bargain. + +"You can have them tonight." + +He found words, and said, "It is too late." + +"But why?" + +"Because--" His voice broke. Philip watched his face,--a +face without refinement perhaps, but not without +expression,--watched it quiver and re-form and dissolve from +emotion into emotion. There was avarice at one moment, and +insolence, and politeness, and stupidity, and cunning--and +let us hope that sometimes there was love. But gradually +one emotion dominated, the most unexpected of all; for his +chest began to heave and his eyes to wink and his mouth to +twitch, and suddenly he stood erect and roared forth his +whole being in one tremendous laugh. + +Philip sprang up, and Gino, who had flung wide his arms +to let the glorious creature go, took him by the shoulders +and shook him, and said, "Because we are +married--married--married as soon as I knew you were, coming. +There was no time to tell you. Oh. oh! You have come all +the way for nothing. Oh! And oh, your generosity!" +Suddenly he became grave, and said, "Please pardon me; I am +rude. I am no better than a peasant, and I--" Here he saw +Philip's face, and it was too much for him. He gasped and +exploded and crammed his hands into his mouth and spat them +out in another explosion, and gave Philip an aimless push, +which toppled him on to the bed. He uttered a horrified +Oh! and then gave up, and bolted away down the passage, +shrieking like a child, to tell the joke to his wife. + +For a time Philip lay on the bed, pretending to himself +that he was hurt grievously. He could scarcely see for +temper, and in the passage he ran against Miss Abbott, who +promptly burst into tears. + +"I sleep at the Globo," he told her, "and start for +Sawston tomorrow morning early. He has assaulted me. I +could prosecute him. But shall not." + +"I can't stop here," she sobbed. "I daren't stop here. +You will have to take me with you!" + + + +Chapter 3 + +Opposite the Volterra gate of Monteriano, outside the city, +is a very respectable white-washed mud wall, with a coping +of red crinkled tiles to keep it from dissolution. It would +suggest a gentleman's garden if there was not in its middle +a large hole, which grows larger with every rain-storm. +Through the hole is visible, firstly, the iron gate that is +intended to close it; secondly, a square piece of ground +which, though not quite, mud, is at the same time not +exactly grass; and finally, another wall, stone this time, +which has a wooden door in the middle and two +wooden-shuttered windows each side, and apparently forms the +facade of a one-storey house. + +This house is bigger than it looks, for it slides for +two storeys down the hill behind, and the wooden door, which +is always locked, really leads into the attic. The knowing +person prefers to follow the precipitous mule-track round +the turn of the mud wall till he can take the edifice in the +rear. Then--being now on a level with the cellars--he lifts +up his head and shouts. If his voice sounds like something +light--a letter, for example, or some vegetables, or a bunch +of flowers--a basket is let out of the first-floor windows by +a string, into which he puts his burdens and departs. But +if he sounds like something heavy, such as a log of wood, or +a piece of meat, or a visitor, he is interrogated, and then +bidden or forbidden to ascend. The ground floor and the +upper floor of that battered house are alike deserted, and +the inmates keep the central portion, just as in a dying +body all life retires to the heart. There is a door at the +top of the first flight of stairs, and if the visitor is +admitted he will find a welcome which is not necessarily +cold. There are several rooms, some dark and mostly +stuffy--a reception-room adorned with horsehair chairs, +wool-work stools, and a stove that is never lit--German bad +taste without German domesticity broods over that room; also +a living-room, which insensibly glides into a bedroom when +the refining influence of hospitality is absent, and real +bedrooms; and last, but not least, the loggia, where you can +live day and night if you feel inclined, drinking vermouth +and smoking cigarettes, with leagues of olive-trees and +vineyards and blue-green hills to watch you. + +It was in this house that the brief and inevitable +tragedy of Lilia's married life took place. She made Gino +buy it for her, because it was there she had first seen him +sitting on the mud wall that faced the Volterra gate. She +remembered how the evening sun had struck his hair, and how +he had smiled down at her, and being both sentimental and +unrefined, was determined to have the man and the place +together. Things in Italy are cheap for an Italian, and, +though he would have preferred a house in the piazza, or +better still a house at Siena, or, bliss above bliss, a +house at Leghorn, he did as she asked, thinking that perhaps +she showed her good taste in preferring so retired an abode. + +The house was far too big for them, and there was a +general concourse of his relatives to fill it up. His +father wished to make it a patriarchal concern, where all +the family should have their rooms and meet together for +meals, and was perfectly willing to give up the new practice +at Poggibonsi and preside. Gino was quite willing too, for +he was an affectionate youth who liked a large home-circle, +and he told it as a pleasant bit of news to Lilia, who did +not attempt to conceal her horror. + +At once he was horrified too; saw that the idea was +monstrous; abused himself to her for having suggested it; +rushed off to tell his father that it was impossible. His +father complained that prosperity was already corrupting him +and making him unsympathetic and hard; his mother cried; his +sisters accused him of blocking their social advance. He +was apologetic, and even cringing, until they turned on +Lilia. Then he turned on them, saying that they could not +understand, much less associate with, the English lady who +was his wife; that there should be one master in that house-- +himself. + +Lilia praised and petted him on his return, calling him +brave and a hero and other endearing epithets. But he was +rather blue when his clan left Monteriano in much dignity--a +dignity which was not at all impaired by the acceptance of a +cheque. They took the cheque not to Poggibonsi, after all, +but to Empoli--a lively, dusty town some twenty miles off. +There they settled down in comfort, and the sisters said +they had been driven to it by Gino. + +The cheque was, of course, Lilia's, who was extremely +generous, and was quite willing to know anybody so long as +she had not to live with them, relations-in-law being on her +nerves. She liked nothing better than finding out some +obscure and distant connection--there were several of +them--and acting the lady bountiful, leaving behind her +bewilderment, and too often discontent. Gino wondered how +it was that all his people, who had formerly seemed so +pleasant, had suddenly become plaintive and disagreeable. +He put it down to his lady wife's magnificence, in +comparison with which all seemed common. Her money flew +apace, in spite of the cheap living. She was even richer +than he expected; and he remembered with shame how he had +once regretted his inability to accept the thousand lire +that Philip Herriton offered him in exchange for her. It +would have been a shortsighted bargain. + +Lilia enjoyed settling into the house, with nothing to +do except give orders to smiling workpeople, and a devoted +husband as interpreter. She wrote a jaunty account of her +happiness to Mrs. Herriton, and Harriet answered the letter, +saying (1) that all future communications should be +addressed to the solicitors; (2) would Lilia return an +inlaid box which Harriet had lent her--but not given--to keep +handkerchiefs and collars in? + +"Look what I am giving up to live with you!" she said to +Gino, never omitting to lay stress on her condescension. He +took her to mean the inlaid box, and said that she need not +give it up at all. + +"Silly fellow, no! I mean the life. Those Herritons +are very well connected. They lead Sawston society. But +what do I care, so long as I have my silly fellow!" She +always treated him as a boy, which he was, and as a fool, +which he was not, thinking herself so immeasurably superior +to him that she neglected opportunity after opportunity of +establishing her rule. He was good-looking and indolent; +therefore he must be stupid. He was poor; therefore he +would never dare to criticize his benefactress. He was +passionately in love with her; therefore she could do +exactly as she liked. + +"It mayn't be heaven below," she thought, "but it's +better than Charles." + +And all the time the boy was watching her, and growing up. + +She was reminded of Charles by a disagreeable letter +from the solicitors, bidding her disgorge a large sum of +money for Irma, in accordance with her late husband's will. +It was just like Charles's suspicious nature to have +provided against a second marriage. Gino was equally +indignant, and between them they composed a stinging reply, +which had no effect. He then said that Irma had better come +out and live with them. "The air is good, so is the food; +she will be happy here, and we shall not have to part with +the money." But Lilia had not the courage even to suggest +this to the Herritons, and an unexpected terror seized her +at the thought of Irma or any English child being educated +at Monteriano. + +Gino became terribly depressed over the solicitors' +letter, more depressed than she thought necessary. There +was no more to do in the house, and he spent whole days in +the loggia leaning over the parapet or sitting astride it +disconsolately. + +"Oh, you idle boy!" she cried, pinching his muscles. +"Go and play pallone." + +"I am a married man," he answered, without raising his +head. "I do not play games any more." + +"Go and see your friends then." + +"I have no friends now." + +"Silly, silly, silly! You can't stop indoors all day!" + +"I want to see no one but you." He spat on to an olive-tree. + +"Now, Gino, don't be silly. Go and see your friends, +and bring them to see me. We both of us like society." + +He looked puzzled, but allowed himself to be persuaded, +went out, found that he was not as friendless as he +supposed, and returned after several hours in altered +spirits. Lilia congratulated herself on her good management. + +"I'm ready, too, for people now," she said. "I mean to +wake you all up, just as I woke up Sawston. Let's have +plenty of men--and make them bring their womenkind. I mean +to have real English tea-parties." + +"There is my aunt and her husband; but I thought you did +not want to receive my relatives." + +"I never said such a--" + +"But you would be right," he said earnestly. "They are +not for you. Many of them are in trade, and even we are +little more; you should have gentlefolk and nobility for +your friends." + +"Poor fellow," thought Lilia. "It is sad for him to +discover that his people are vulgar." She began to tell him +that she loved him just for his silly self, and he flushed +and began tugging at his moustache. + +"But besides your relatives I must have other people +here. Your friends have wives and sisters, haven't they?" + +"Oh, yes; but of course I scarcely know them." + +"Not know your friends' people?" + +"Why, no. If they are poor and have to work for their +living I may see them--but not otherwise. Except--" He +stopped. The chief exception was a young lady, to whom he +had once been introduced for matrimonial purposes. But the +dowry had proved inadequate, and the acquaintance terminated. + +"How funny! But I mean to change all that. Bring your +friends to see me, and I will make them bring their people." + +He looked at her rather hopelessly. + +"Well, who are the principal people here? Who leads society?" + +The governor of the prison, he supposed, and the +officers who assisted him. + +"Well, are they married?" + +"Yes." + +"There we are. Do you know them?" + +"Yes--in a way." + +"I see," she exclaimed angrily. "They look down on you, +do they, poor boy? Wait!" He assented. "Wait! I'll soon +stop that. Now, who else is there?" + +"The marchese, sometimes, and the canons of the +Collegiate Church." + +"Married?" + +"The canons--" he began with twinkling eyes. + +"Oh, I forgot your horrid celibacy. In England they +would be the centre of everything. But why shouldn't I know +them? Would it make it easier if I called all round? Isn't +that your foreign way?" + +He did not think it would make it easier. + +"But I must know some one! Who were the men you were +talking to this afternoon?" + +Low-class men. He could scarcely recollect their names. + +"But, Gino dear, if they're low class, why did you talk +to them? Don't you care about your position?" + +All Gino cared about at present was idleness and +pocket-money, and his way of expressing it was to exclaim, +"Ouf-pouf! How hot it is in here. No air; I sweat all +over. I expire. I must cool myself, or I shall never get +to sleep." In his funny abrupt way he ran out on to the +loggia, where he lay full length on the parapet, and began +to smoke and spit under the silence of the stars. + +Lilia gathered somehow from this conversation that +Continental society was not the go-as-you-please thing she +had expected. Indeed she could not see where Continental +society was. Italy is such a delightful place to live in if +you happen to be a man. There one may enjoy that exquisite +luxury of Socialism--that true Socialism which is based not +on equality of income or character, but on the equality of +manners. In the democracy of the caffe or the street the +great question of our life has been solved, and the +brotherhood of man is a reality. But is accomplished at the +expense of the sisterhood of women. Why should you not make +friends with your neighbour at the theatre or in the train, +when you know and he knows that feminine criticism and +feminine insight and feminine prejudice will never come +between you? Though you become as David and Jonathan, you +need never enter his home, nor he yours. All your lives you +will meet under the open air, the only roof-tree of the +South, under which he will spit and swear, and you will drop +your h's, and nobody will think the worse of either. + +Meanwhile the women--they have, of course, their house +and their church, with its admirable and frequent services, +to which they are escorted by the maid. Otherwise they do +not go out much, for it is not genteel to walk, and you are +too poor to keep a carriage. Occasionally you will take +them to the caffe or theatre, and immediately all your +wonted acquaintance there desert you, except those few who +are expecting and expected to marry into your family. It is +all very sad. But one consolation emerges--life is very +pleasant in Italy if you are a man. + +Hitherto Gino had not interfered with Lilia. She was so +much older than he was, and so much richer, that he regarded +her as a superior being who answered to other laws. He was +not wholly surprised, for strange rumours were always +blowing over the Alps of lands where men and women had the +same amusements and interests, and he had often met that +privileged maniac, the lady tourist, on her solitary walks. +Lilia took solitary walks too, and only that week a tramp +had grabbed at her watch--an episode which is supposed to be +indigenous in Italy, though really less frequent there than +in Bond Street. Now that he knew her better, he was +inevitably losing his awe: no one could live with her and +keep it, especially when she had been so silly as to lose a +gold watch and chain. As he lay thoughtful along the +parapet, he realized for the first time the responsibilities +of monied life. He must save her from dangers, physical and +social, for after all she was a woman. "And I," he +reflected, "though I am young, am at all events a man, and +know what is right." + +He found her still in the living-room, combing her hair, +for she had something of the slattern in her nature, and +there was no need to keep up appearances. + +"You must not go out alone," he said gently. "It is not +safe. If you want to walk, Perfetta shall accompany you." +Perfetta was a widowed cousin, too humble for social +aspirations, who was living with them as factotum. + +"Very well," smiled Lilia, "very well"--as if she were +addressing a solicitous kitten. But for all that she never +took a solitary walk again, with one exception, till the day +of her death. + +Days passed, and no one called except poor relatives. +She began to feel dull. Didn't he know the Sindaco or the +bank manager? Even the landlady of the Stella d'Italia +would be better than no one. She, when she went into the +town, was pleasantly received; but people naturally found a +difficulty in getting on with a lady who could not learn +their language. And the tea-party, under Gino's adroit +management, receded ever and ever before her. + +He had a good deal of anxiety over her welfare, for she +did not settle down in the house at all. But he was +comforted by a welcome and unexpected visitor. As he was +going one afternoon for the letters--they were delivered at +the door, but it took longer to get them at the office--some +one humorously threw a cloak over his head, and when he +disengaged himself he saw his very dear friend Spiridione +Tesi of the custom-house at Chiasso, whom he had not met for +two years. What joy! what salutations! so that all the +passersby smiled with approval on the amiable scene. +Spiridione's brother was now station-master at Bologna, and +thus he himself could spend his holiday travelling over +Italy at the public expense. Hearing of Gino's marriage, he +had come to see him on his way to Siena, where lived his own +uncle, lately monied too. + +"They all do it," he exclaimed, "myself excepted." He +was not quite twenty-three. "But tell me more. She is +English. That is good, very good. An English wife is very +good indeed. And she is rich?" + +"Immensely rich." + +"Blonde or dark?" + +"Blonde." + +"Is it possible!" + +"It pleases me very much," said Gino simply. "If you +remember, I always desired a blonde." Three or four men had +collected, and were listening. + +"We all desire one," said Spiridione. "But you, Gino, +deserve your good fortune, for you are a good son, a brave +man, and a true friend, and from the very first moment I saw +you I wished you well." + +"No compliments, I beg," said Gino, standing with his +hands crossed on his chest and a smile of pleasure on his face. + +Spiridione addressed the other men, none of whom he had +ever seen before. "Is it not true? Does not he deserve +this wealthy blonde?" + +"He does deserve her," said all the men. + +It is a marvellous land, where you love it or hate it. + +There were no letters, and of course they sat down at +the Caffe Garibaldi, by the Collegiate Church--quite a good +caffe that for so small a city. There were marble-topped +tables, and pillars terra-cotta below and gold above, and on +the ceiling was a fresco of the battle of Solferino. One +could not have desired a prettier room. They had vermouth +and little cakes with sugar on the top, which they chose +gravely at the counter, pinching them first to be sure they +were fresh. And though vermouth is barely alcoholic, +Spiridione drenched his with soda-water to be sure that it +should not get into his head. + +They were in high spirits, and elaborate compliments +alternated curiously with gentle horseplay. But soon they +put up their legs on a pair of chairs and began to smoke. + +"Tell me," said Spiridione--"I forgot to ask--is she young?" + +"Thirty-three." + +"Ah, well, we cannot have everything." + +"But you would be surprised. Had she told me +twenty-eight, I should not have disbelieved her." + +"Is she SIMPATICA?" (Nothing will translate that word.) + +Gino dabbed at the sugar and said after a silence, +"Sufficiently so." + +"It is a most important thing." + +"She is rich, she is generous, she is affable, she +addresses her inferiors without haughtiness." + +There was another silence. "It is not sufficient," said +the other. "One does not define it thus." He lowered his +voice to a whisper. "Last month a German was smuggling +cigars. The custom-house was dark. Yet I refused because I +did not like him. The gifts of such men do not bring +happiness. NON ERA SIMPATICO. He paid for every one, and +the fine for deception besides." + +"Do you gain much beyond your pay?" asked Gino, diverted +for an instant. + +"I do not accept small sums now. It is not worth the +risk. But the German was another matter. But listen, my +Gino, for I am older than you and more full of experience. +The person who understands us at first sight, who never +irritates us, who never bores, to whom we can pour forth +every thought and wish, not only in speech but in +silence--that is what I mean by SIMPATICO." + +"There are such men, I know," said Gino. "And I have +heard it said of children. But where will you find such a woman?" + +"That is true. Here you are wiser than I. SONO POCO +SIMPATICHE LE DONNE. And the time we waste over them is +much." He sighed dolefully, as if he found the nobility of +his sex a burden. + +"One I have seen who may be so. She spoke very little, +but she was a young lady--different to most. She, too, was +English, the companion of my wife here. But Fra Filippo, +the brother-in-law, took her back with him. I saw them +start. He was very angry." + +Then he spoke of his exciting and secret marriage, and +they made fun of the unfortunate Philip, who had travelled +over Europe to stop it. + +"I regret though," said Gino, when they had finished +laughing, "that I toppled him on to the bed. A great tall +man! And when I am really amused I am often impolite." + +"You will never see him again," said Spiridione, who +carried plenty of philosophy about him. "And by now the +scene will have passed from his mind." + +"It sometimes happens that such things are recollected +longest. I shall never see him again, of course; but it is +no benefit to me that he should wish me ill. And even if he +has forgotten, I am still sorry that I toppled him on to the +bed." + +So their talk continued, at one moment full of +childishness and tender wisdom, the next moment scandalously +gross. The shadows of the terra-cotta pillars lengthened, +and tourists, flying through the Palazzo Pubblico opposite, +could observe how the Italians wasted time. + +The sight of tourists reminded Gino of something he +might say. "I want to consult you since you are so kind as +to take an interest in my affairs. My wife wishes to take +solitary walks." + +Spiridione was shocked. + +"But I have forbidden her." + +"Naturally." + +"She does not yet understand. She asked me to accompany +her sometimes--to walk without object! You know, she would +like me to be with her all day." + +"I see. I see." He knitted his brows and tried to +think how he could help his friend. "She needs employment. +Is she a Catholic?" + +"No." + +"That is a pity. She must be persuaded. It will be a +great solace to her when she is alone." + +"I am a Catholic, but of course I never go to church." + +"Of course not. Still, you might take her at first. +That is what my brother has done with his wife at Bologna +and he has joined the Free Thinkers. He took her once or +twice himself, and now she has acquired the habit and +continues to go without him." + +"Most excellent advice, and I thank you for it. But she +wishes to give tea-parties--men and women together whom she +has never seen." + +"Oh, the English! they are always thinking of tea. +They carry it by the kilogramme in their trunks, and they +are so clumsy that they always pack it at the top. But it +is absurd!" + +"What am I to do about it?" + +"Do nothing. Or ask me!" + +"Come!" cried Gino, springing up. "She will be quite pleased." + +The dashing young fellow coloured crimson. "Of course I +was only joking." + +"I know. But she wants me to take my friends. Come +now! Waiter!" + +"If I do come," cried the other, "and take tea with you, +this bill must be my affair." + +"Certainly not; you are in my country!" + +A long argument ensued, in which the waiter took part, +suggesting various solutions. At last Gino triumphed. The +bill came to eightpence-halfpenny, and a halfpenny for the +waiter brought it up to ninepence. Then there was a shower +of gratitude on one side and of deprecation on the other, +and when courtesies were at their height they suddenly +linked arms and swung down the street, tickling each other +with lemonade straws as they went. + +Lilia was delighted to see them, and became more +animated than Gino had known her for a long time. The tea +tasted of chopped hay, and they asked to be allowed to drink +it out of a wine-glass, and refused milk; but, as she +repeatedly observed, this was something like. Spiridione's +manners were very agreeable. He kissed her hand on +introduction, and as his profession had taught him a little +English, conversation did not flag. + +"Do you like music?" she asked. + +"Passionately," he replied. "I have not studied +scientific music, but the music of the heart, yes." + +So she played on the humming piano very badly, and he +sang, not so badly. Gino got out a guitar and sang too, +sitting out on the loggia. It was a most agreeable visit. + +Gino said he would just walk his friend back to his +lodgings. As they went he said, without the least trace of +malice or satire in his voice, "I think you are quite +right. I shall not bring people to the house any more. I +do not see why an English wife should be treated +differently. This is Italy." + +"You are very wise," exclaimed the other; "very wise +indeed. The more precious a possession the more carefully +it should be guarded." + +They had reached the lodging, but went on as far as the +Caffe Garibaldi, where they spent a long and most delightful +evening. + + + +Chapter 4 + +The advance of regret can be so gradual that it is +impossible to say "yesterday I was happy, today I am not." +At no one moment did Lilia realize that her marriage was a +failure; yet during the summer and autumn she became as +unhappy as it was possible for her nature to be. She had no +unkind treatment, and few unkind words, from her husband. +He simply left her alone. In the morning he went out to do +"business," which, as far as she could discover, meant +sitting in the Farmacia. He usually returned to lunch, +after which he retired to another room and slept. In the +evening he grew vigorous again, and took the air on the +ramparts, often having his dinner out, and seldom returning +till midnight or later. There were, of course, the times +when he was away altogether--at Empoli, Siena, Florence, +Bologna--for he delighted in travel, and seemed to pick up +friends all over the country. Lilia often heard what a +favorite he was. + +She began to see that she must assert herself, but she +could not see how. Her self-confidence, which had +overthrown Philip, had gradually oozed away. If she left +the strange house there was the strange little town. If she +were to disobey her husband and walk in the country, that +would be stranger still--vast slopes of olives and vineyards, +with chalk-white farms, and in the distance other slopes, +with more olives and more farms, and more little towns +outlined against the cloudless sky. "I don't call this +country," she would say. "Why, it's not as wild as Sawston +Park!" And, indeed, there was scarcely a touch of wildness +in it--some of those slopes had been under cultivation for +two thousand years. But it was terrible and mysterious all +the same, and its continued presence made Lilia so +uncomfortable that she forgot her nature and began to reflect. + +She reflected chiefly about her marriage. The ceremony +had been hasty and expensive, and the rites, whatever they +were, were not those of the Church of England. Lilia had no +religion in her; but for hours at a time she would be seized +with a vulgar fear that she was not "married properly," and +that her social position in the next world might be as +obscure as it was in this. It might be safer to do the +thing thoroughly, and one day she took the advice of +Spiridione and joined the Roman Catholic Church, or as she +called it, "Santa Deodata's." Gino approved; he, too, +thought it safer, and it was fun confessing, though the +priest was a stupid old man, and the whole thing was a good +slap in the face for the people at home. + +The people at home took the slap very soberly; indeed, +there were few left for her to give it to. The Herritons +were out of the question; they would not even let her write +to Irma, though Irma was occasionally allowed to write to +her. Mrs. Theobald was rapidly subsiding into dotage, and, +as far as she could be definite about anything, had +definitely sided with the Herritons. And Miss Abbott did +likewise. Night after night did Lilia curse this false +friend, who had agreed with her that the marriage would +"do," and that the Herritons would come round to it, and +then, at the first hint of opposition, had fled back to +England shrieking and distraught. Miss Abbott headed the +long list of those who should never be written to, and who +should never be forgiven. Almost the only person who was +not on that list was Mr. Kingcroft, who had unexpectedly +sent an affectionate and inquiring letter. He was quite +sure never to cross the Channel, and Lilia drew freely on +her fancy in the reply. + +At first she had seen a few English people, for +Monteriano was not the end of the earth. One or two +inquisitive ladies, who had heard at home of her quarrel +with the Herritons, came to call. She was very sprightly, +and they thought her quite unconventional, and Gino a +charming boy, so all that was to the good. But by May the +season, such as it was, had finished, and there would be no +one till next spring. As Mrs. Herriton had often observed, +Lilia had no resources. She did not like music, or reading, +or work. Her one qualification for life was rather blowsy +high spirits, which turned querulous or boisterous according +to circumstances. She was not obedient, but she was +cowardly, and in the most gentle way, which Mrs. Herriton +might have envied, Gino made her do what he wanted. At +first it had been rather fun to let him get the upper hand. +But it was galling to discover that he could not do +otherwise. He had a good strong will when he chose to use +it, and would not have had the least scruple in using bolts +and locks to put it into effect. There was plenty of +brutality deep down in him, and one day Lilia nearly touched +it. + +It was the old question of going out alone. + +"I always do it in England." + +"This is Italy." + +"Yes, but I'm older than you, and I'll settle." + +"I am your husband," he said, smiling. They had +finished their mid-day meal, and he wanted to go and sleep. +Nothing would rouse him up, until at last Lilia, getting +more and more angry, said, "And I've got the money." + +He looked horrified. + +Now was the moment to assert herself. She made the +statement again. He got up from his chair. + +"And you'd better mend your manners," she continued, +"for you'd find it awkward if I stopped drawing cheques." + +She was no reader of character, but she quickly became +alarmed. As she said to Perfetta afterwards, "None of his +clothes seemed to fit--too big in one place, too small in +another." His figure rather than his face altered, the +shoulders falling forward till his coat wrinkled across the +back and pulled away from his wrists. He seemed all arms. +He edged round the table to where she was sitting, and she +sprang away and held the chair between them, too frightened +to speak or to move. He looked at her with round, +expressionless eyes, and slowly stretched out his left hand. + +Perfetta was heard coming up from the kitchen. It +seemed to wake him up, and he turned away and went to his +room without a word. + +"What has happened?" cried Lilia, nearly fainting. "He +is ill--ill." + +Perfetta looked suspicious when she heard the account. +"What did you say to him?" She crossed herself. + +"Hardly anything," said Lilia and crossed herself also. +Thus did the two women pay homage to their outraged male. + +It was clear to Lilia at last that Gino had married her +for money. But he had frightened her too much to leave any +place for contempt. His return was terrifying, for he was +frightened too, imploring her pardon, lying at her feet, +embracing her, murmuring "It was not I," striving to define +things which he did not understand. He stopped in the house +for three days, positively ill with physical collapse. But +for all his suffering he had tamed her, and she never +threatened to cut off supplies again. + +Perhaps he kept her even closer than convention +demanded. But he was very young, and he could not bear it +to be said of him that he did not know how to treat a +lady--or to manage a wife. And his own social position was +uncertain. Even in England a dentist is a troublesome +creature, whom careful people find difficult to class. He +hovers between the professions and the trades; he may be +only a little lower than the doctors, or he may be down +among the chemists, or even beneath them. The son of the +Italian dentist felt this too. For himself nothing +mattered; he made friends with the people he liked, for he +was that glorious invariable creature, a man. But his wife +should visit nowhere rather than visit wrongly: seclusion +was both decent and safe. The social ideals of North and +South had had their brief contention, and this time the +South had won. + +It would have been well if he had been as strict over +his own behaviour as he was over hers. But the incongruity +never occurred to him for a moment. His morality was that +of the average Latin, and as he was suddenly placed in the +position of a gentleman, he did not see why he should not +behave as such. Of course, had Lilia been different--had she +asserted herself and got a grip on his character--he might +possibly--though not probably--have been made a better husband +as well as a better man, and at all events he could have +adopted the attitude of the Englishman, whose standard is +higher even when his practice is the same. But had Lilia +been different she might not have married him. + +The discovery of his infidelity--which she made by +accident--destroyed such remnants of self-satisfaction as her +life might yet possess. She broke down utterly and sobbed +and cried in Perfetta's arms. Perfetta was kind and even +sympathetic, but cautioned her on no account to speak to +Gino, who would be furious if he was suspected. And Lilia +agreed, partly because she was afraid of him, partly because +it was, after all, the best and most dignified thing to do. +She had given up everything for him--her daughter, her +relatives, her friends, all the little comforts and luxuries +of a civilized life--and even if she had the courage to break +away, there was no one who would receive her now. The +Herritons had been almost malignant in their efforts against +her, and all her friends had one by one fallen off. So it +was better to live on humbly, trying not to feel, +endeavouring by a cheerful demeanour to put things right. +"Perhaps," she thought, "if I have a child he will be +different. I know he wants a son." + +Lilia had achieved pathos despite herself, for there are +some situations in which vulgarity counts no longer. Not +Cordelia nor Imogen more deserves our tears. + +She herself cried frequently, making herself look plain +and old, which distressed her husband. He was particularly +kind to her when he hardly ever saw her, and she accepted +his kindness without resentment, even with gratitude, so +docile had she become. She did not hate him, even as she +had never loved him; with her it was only when she was +excited that the semblance of either passion arose. People +said she was headstrong, but really her weak brain left her cold. + +Suffering, however, is more independent of temperament, +and the wisest of women could hardly have suffered more. + +As for Gino, he was quite as boyish as ever, and carried +his iniquities like a feather. A favourite speech of his +was, "Ah, one ought to marry! Spiridione is wrong; I must +persuade him. Not till marriage does one realize the +pleasures and the possibilities of life." So saying, he +would take down his felt hat, strike it in the right place +as infallibly as a German strikes his in the wrong place, +and leave her. + +One evening, when he had gone out thus, Lilia could +stand it no longer. It was September. Sawston would be +just filling up after the summer holidays. People would be +running in and out of each other's houses all along the +road. There were bicycle gymkhanas, and on the 30th Mrs. +Herriton would be holding the annual bazaar in her garden +for the C.M.S. It seemed impossible that such a free, happy +life could exist. She walked out on to the loggia. +Moonlight and stars in a soft purple sky. The walls of +Monteriano should be glorious on such a night as this. But +the house faced away from them. + +Perfetta was banging in the kitchen, and the stairs down +led past the kitchen door. But the stairs up to the +attic--the stairs no one ever used--opened out of the +living-room, and by unlocking the door at the top one might +slip out to the square terrace above the house, and thus for +ten minutes walk in freedom and peace. + +The key was in the pocket of Gino's best suit--the +English check--which he never wore. The stairs creaked and +the key-hole screamed; but Perfetta was growing deaf. The +walls were beautiful, but as they faced west they were in +shadow. To see the light upon them she must walk round the +town a little, till they were caught by the beams of the +rising moon. She looked anxiously at the house, and started. + +It was easy walking, for a little path ran all outside +the ramparts. The few people she met wished her a civil +good-night, taking her, in her hatless condition, for a +peasant. The walls trended round towards the moon; and +presently she came into its light, and saw all the rough +towers turn into pillars of silver and black, and the +ramparts into cliffs of pearl. She had no great sense of +beauty, but she was sentimental, and she began to cry; for +here, where a great cypress interrupted the monotony of the +girdle of olives, she had sat with Gino one afternoon in +March, her head upon his shoulder, while Caroline was +looking at the view and sketching. Round the corner was the +Siena gate, from which the road to England started, and she +could hear the rumble of the diligence which was going down +to catch the night train to Empoli. The next moment it was +upon her, for the highroad came towards her a little before +it began its long zigzag down the hill. + +The driver slackened, and called to her to get in. He +did not know who she was. He hoped she might be coming to +the station. + +"Non vengo!" she cried. + +He wished her good-night, and turned his horses down the +corner. As the diligence came round she saw that it was empty. + +"Vengo . . ." + +Her voice was tremulous, and did not carry. The horses +swung off. + +"Vengo! Vengo!" + +He had begun to sing, and heard nothing. She ran down +the road screaming to him to stop--that she was coming; while +the distance grew greater and the noise of the diligence +increased. The man's back was black and square against the +moon, and if he would but turn for an instant she would be +saved. She tried to cut off the corner of the zigzag, +stumbling over the great clods of earth, large and hard as +rocks, which lay between the eternal olives. She was too +late; for, just before she regained the road, the thing +swept past her, thunderous, ploughing up choking clouds of +moonlit dust. + +She did not call any more, for she felt very ill, and +fainted; and when she revived she was lying in the road, +with dust in her eyes, and dust in her mouth, and dust down +her ears. There is something very terrible in dust at night-time. + +"What shall I do?" she moaned. "He will be so angry." + +And without further effort she slowly climbed back to +captivity, shaking her garments as she went. + +Ill luck pursued her to the end. It was one of the +nights when Gino happened to come in. He was in the +kitchen, swearing and smashing plates, while Perfetta, her +apron over her head, was weeping violently. At the sight of +Lilia he turned upon her and poured forth a flood of +miscellaneous abuse. He was far more angry but much less +alarming than he had been that day when he edged after her +round the table. And Lilia gained more courage from her bad +conscience than she ever had from her good one, for as he +spoke she was seized with indignation and feared him no +longer, and saw him for a cruel, worthless, hypocritical, +dissolute upstart, and spoke in return. + +Perfetta screamed for she told him everything--all she +knew and all she thought. He stood with open mouth, all the +anger gone out of him, feeling ashamed, and an utter fool. +He was fairly and rightfully cornered. When had a husband +so given himself away before? She finished; and he was +dumb, for she had spoken truly. Then, alas! the absurdity +of his own position grew upon him, and he laughed--as he +would have laughed at the same situation on the stage. + +"You laugh?" stammered Lilia. + +"Ah!" he cried, "who could help it? I, who thought you +knew and saw nothing--I am tricked--I am conquered. I give +in. Let us talk of it no more." + +He touched her on the shoulder like a good comrade, half +amused and half penitent, and then, murmuring and smiling to +himself, ran quietly out of the room. + +Perfetta burst into congratulations. "What courage you +have!" she cried; "and what good fortune! He is angry no +longer! He has forgiven you!" + +Neither Perfetta, nor Gino, nor Lilia herself knew the +true reason of all the misery that followed. To the end he +thought that kindness and a little attention would be enough +to set things straight. His wife was a very ordinary woman, +and why should her ideas differ from his own? No one +realized that more than personalities were engaged; that the +struggle was national; that generations of ancestors, good, +bad, or indifferent, forbad the Latin man to be chivalrous +to the northern woman, the northern woman to forgive the +Latin man. All this might have been foreseen: Mrs. Herriton +foresaw it from the first. + +Meanwhile Lilia prided herself on her high personal +standard, and Gino simply wondered why she did not come +round. He hated discomfort and yearned for sympathy, but +shrank from mentioning his difficulties in the town in case +they were put down to his own incompetence. Spiridione was +told, and replied in a philosophical but not very helpful +letter. His other great friend, whom he trusted more, was +still serving in Eritrea or some other desolate outpost. +And, besides, what was the good of letters? Friends cannot +travel through the post. + +Lilia, so similar to her husband in many ways, yearned +for comfort and sympathy too. The night he laughed at her +she wildly took up paper and pen and wrote page after page, +analysing his character, enumerating his iniquities, +reporting whole conversations, tracing all the causes and +the growth of her misery. She was beside herself with +passion, and though she could hardly think or see, she +suddenly attained to magnificence and pathos which a +practised stylist might have envied. It was written like a +diary, and not till its conclusion did she realize for whom +it was meant. + +"Irma, darling Irma, this letter is for you. I almost +forgot I have a daughter. It will make you unhappy, but I +want you to know everything, and you cannot learn things too +soon. God bless you, my dearest, and save you. God bless +your miserable mother." + +Fortunately Mrs. Herriton was in when the letter +arrived. She seized it and opened it in her bedroom. +Another moment, and Irma's placid childhood would have been +destroyed for ever. + +Lilia received a brief note from Harriet, again +forbidding direct communication between mother and daughter, +and concluding with formal condolences. It nearly drove her +mad. + +"Gently! gently!" said her husband. They were sitting +together on the loggia when the letter arrived. He often +sat with her now, watching her for hours, puzzled and +anxious, but not contrite. + +"It's nothing." She went in and tore it up, and then +began to write--a very short letter, whose gist was "Come and +save me." + +It is not good to see your wife crying when she +writes--especially if you are conscious that, on the whole, +your treatment of her has been reasonable and kind. It is +not good, when you accidentally look over her shoulder, to +see that she is writing to a man. Nor should she shake her +fist at you when she leaves the room, under the impression +that you are engaged in lighting a cigar and cannot see her. + +Lilia went to the post herself. But in Italy so many +things can be arranged. The postman was a friend of Gino's, +and Mr. Kingcroft never got his letter. + +So she gave up hope, became ill, and all through the +autumn lay in bed. Gino was distracted. She knew why; he +wanted a son. He could talk and think of nothing else. His +one desire was to become the father of a man like himself, +and it held him with a grip he only partially understood, +for it was the first great desire, the first great passion +of his life. Falling in love was a mere physical +triviality, like warm sun or cool water, beside this divine +hope of immortality: "I continue." He gave candles to Santa +Deodata, for he was always religious at a crisis, and +sometimes he went to her himself and prayed the crude +uncouth demands of the simple. Impetuously he summoned all +his relatives back to bear him company in his time of need, +and Lilia saw strange faces flitting past her in the +darkened room. + +"My love!" he would say, "my dearest Lilia! Be calm. I +have never loved any one but you." + +She, knowing everything, would only smile gently, too +broken by suffering to make sarcastic repartees. + +Before the child was born he gave her a kiss, and said, +"I have prayed all night for a boy." + +Some strangely tender impulse moved her, and she said +faintly, "You are a boy yourself, Gino." + +He answered, "Then we shall be brothers." + +He lay outside the room with his head against the door +like a dog. When they came to tell him the glad news they +found him half unconscious, and his face was wet with tears. + +As for Lilia, some one said to her, "It is a beautiful +boy!" But she had died in giving birth to him. + + + +Chapter 5 + +At the time of Lilia's death Philip Herriton was just +twenty-four years of age--indeed the news reached Sawston on +his birthday. He was a tall, weakly-built young man, whose +clothes had to be judiciously padded on the shoulders in +order to make him pass muster. His face was plain rather +than not, and there was a curious mixture in it of good and +bad. He had a fine forehead and a good large nose, and both +observation and sympathy were in his eyes. But below the +nose and eyes all was confusion, and those people who +believe that destiny resides in the mouth and chin shook +their heads when they looked at him. + +Philip himself, as a boy, had been keenly conscious of +these defects. Sometimes when he had been bullied or +hustled about at school he would retire to his cubicle and +examine his features in a looking-glass, and he would sigh +and say, "It is a weak face. I shall never carve a place +for myself in the world." But as years went on he became +either less self-conscious or more self-satisfied. The +world, he found, made a niche for him as it did for every +one. Decision of character might come later--or he might +have it without knowing. At all events he had got a sense +of beauty and a sense of humour, two most desirable gifts. +The sense of beauty developed first. It caused him at the +age of twenty to wear parti-coloured ties and a squashy hat, +to be late for dinner on account of the sunset, and to catch +art from Burne-Jones to Praxiteles. At twenty-two he went +to Italy with some cousins, and there he absorbed into one +aesthetic whole olive-trees, blue sky, frescoes, country +inns, saints, peasants, mosaics, statues, beggars. He came +back with the air of a prophet who would either remodel +Sawston or reject it. All the energies and enthusiasms of a +rather friendless life had passed into the championship of beauty. + +In a short time it was over. Nothing had happened +either in Sawston or within himself. He had shocked +half-a-dozen people, squabbled with his sister, and bickered +with his mother. He concluded that nothing could happen, +not knowing that human love and love of truth sometimes +conquer where love of beauty fails. + +A little disenchanted, a little tired, but aesthetically +intact, he resumed his placid life, relying more and more on +his second gift, the gift of humour. If he could not reform +the world, he could at all events laugh at it, thus +attaining at least an intellectual superiority. Laughter, +he read and believed, was a sign of good moral health, and +he laughed on contentedly, till Lilia's marriage toppled +contentment down for ever. Italy, the land of beauty, was +ruined for him. She had no power to change men and things +who dwelt in her. She, too, could produce avarice, +brutality, stupidity--and, what was worse, vulgarity. It was +on her soil and through her influence that a silly woman had +married a cad. He hated Gino, the betrayer of his life's +ideal, and now that the sordid tragedy had come, it filled +him with pangs, not of sympathy, but of final disillusion. + +The disillusion was convenient for Mrs. Herriton, who +saw a trying little period ahead of her, and was glad to +have her family united. + +"Are we to go into mourning, do you think?" She always +asked her children's advice where possible. + +Harriet thought that they should. She had been +detestable to Lilia while she lived, but she always felt +that the dead deserve attention and sympathy. "After all +she has suffered. That letter kept me awake for nights. +The whole thing is like one of those horrible modern plays +where no one is in 'the right.' But if we have mourning, it +will mean telling Irma." + +"Of course we must tell Irma!" said Philip. + +"Of course," said his mother. "But I think we can still +not tell her about Lilia's marriage." + +"I don't think that. And she must have suspected +something by now." + +"So one would have supposed. But she never cared for +her mother, and little girls of nine don't reason clearly. +She looks on it as a long visit. And it is important, most +important, that she should not receive a shock. All a +child's life depends on the ideal it has of its parents. +Destroy that and everything goes--morals, behaviour, +everything. Absolute trust in some one else is the essence +of education. That is why I have been so careful about +talking of poor Lilia before her." + +"But you forget this wretched baby. Waters and Adamson +write that there is a baby." + +"Mrs. Theobald must be told. But she doesn't count. +She is breaking up very quickly. She doesn't even see Mr. +Kingcroft now. He, thank goodness, I hear, has at last +consoled himself with someone else." + +"The child must know some time," persisted Philip, who +felt a little displeased, though he could not tell with what. + +"The later the better. Every moment she is developing." + +"I must say it seems rather hard luck, doesn't it?" + +"On Irma? Why?" + +"On us, perhaps. We have morals and behaviour also, and +I don't think this continual secrecy improves them." + +"There's no need to twist the thing round to that," said +Harriet, rather disturbed. + +"Of course there isn't," said her mother. "Let's keep +to the main issue. This baby's quite beside the point. +Mrs. Theobald will do nothing, and it's no concern of ours." + +"It will make a difference in the money, surely," said he. + +"No, dear; very little. Poor Charles provided for every +kind of contingency in his will. The money will come to you +and Harriet, as Irma's guardians." + +"Good. Does the Italian get anything?" + +"He will get all hers. But you know what that is." + +"Good. So those are our tactics--to tell no one about +the baby, not even Miss Abbott." + +"Most certainly this is the proper course," said Mrs. +Herriton, preferring "course" to "tactics" for Harriet's +sake. "And why ever should we tell Caroline?" + +"She was so mixed up in the affair." + +"Poor silly creature. The less she hears about it the +better she will be pleased. I have come to be very sorry +for Caroline. She, if any one, has suffered and been +penitent. She burst into tears when I told her a little, +only a little, of that terrible letter. I never saw such +genuine remorse. We must forgive her and forget. Let the +dead bury their dead. We will not trouble her with them." + +Philip saw that his mother was scarcely logical. But +there was no advantage in saying so. "Here beginneth the +New Life, then. Do you remember, mother, that was what we +said when we saw Lilia off?" + +"Yes, dear; but now it is really a New Life, because we +are all at accord. Then you were still infatuated with +Italy. It may be full of beautiful pictures and churches, +but we cannot judge a country by anything but its men." + +"That is quite true," he said sadly. And as the tactics +were now settled, he went out and took an aimless and +solitary walk. + +By the time he came back two important things had +happened. Irma had been told of her mother's death, and +Miss Abbott, who had called for a subscription, had been +told also. + +Irma had wept loudly, had asked a few sensible questions +and a good many silly ones, and had been content with +evasive answers. Fortunately the school prize-giving was at +hand, and that, together with the prospect of new black +clothes, kept her from meditating on the fact that Lilia, +who had been absent so long, would now be absent for ever. + +"As for Caroline," said Mrs. Herriton, "I was almost +frightened. She broke down utterly. She cried even when +she left the house. I comforted her as best I could, and I +kissed her. It is something that the breach between her and +ourselves is now entirely healed." + +"Did she ask no questions--as to the nature of Lilia's +death, I mean?" + +"She did. But she has a mind of extraordinary +delicacy. She saw that I was reticent, and she did not +press me. You see, Philip, I can say to you what I could +not say before Harriet. Her ideas are so crude. Really we +do not want it known in Sawston that there is a baby. All +peace and comfort would be lost if people came inquiring +after it." + +His mother knew how to manage him. He agreed +enthusiastically. And a few days later, when he chanced to +travel up to London with Miss Abbott, he had all the time +the pleasant thrill of one who is better informed. Their +last journey together had been from Monteriano back across +Europe. It had been a ghastly journey, and Philip, from the +force of association, rather expected something ghastly now. + +He was surprised. Miss Abbott, between Sawston and +Charing Cross, revealed qualities which he had never guessed +her to possess. Without being exactly original, she did +show a commendable intelligence, and though at times she was +gauche and even uncourtly, he felt that here was a person +whom it might be well to cultivate. + +At first she annoyed him. They were talking, of course, +about Lilia, when she broke the thread of vague +commiseration and said abruptly, "It is all so strange as +well as so tragic. And what I did was as strange as anything." + +It was the first reference she had ever made to her +contemptible behaviour. "Never mind," he said. "It's all +over now. Let the dead bury their dead. It's fallen out of +our lives." + +"But that's why I can talk about it and tell you +everything I have always wanted to. You thought me stupid +and sentimental and wicked and mad, but you never really +knew how much I was to blame." + +"Indeed I never think about it now," said Philip +gently. He knew that her nature was in the main generous +and upright: it was unnecessary for her to reveal her thoughts. + +"The first evening we got to Monteriano," she persisted, +"Lilia went out for a walk alone, saw that Italian in a +picturesque position on a wall, and fell in love. He was +shabbily dressed, and she did not even know he was the son +of a dentist. I must tell you I was used to this sort of +thing. Once or twice before I had had to send people about +their business." + +"Yes; we counted on you," said Philip, with sudden +sharpness. After all, if she would reveal her thoughts, she +must take the consequences. + +"I know you did," she retorted with equal sharpness. +"Lilia saw him several times again, and I knew I ought to +interfere. I called her to my bedroom one night. She was +very frightened, for she knew what it was about and how +severe I could be. 'Do you love this man?' I asked. 'Yes +or no?' She said 'Yes.' And I said, 'Why don't you marry him +if you think you'll be happy?' " + +"Really--really," exploded Philip, as exasperated as if +the thing had happened yesterday. "You knew Lilia all your +life. Apart from everything else--as if she could choose +what could make her happy!" + +"Had you ever let her choose?" she flashed out. "I'm +afraid that's rude," she added, trying to calm herself. + +"Let us rather say unhappily expressed," said Philip, +who always adopted a dry satirical manner when he was puzzled. + +"I want to finish. Next morning I found Signor Carella +and said the same to him. He--well, he was willing. That's all." + +"And the telegram?" He looked scornfully out of the window. + +Hitherto her voice had been hard, possibly in +self-accusation, possibly in defiance. Now it became +unmistakably sad. "Ah, the telegram! That was wrong. +Lilia there was more cowardly than I was. We should have +told the truth. It lost me my nerve, at all events. I came +to the station meaning to tell you everything then. But we +had started with a lie, and I got frightened. And at the +end, when you left, I got frightened again and came with +you." + +"Did you really mean to stop?" + +"For a time, at all events." + +"Would that have suited a newly married pair?" + +"It would have suited them. Lilia needed me. And as +for him--I can't help feeling I might have got influence over +him." + +"I am ignorant of these matters," said Philip; "but I +should have thought that would have increased the difficulty +of the situation." + +The crisp remark was wasted on her. She looked +hopelessly at the raw over-built country, and said, "Well, I +have explained." + +"But pardon me, Miss Abbott; of most of your conduct you +have given a description rather than an explanation." + +He had fairly caught her, and expected that she would +gape and collapse. To his surprise she answered with some +spirit, "An explanation may bore you, Mr. Herriton: it drags +in other topics." + +"Oh, never mind." + +"I hated Sawston, you see." + +He was delighted. "So did and do I. That's splendid. +Go on." + +"I hated the idleness, the stupidity, the +respectability, the petty unselfishness." + +"Petty selfishness," he corrected. Sawston psychology +had long been his specialty. + +"Petty unselfishness," she repeated. "I had got an idea +that every one here spent their lives in making little +sacrifices for objects they didn't care for, to please +people they didn't love; that they never learnt to be +sincere--and, what's as bad, never learnt how to enjoy +themselves. That's what I thought--what I thought at Monteriano." + +"Why, Miss Abbott," he cried, "you should have told me +this before! Think it still! I agree with lots of it. +Magnificent!" + +"Now Lilia," she went on, "though there were things +about her I didn't like, had somehow kept the power of +enjoying herself with sincerity. And Gino, I thought, was +splendid, and young, and strong not only in body, and +sincere as the day. If they wanted to marry, why shouldn't +they do so? Why shouldn't she break with the deadening life +where she had got into a groove, and would go on in it, +getting more and more--worse than unhappy--apathetic till she +died? Of course I was wrong. She only changed one groove +for another--a worse groove. And as for him--well, you know +more about him than I do. I can never trust myself to judge +characters again. But I still feel he cannot have been +quite bad when we first met him. Lilia--that I should dare +to say it! --must have been cowardly. He was only a boy--just +going to turn into something fine, I thought--and she must +have mismanaged him. So that is the one time I have gone +against what is proper, and there are the results. You have +an explanation now." + +"And much of it has been most interesting, though I +don't understand everything. Did you never think of the +disparity of their social position?" + +"We were mad--drunk with rebellion. We had no +common-sense. As soon as you came, you saw and foresaw everything." + +"Oh, I don't think that." He was vaguely displeased at +being credited with common-sense. For a moment Miss Abbott +had seemed to him more unconventional than himself. + +"I hope you see," she concluded, "why I have troubled +you with this long story. Women--I heard you say the other +day--are never at ease till they tell their faults out loud. +Lilia is dead and her husband gone to the bad--all through +me. You see, Mr. Herriton, it makes me specially unhappy; +it's the only time I've ever gone into what my father calls +'real life'--and look what I've made of it! All that winter +I seemed to be waking up to beauty and splendour and I don't +know what; and when the spring came, I wanted to fight +against the things I hated--mediocrity and dulness and +spitefulness and society. I actually hated society for a +day or two at Monteriano. I didn't see that all these +things are invincible, and that if we go against them they +will break us to pieces. Thank you for listening to so much +nonsense." + +"Oh, I quite sympathize with what you say," said Philip +encouragingly; "it isn't nonsense, and a year or two ago I +should have been saying it too. But I feel differently now, +and I hope that you also will change. Society is +invincible--to a certain degree. But your real life is your +own, and nothing can touch it. There is no power on earth +that can prevent your criticizing and despising +mediocrity--nothing that can stop you retreating into +splendour and beauty--into the thoughts and beliefs that make +the real life--the real you." + +"I have never had that experience yet. Surely I and my +life must be where I live." + +Evidently she had the usual feminine incapacity for +grasping philosophy. But she had developed quite a +personality, and he must see more of her. "There is another +great consolation against invincible mediocrity," he +said--"the meeting a fellow-victim. I hope that this is only +the first of many discussions that we shall have together." + +She made a suitable reply. The train reached Charing +Cross, and they parted,--he to go to a matinee, she to buy +petticoats for the corpulent poor. Her thoughts wandered as +she bought them: the gulf between herself and Mr. Herriton, +which she had always known to be great, now seemed to her +immeasurable. + +These events and conversations took place at +Christmas-time. The New Life initiated by them lasted some +seven months. Then a little incident--a mere little +vexatious incident--brought it to its close. + +Irma collected picture post-cards, and Mrs. Herriton or +Harriet always glanced first at all that came, lest the +child should get hold of something vulgar. On this occasion +the subject seemed perfectly inoffensive--a lot of ruined +factory chimneys--and Harriet was about to hand it to her +niece when her eye was caught by the words on the margin. +She gave a shriek and flung the card into the grate. Of +course no fire was alight in July, and Irma only had to run +and pick it out again. + +"How dare you!" screamed her aunt. "You wicked girl! +Give it here!" + +Unfortunately Mrs. Herriton was out of the room. Irma, +who was not in awe of Harriet, danced round the table, +reading as she did so, "View of the superb city of +Monteriano--from your lital brother." + +Stupid Harriet caught her, boxed her ears, and tore the +post-card into fragments. Irma howled with pain, and began +shouting indignantly, "Who is my little brother? Why have I +never heard of him before? Grandmamma! Grandmamma! Who is +my little brother? Who is my--" + +Mrs. Herriton swept into the room, saying, "Come with +me, dear, and I will tell you. Now it is time for you to know." + +Irma returned from the interview sobbing, though, as a +matter of fact, she had learnt very little. But that little +took hold of her imagination. She had promised secrecy--she +knew not why. But what harm in talking of the little +brother to those who had heard of him already? + +"Aunt Harriet!" she would say. "Uncle Phil! +Grandmamma! What do you suppose my little brother is doing +now? Has he begun to play? Do Italian babies talk sooner +than us, or would he be an English baby born abroad? Oh, I +do long to see him, and be the first to teach him the Ten +Commandments and the Catechism." + +The last remark always made Harriet look grave. + +"Really," exclaimed Mrs. Herriton, "Irma is getting too +tiresome. She forgot poor Lilia soon enough." + +"A living brother is more to her than a dead mother," +said Philip dreamily. "She can knit him socks." + +"I stopped that. She is bringing him in everywhere. It +is most vexatious. The other night she asked if she might +include him in the people she mentions specially in her prayers." + +"What did you say?" + +"Of course I allowed her," she replied coldly. "She has +a right to mention any one she chooses. But I was annoyed +with her this morning, and I fear that I showed it." + +"And what happened this morning?" + +"She asked if she could pray for her 'new father'--for +the Italian!" + +"Did you let her?" + +"I got up without saying anything." + +"You must have felt just as you did when I wanted to +pray for the devil." + +"He is the devil," cried Harriet. + +"No, Harriet; he is too vulgar." + +"I will thank you not to scoff against religion!" was +Harriet's retort. "Think of that poor baby. Irma is right +to pray for him. What an entrance into life for an English +child!" + +"My dear sister, I can reassure you. Firstly, the +beastly baby is Italian. Secondly, it was promptly +christened at Santa Deodata's, and a powerful combination of +saints watch over--" + +"Don't, dear. And, Harriet, don't be so serious--I mean +not so serious when you are with Irma. She will be worse +than ever if she thinks we have something to hide." + +Harriet's conscience could be quite as tiresome as +Philip's unconventionality. Mrs. Herriton soon made it easy +for her daughter to go for six weeks to the Tirol. Then she +and Philip began to grapple with Irma alone. + +Just as they had got things a little quiet the beastly +baby sent another picture post-card--a comic one, not +particularly proper. Irma received it while they were out, +and all the trouble began again. + +"I cannot think," said Mrs. Herriton, "what his motive +is in sending them." + +Two years before, Philip would have said that the motive +was to give pleasure. Now he, like his mother, tried to +think of something sinister and subtle. + +"Do you suppose that he guesses the situation--how +anxious we are to hush the scandal up?" + +"That is quite possible. He knows that Irma will worry +us about the baby. Perhaps he hopes that we shall adopt it +to quiet her." + +"Hopeful indeed." + +"At the same time he has the chance of corrupting the +child's morals." She unlocked a drawer, took out the +post-card, and regarded it gravely. "He entreats her to +send the baby one," was her next remark. + +"She might do it too!" + +"I told her not to; but we must watch her carefully, +without, of course, appearing to be suspicious." + +Philip was getting to enjoy his mother's diplomacy. He +did not think of his own morals and behaviour any more. + +"Who's to watch her at school, though? She may bubble +out any moment." + +"We can but trust to our influence," said Mrs. Herriton. + +Irma did bubble out, that very day. She was proof +against a single post-card, not against two. A new little +brother is a valuable sentimental asset to a school-girl, +and her school was then passing through an acute phase of +baby-worship. Happy the girl who had her quiver full of +them, who kissed them when she left home in the morning, who +had the right to extricate them from mail-carts in the +interval, who dangled them at tea ere they retired to rest! +That one might sing the unwritten song of Miriam, blessed +above all school-girls, who was allowed to hide her baby +brother in a squashy place, where none but herself could +find him! + +How could Irma keep silent when pretentious girls spoke +of baby cousins and baby visitors--she who had a baby +brother, who wrote her post-cards through his dear papa? +She had promised not to tell about him--she knew not why--and +she told. And one girl told another, and one girl told her +mother, and the thing was out. + +"Yes, it is all very sad," Mrs. Herriton kept saying. +"My daughter-in-law made a very unhappy marriage, as I dare +say you know. I suppose that the child will be educated in +Italy. Possibly his grandmother may be doing something, but +I have not heard of it. I do not expect that she will have +him over. She disapproves of the father. It is altogether +a painful business for her." + +She was careful only to scold Irma for disobedience--that +eighth deadly sin, so convenient to parents and guardians. +Harriet would have plunged into needless explanations and +abuse. The child was ashamed, and talked about the baby +less. The end of the school year was at hand, and she hoped +to get another prize. But she also had put her hand to the wheel. + +It was several days before they saw Miss Abbott. Mrs. +Herriton had not come across her much since the kiss of +reconciliation, nor Philip since the journey to London. She +had, indeed, been rather a disappointment to him. Her +creditable display of originality had never been repeated: +he feared she was slipping back. Now she came about the +Cottage Hospital--her life was devoted to dull acts of +charity--and though she got money out of him and out of his +mother, she still sat tight in her chair, looking graver and +more wooden than ever. + +"I dare say you have heard," said Mrs. Herriton, well +knowing what the matter was. + +"Yes, I have. I came to ask you; have any steps been taken?" + +Philip was astonished. The question was impertinent in +the extreme. He had a regard for Miss Abbott, and regretted +that she had been guilty of it. + +"About the baby?" asked Mrs. Herriton pleasantly. + +"Yes." + +"As far as I know, no steps. Mrs. Theobald may have +decided on something, but I have not heard of it." + +"I was meaning, had you decided on anything?" + +"The child is no relation of ours," said Philip. "It is +therefore scarcely for us to interfere." + +His mother glanced at him nervously. "Poor Lilia was +almost a daughter to me once. I know what Miss Abbott +means. But now things have altered. Any initiative would +naturally come from Mrs. Theobald." + +"But does not Mrs. Theobald always take any initiative +from you?" asked Miss Abbott. + +Mrs. Herriton could not help colouring. "I sometimes +have given her advice in the past. I should not presume to +do so now." + +"Then is nothing to be done for the child at all?" + +"It is extraordinarily good of you to take this +unexpected interest," said Philip. + +"The child came into the world through my negligence," +replied Miss Abbott. "It is natural I should take an +interest in it." + +"My dear Caroline," said Mrs. Herriton, "you must not +brood over the thing. Let bygones be bygones. The child +should worry you even less than it worries us. We never +even mention it. It belongs to another world." + +Miss Abbott got up without replying and turned to go. +Her extreme gravity made Mrs. Herriton uneasy. "Of course," +she added, "if Mrs. Theobald decides on any plan that seems +at all practicable--I must say I don't see any such--I shall +ask if I may join her in it, for Irma's sake, and share in +any possible expenses." + +"Please would you let me know if she decides on +anything. I should like to join as well." + +"My dear, how you throw about your money! We would +never allow it." + +"And if she decides on nothing, please also let me +know. Let me know in any case." + +Mrs. Herriton made a point of kissing her. + +"Is the young person mad?" burst out Philip as soon as +she had departed. "Never in my life have I seen such +colossal impertinence. She ought to be well smacked, and +sent back to Sunday-school." + +His mother said nothing. + +"But don't you see--she is practically threatening us? +You can't put her off with Mrs. Theobald; she knows as well +as we do that she is a nonentity. If we don't do anything +she's going to raise a scandal--that we neglect our +relatives, &c., which is, of course, a lie. Still she'll +say it. Oh, dear, sweet, sober Caroline Abbott has a screw +loose! We knew it at Monteriano. I had my suspicions last +year one day in the train; and here it is again. The young +person is mad." + +She still said nothing. + +"Shall I go round at once and give it her well? I'd +really enjoy it." + +In a low, serious voice--such a voice as she had not used +to him for months--Mrs. Herriton said, "Caroline has been +extremely impertinent. Yet there may be something in what +she says after all. Ought the child to grow up in that +place--and with that father?" + +Philip started and shuddered. He saw that his mother +was not sincere. Her insincerity to others had amused him, +but it was disheartening when used against himself. + +"Let us admit frankly," she continued, "that after all +we may have responsibilities." + +"I don't understand you, Mother. You are turning +absolutely round. What are you up to?" + +In one moment an impenetrable barrier had been erected +between them. They were no longer in smiling confidence. +Mrs. Herriton was off on tactics of her own--tactics which +might be beyond or beneath him. + +His remark offended her. "Up to? I am wondering +whether I ought not to adopt the child. Is that +sufficiently plain?" + +"And this is the result of half-a-dozen idiocies of Miss +Abbott?" + +"It is. I repeat, she has been extremely impertinent. +None the less she is showing me my duty. If I can rescue +poor Lilia's baby from that horrible man, who will bring it +up either as Papist or infidel--who will certainly bring it +up to be vicious--I shall do it." + +"You talk like Harriet." + +"And why not?" said she, flushing at what she knew to be +an insult. "Say, if you choose, that I talk like Irma. +That child has seen the thing more clearly than any of us. +She longs for her little brother. She shall have him. I +don't care if I am impulsive." + +He was sure that she was not impulsive, but did not dare +to say so. Her ability frightened him. All his life he had +been her puppet. She let him worship Italy, and reform +Sawston--just as she had let Harriet be Low Church. She had +let him talk as much as he liked. But when she wanted a +thing she always got it. + +And though she was frightening him, she did not inspire +him with reverence. Her life, he saw, was without meaning. +To what purpose was her diplomacy, her insincerity, her +continued repression of vigour? Did they make any one +better or happier? Did they even bring happiness to +herself? Harriet with her gloomy peevish creed, Lilia with +her clutches after pleasure, were after all more divine than +this well-ordered, active, useless machine. + +Now that his mother had wounded his vanity he could +criticize her thus. But he could not rebel. To the end of +his days he could probably go on doing what she wanted. He +watched with a cold interest the duel between her and Miss +Abbott. Mrs. Herriton's policy only appeared gradually. It +was to prevent Miss Abbott interfering with the child at all +costs, and if possible to prevent her at a small cost. +Pride was the only solid element in her disposition. She +could not bear to seem less charitable than others. + +"I am planning what can be done," she would tell people, +"and that kind Caroline Abbott is helping me. It is no +business of either of us, but we are getting to feel that +the baby must not be left entirely to that horrible man. It +would be unfair to little Irma; after all, he is her +half-brother. No, we have come to nothing definite." + +Miss Abbott was equally civil, but not to be appeased by +good intentions. The child's welfare was a sacred duty to +her, not a matter of pride or even of sentiment. By it +alone, she felt, could she undo a little of the evil that +she had permitted to come into the world. To her +imagination Monteriano had become a magic city of vice, +beneath whose towers no person could grow up happy or pure. +Sawston, with its semi-detached houses and snobby schools, +its book teas and bazaars, was certainly petty and dull; at +times she found it even contemptible. But it was not a +place of sin, and at Sawston, either with the Herritons or +with herself, the baby should grow up. + +As soon as it was inevitable, Mrs. Herriton wrote a +letter for Waters and Adamson to send to Gino--the oddest +letter; Philip saw a copy of it afterwards. Its ostensible +purpose was to complain of the picture postcards. Right at +the end, in a few nonchalant sentences, she offered to adopt +the child, provided that Gino would undertake never to come +near it, and would surrender some of Lilia's money for its +education. + +"What do you think of it?" she asked her son. "It would +not do to let him know that we are anxious for it." + +"Certainly he will never suppose that." + +"But what effect will the letter have on him?" + +"When he gets it he will do a sum. If it is less +expensive in the long run to part with a little money and to +be clear of the baby, he will part with it. If he would +lose, he will adopt the tone of the loving father." + +"Dear, you're shockingly cynical." After a pause she +added, "How would the sum work out?" + +"I don't know, I'm sure. But if you wanted to ensure +the baby being posted by return, you should have sent a +little sum to HIM. Oh, I'm not cynical--at least I only go +by what I know of him. But I am weary of the whole show. +Weary of Italy. Weary, weary, weary. Sawston's a kind, +pitiful place, isn't it? I will go walk in it and seek comfort." + +He smiled as he spoke, for the sake of not appearing +serious. When he had left her she began to smile also. + +It was to the Abbotts' that he walked. Mr. Abbott +offered him tea, and Caroline, who was keeping up her +Italian in the next room, came in to pour it out. He told +them that his mother had written to Signor Carella, and they +both uttered fervent wishes for her success. + +"Very fine of Mrs. Herriton, very fine indeed," said Mr. +Abbott, who, like every one else, knew nothing of his +daughter's exasperating behaviour. "I'm afraid it will mean +a lot of expense. She will get nothing out of Italy without +paying." + +"There are sure to be incidental expenses," said Philip +cautiously. Then he turned to Miss Abbott and said, "Do you +suppose we shall have difficulty with the man?" + +"It depends," she replied, with equal caution. + +"From what you saw of him, should you conclude that he +would make an affectionate parent?" + +"I don't go by what I saw of him, but by what I know of him." + +"Well, what do you conclude from that?" + +"That he is a thoroughly wicked man." + +"Yet thoroughly wicked men have loved their children. +Look at Rodrigo Borgia, for example." + +"I have also seen examples of that in my district." + +With this remark the admirable young woman rose, and +returned to keep up her Italian. She puzzled Philip +extremely. He could understand enthusiasm, but she did not +seem the least enthusiastic. He could understand pure +cussedness, but it did not seem to be that either. +Apparently she was deriving neither amusement nor profit +from the struggle. Why, then, had she undertaken it? +Perhaps she was not sincere. Perhaps, on the whole, that +was most likely. She must be professing one thing and +aiming at another. What the other thing could be he did not +stop to consider. Insincerity was becoming his stock +explanation for anything unfamiliar, whether that thing was +a kindly action or a high ideal. + +"She fences well," he said to his mother afterwards. + +"What had you to fence about?" she said suavely. Her +son might know her tactics, but she refused to admit that he +knew. She still pretended to him that the baby was the one +thing she wanted, and had always wanted, and that Miss +Abbott was her valued ally. + +And when, next week, the reply came from Italy, she +showed him no face of triumph. "Read the letters," she +said. "We have failed." + +Gino wrote in his own language, but the solicitors had +sent a laborious English translation, where "Preghiatissima +Signora" was rendered as "Most Praiseworthy Madam," and +every delicate compliment and superlative--superlatives are +delicate in Italian--would have felled an ox. For a moment +Philip forgot the matter in the manner; this grotesque +memorial of the land he had loved moved him almost to +tears. He knew the originals of these lumbering phrases; he +also had sent "sincere auguries"; he also had addressed +letters--who writes at home? --from the Caffe Garibaldi. "I +didn't know I was still such an ass," he thought. "Why +can't I realize that it's merely tricks of expression? A +bounder's a bounder, whether he lives in Sawston or Monteriano." + +"Isn't it disheartening?" said his mother. + +He then read that Gino could not accept the generous +offer. His paternal heart would not permit him to abandon +this symbol of his deplored spouse. As for the picture +post-cards, it displeased him greatly that they had been +obnoxious. He would send no more. Would Mrs. Herriton, +with her notorious kindness, explain this to Irma, and thank +her for those which Irma (courteous Miss!) had sent to him? + +"The sum works out against us," said Philip. "Or +perhaps he is putting up the price." + +"No," said Mrs. Herriton decidedly. "It is not that. +For some perverse reason he will not part with the child. I +must go and tell poor Caroline. She will be equally distressed." + +She returned from the visit in the most extraordinary +condition. Her face was red, she panted for breath, there +were dark circles round her eyes. + +"The impudence!" she shouted. "The cursed impudence! +Oh, I'm swearing. I don't care. That beastly woman--how +dare she interfere--I'll--Philip, dear, I'm sorry. It's no +good. You must go." + +"Go where? Do sit down. What's happened?" This +outburst of violence from his elegant ladylike mother pained +him dreadfully. He had not known that it was in her. + +"She won't accept--won't accept the letter as final. You +must go to Monteriano!" + +"I won't!" he shouted back. "I've been and I've +failed. I'll never see the place again. I hate Italy." + +"If you don't go, she will." + +"Abbott?" + +"Yes. Going alone; would start this evening. I offered +to write; she said it was 'too late!' Too late! The child, +if you please--Irma's brother--to live with her, to be brought +up by her and her father at our very gates, to go to school +like a gentleman, she paying. Oh, you're a man! It doesn't +matter for you. You can laugh. But I know what people say; +and that woman goes to Italy this evening." + +He seemed to be inspired. "Then let her go! Let her +mess with Italy by herself. She'll come to grief somehow. +Italy's too dangerous, too--" + +"Stop that nonsense, Philip. I will not be disgraced by +her. I WILL have the child. Pay all we've got for it. I +will have it." + +"Let her go to Italy!" he cried. "Let her meddle with +what she doesn't understand! Look at this letter! The man +who wrote it will marry her, or murder her, or do for her +somehow. He's a bounder, but he's not an English bounder. +He's mysterious and terrible. He's got a country behind him +that's upset people from the beginning of the world." + +"Harriet!" exclaimed his mother. "Harriet shall go +too. Harriet, now, will be invaluable!" And before Philip +had stopped talking nonsense, she had planned the whole +thing and was looking out the trains. + + + +Chapter 6 + +Italy, Philip had always maintained, is only her true self +in the height of the summer, when the tourists have left +her, and her soul awakes under the beams of a vertical sun. +He now had every opportunity of seeing her at her best, for +it was nearly the middle of August before he went out to +meet Harriet in the Tirol. + +He found his sister in a dense cloud five thousand feet +above the sea, chilled to the bone, overfed, bored, and not +at all unwilling to be fetched away. + +"It upsets one's plans terribly," she remarked, as she +squeezed out her sponges, "but obviously it is my duty." + +"Did mother explain it all to you?" asked Philip. + +"Yes, indeed! Mother has written me a really beautiful +letter. She describes how it was that she gradually got to +feel that we must rescue the poor baby from its terrible +surroundings, how she has tried by letter, and it is no +good--nothing but insincere compliments and hypocrisy came +back. Then she says, 'There is nothing like personal +influence; you and Philip will succeed where I have failed.' +She says, too, that Caroline Abbott has been wonderful." + +Philip assented. + +"Caroline feels it as keenly almost as us. That is +because she knows the man. Oh, he must be loathsome! +Goodness me! I've forgotten to pack the ammonia! . . . It +has been a terrible lesson for Caroline, but I fancy it is +her turning-point. I can't help liking to think that out of +all this evil good will come." + +Philip saw no prospect of good, nor of beauty either. +But the expedition promised to be highly comic. He was not +averse to it any longer; he was simply indifferent to all in +it except the humours. These would be wonderful. Harriet, +worked by her mother; Mrs. Herriton, worked by Miss Abbott; +Gino, worked by a cheque--what better entertainment could he +desire? There was nothing to distract him this time; his +sentimentality had died, so had his anxiety for the family +honour. He might be a puppet's puppet, but he knew exactly +the disposition of the strings. + +They travelled for thirteen hours down-hill, whilst the +streams broadened and the mountains shrank, and the +vegetation changed, and the people ceased being ugly and +drinking beer, and began instead to drink wine and to be +beautiful. And the train which had picked them at sunrise +out of a waste of glaciers and hotels was waltzing at sunset +round the walls of Verona. + +"Absurd nonsense they talk about the heat," said Philip, +as they drove from the station. "Supposing we were here for +pleasure, what could be more pleasurable than this?" + +"Did you hear, though, they are remarking on the cold?" +said Harriet nervously. "I should never have thought it cold." + +And on the second day the heat struck them, like a hand +laid over the mouth, just as they were walking to see the +tomb of Juliet. From that moment everything went wrong. +They fled from Verona. Harriet's sketch-book was stolen, +and the bottle of ammonia in her trunk burst over her +prayer-book, so that purple patches appeared on all her +clothes. Then, as she was going through Mantua at four in +the morning, Philip made her look out of the window because +it was Virgil's birthplace, and a smut flew in her eye, and +Harriet with a smut in her eye was notorious. At Bologna +they stopped twenty-four hours to rest. It was a FESTA, and +children blew bladder whistles night and day. "What a +religion!" said Harriet. The hotel smelt, two puppies were +asleep on her bed, and her bedroom window looked into a +belfry, which saluted her slumbering form every quarter of +an hour. Philip left his walking-stick, his socks, and the +Baedeker at Bologna; she only left her sponge-bag. Next day +they crossed the Apennines with a train-sick child and a hot +lady, who told them that never, never before had she sweated +so profusely. "Foreigners are a filthy nation," said +Harriet. "I don't care if there are tunnels; open the +windows." He obeyed, and she got another smut in her eye. +Nor did Florence improve matters. Eating, walking, even a +cross word would bathe them both in boiling water. Philip, +who was slighter of build, and less conscientious, suffered +less. But Harriet had never been to Florence, and between +the hours of eight and eleven she crawled like a wounded +creature through the streets, and swooned before various +masterpieces of art. It was an irritable couple who took +tickets to Monteriano. + +"Singles or returns?" said he. + +"A single for me," said Harriet peevishly; "I shall +never get back alive." + +"Sweet creature!" said her brother, suddenly breaking +down. "How helpful you will be when we come to Signor Carella!" + +"Do you suppose," said Harriet, standing still among a +whirl of porters--"do you suppose I am going to enter that +man's house?" + +"Then what have you come for, pray? For ornament?" + +"To see that you do your duty." + +"Oh, thanks!" + +"So mother told me. For goodness sake get the tickets; +here comes that hot woman again! She has the impudence to bow." + +"Mother told you, did she?" said Philip wrathfully, as +he went to struggle for tickets at a slit so narrow that +they were handed to him edgeways. Italy was beastly, and +Florence station is the centre of beastly Italy. But he had +a strange feeling that he was to blame for it all; that a +little influx into him of virtue would make the whole land +not beastly but amusing. For there was enchantment, he was +sure of that; solid enchantment, which lay behind the +porters and the screaming and the dust. He could see it in +the terrific blue sky beneath which they travelled, in the +whitened plain which gripped life tighter than a frost, in +the exhausted reaches of the Arno, in the ruins of brown +castles which stood quivering upon the hills. He could see +it, though his head ached and his skin was twitching, though +he was here as a puppet, and though his sister knew how he +was here. There was nothing pleasant in that journey to +Monteriano station. But nothing--not even the discomfort--was +commonplace. + +"But do people live inside?" asked Harriet. They had +exchanged railway-carriage for the legno, and the legno had +emerged from the withered trees, and had revealed to them +their destination. Philip, to be annoying, answered "No." + +"What do they do there?" continued Harriet, with a frown. + +"There is a caffe. A prison. A theatre. A church. +Walls. A view." + +"Not for me, thank you," said Harriet, after a weighty pause. + +"Nobody asked you, Miss, you see. Now Lilia was asked +by such a nice young gentleman, with curls all over his +forehead, and teeth just as white as father makes them." +Then his manner changed. "But, Harriet, do you see nothing +wonderful or attractive in that place--nothing at all?" + +"Nothing at all. It's frightful." + +"I know it is. But it's old--awfully old." + +"Beauty is the only test," said Harriet. "At least so +you told me when I sketched old buildings--for the sake, I +suppose, of making yourself unpleasant." + +"Oh, I'm perfectly right. But at the same time--I don't +know--so many things have happened here--people have lived so +hard and so splendidly--I can't explain." + +"I shouldn't think you could. It doesn't seem the best +moment to begin your Italy mania. I thought you were cured +of it by now. Instead, will you kindly tell me what you are +going to do when you arrive. I do beg you will not be taken +unawares this time." + +"First, Harriet, I shall settle you at the Stella +d'Italia, in the comfort that befits your sex and +disposition. Then I shall make myself some tea. After tea +I shall take a book into Santa Deodata's, and read there. +It is always fresh and cool." + +The martyred Harriet exclaimed, "I'm not clever, +Philip. I don't go in for it, as you know. But I know +what's rude. And I know what's wrong." + +"Meaning--?" + +"You!" she shouted, bouncing on the cushions of the +legno and startling all the fleas. "What's the good of +cleverness if a man's murdered a woman?" + +"Harriet, I am hot. To whom do you refer?" + +"He. Her. If you don't look out he'll murder you. I +wish he would." + +"Tut tut, tutlet! You'd find a corpse extraordinarily +inconvenient." Then he tried to be less aggravating. "I +heartily dislike the fellow, but we know he didn't murder +her. In that letter, though she said a lot, she never said +he was physically cruel." + +"He has murdered her. The things he did--things one +can't even mention--" + +"Things which one must mention if one's to talk at all. +And things which one must keep in their proper place. +Because he was unfaithful to his wife, it doesn't follow +that in every way he's absolutely vile." He looked at the +city. It seemed to approve his remark. + +"It's the supreme test. The man who is unchivalrous to +a woman--" + +"Oh, stow it! Take it to the Back Kitchen. It's no +more a supreme test than anything else. The Italians never +were chivalrous from the first. If you condemn him for +that, you'll condemn the whole lot." + +"I condemn the whole lot." + +"And the French as well?" + +"And the French as well." + +"Things aren't so jolly easy," said Philip, more to +himself than to her. + +But for Harriet things were easy, though not jolly, and +she turned upon her brother yet again. "What about the +baby, pray? You've said a lot of smart things and whittled +away morality and religion and I don't know what; but what +about the baby? You think me a fool, but I've been noticing +you all today, and you haven't mentioned the baby once. You +haven't thought about it, even. You don't care. Philip! I +shall not speak to you. You are intolerable." + +She kept her promise, and never opened her lips all the +rest of the way. But her eyes glowed with anger and +resolution. For she was a straight, brave woman, as well as +a peevish one. + +Philip acknowledged her reproof to be true. He did not +care about the baby one straw. Nevertheless, he meant to do +his duty, and he was fairly confident of success. If Gino +would have sold his wife for a thousand lire, for how much +less would he not sell his child? It was just a commercial +transaction. Why should it interfere with other things? +His eyes were fixed on the towers again, just as they had +been fixed when he drove with Miss Abbott. But this time +his thoughts were pleasanter, for he had no such grave +business on his mind. It was in the spirit of the +cultivated tourist that he approached his destination. + +One of the towers, rough as any other, was topped by a +cross--the tower of the Collegiate Church of Santa Deodata. +She was a holy maiden of the Dark Ages, the city's patron +saint, and sweetness and barbarity mingle strangely in her +story. So holy was she that all her life she lay upon her +back in the house of her mother, refusing to eat, refusing +to play, refusing to work. The devil, envious of such +sanctity, tempted her in various ways. He dangled grapes +above her, he showed her fascinating toys, he pushed soft +pillows beneath her aching head. When all proved vain he +tripped up the mother and flung her downstairs before her +very eyes. But so holy was the saint that she never picked +her mother up, but lay upon her back through all, and thus +assured her throne in Paradise. She was only fifteen when +she died, which shows how much is within the reach of any +school-girl. Those who think her life was unpractical need +only think of the victories upon Poggibonsi, San Gemignano, +Volterra, Siena itself--all gained through the invocation of +her name; they need only look at the church which rose over +her grave. The grand schemes for a marble facade were never +carried out, and it is brown unfinished stone until this +day. But for the inside Giotto was summoned to decorate the +walls of the nave. Giotto came--that is to say, he did not +come, German research having decisively proved--but at all +events the nave is covered with frescoes, and so are two +chapels in the left transept, and the arch into the choir, +and there are scraps in the choir itself. There the +decoration stopped, till in the full spring of the +Renaissance a great painter came to pay a few weeks' visit +to his friend the Lord of Monteriano. In the intervals +between the banquets and the discussions on Latin etymology +and the dancing, he would stroll over to the church, and +there in the fifth chapel to the right he has painted two +frescoes of the death and burial of Santa Deodata. That is +why Baedeker gives the place a star. + +Santa Deodata was better company than Harriet, and she +kept Philip in a pleasant dream until the legno drew up at +the hotel. Every one there was asleep, for it was still the +hour when only idiots were moving. There were not even any +beggars about. The cabman put their bags down in the +passage--they had left heavy luggage at the station--and +strolled about till he came on the landlady's room and woke +her, and sent her to them. + +Then Harriet pronounced the monosyllable "Go!" + +"Go where?" asked Philip, bowing to the landlady, who +was swimming down the stairs. + +"To the Italian. Go." + +"Buona sera, signora padrona. Si ritorna volontieri a +Monteriano!" (Don't be a goose. I'm not going now. You're +in the way, too.) "Vorrei due camere--" + +"Go. This instant. Now. I'll stand it no longer. Go!" + +"I'm damned if I'll go. I want my tea." + +"Swear if you like!" she cried. "Blaspheme! Abuse me! +But understand, I'm in earnest." + +"Harriet, don't act. Or act better." + +"We've come here to get the baby back, and for nothing +else. I'll not have this levity and slackness, and talk +about pictures and churches. Think of mother; did she send +you out for THEM?" + +"Think of mother and don't straddle across the stairs. +Let the cabman and the landlady come down, and let me go up +and choose rooms." + +"I shan't." + +"Harriet, are you mad?" + +"If you like. But you will not come up till you have +seen the Italian." + +"La signorina si sente male," said Philip, "C' e il sole." + +"Poveretta!" cried the landlady and the cabman. + +"Leave me alone!" said Harriet, snarling round at them. +"I don't care for the lot of you. I'm English, and neither +you'll come down nor he up till he goes for the baby." + +"La prego-piano-piano-c e un' altra signorina che dorme--" + +"We shall probably be arrested for brawling, Harriet. +Have you the very slightest sense of the ludicrous?" + +Harriet had not; that was why she could be so powerful. +She had concocted this scene in the carriage, and nothing +should baulk her of it. To the abuse in front and the +coaxing behind she was equally indifferent. How long she +would have stood like a glorified Horatius, keeping the +staircase at both ends, was never to be known. For the +young lady, whose sleep they were disturbing, awoke and +opened her bedroom door, and came out on to the landing. +She was Miss Abbott. + +Philip's first coherent feeling was one of indignation. +To be run by his mother and hectored by his sister was as +much as he could stand. The intervention of a third female +drove him suddenly beyond politeness. He was about to say +exactly what he thought about the thing from beginning to +end. But before he could do so Harriet also had seen Miss +Abbott. She uttered a shrill cry of joy. + +"You, Caroline, here of all people!" And in spite of +the heat she darted up the stairs and imprinted an +affectionate kiss upon her friend. + +Philip had an inspiration. "You will have a lot to tell +Miss Abbott, Harriet, and she may have as much to tell you. +So I'll pay my call on Signor Carella, as you suggested, and +see how things stand." + +Miss Abbott uttered some noise of greeting or alarm. He +did not reply to it or approach nearer to her. Without even +paying the cabman, he escaped into the street. + +"Tear each other's eyes out!" he cried, gesticulating at +the facade of the hotel. "Give it to her, Harriet! Teach +her to leave us alone. Give it to her, Caroline! Teach her +to be grateful to you. Go it, ladies; go it!" + +Such people as observed him were interested, but did not +conclude that he was mad. This aftermath of conversation is +not unknown in Italy. + +He tried to think how amusing it was; but it would not +do--Miss Abbott's presence affected him too personally. +Either she suspected him of dishonesty, or else she was +being dishonest herself. He preferred to suppose the +latter. Perhaps she had seen Gino, and they had prepared +some elaborate mortification for the Herritons. Perhaps +Gino had sold the baby cheap to her for a joke: it was just +the kind of joke that would appeal to him. Philip still +remembered the laughter that had greeted his fruitless +journey, and the uncouth push that had toppled him on to the +bed. And whatever it might mean, Miss Abbott's presence +spoilt the comedy: she would do nothing funny. + +During this short meditation he had walked through the +city, and was out on the other side. "Where does Signor +Carella live?" he asked the men at the Dogana. + +"I'll show you," said a little girl, springing out of +the ground as Italian children will. + +"She will show you," said the Dogana men, nodding +reassuringly. "Follow her always, always, and you will come +to no harm. She is a trustworthy guide. She is my + daughter." + cousin." + sister." + +Philip knew these relatives well: they ramify, if need +be, all over the peninsula. + +"Do you chance to know whether Signor Carella is in?" he +asked her. + +She had just seen him go in. Philip nodded. He was +looking forward to the interview this time: it would be an +intellectual duet with a man of no great intellect. What +was Miss Abbott up to? That was one of the things he was +going to discover. While she had it out with Harriet, he +would have it out with Gino. He followed the Dogana's +relative softly, like a diplomatist. + +He did not follow her long, for this was the Volterra +gate, and the house was exactly opposite to it. In half a +minute they had scrambled down the mule-track and reached +the only practicable entrance. Philip laughed, partly at +the thought of Lilia in such a building, partly in the +confidence of victory. Meanwhile the Dogana's relative +lifted up her voice and gave a shout. + +For an impressive interval there was no reply. Then the +figure of a woman appeared high up on the loggia. + +"That is Perfetta," said the girl. + +"I want to see Signor Carella," cried Philip. + +"Out!" + +"Out," echoed the girl complacently. + +"Why on earth did you say he was in?" He could have +strangled her for temper. He had been just ripe for an +interview--just the right combination of indignation and +acuteness: blood hot, brain cool. But nothing ever did go +right in Monteriano. "When will he be back?" he called to +Perfetta. It really was too bad. + +She did not know. He was away on business. He might be +back this evening, he might not. He had gone to Poggibonsi. + +At the sound of this word the little girl put her +fingers to her nose and swept them at the plain. She sang +as she did so, even as her foremothers had sung seven +hundred years back-- + + Poggibonizzi, fatti in la, + Che Monteriano si fa citta! + +Then she asked Philip for a halfpenny. A German lady, +friendly to the Past, had given her one that very spring. + +"I shall have to leave a message," he called. + +"Now Perfetta has gone for her basket," said the little +girl. "When she returns she will lower it--so. Then you +will put your card into it. Then she will raise it--thus. +By this means--" + +When Perfetta returned, Philip remembered to ask after +the baby. It took longer to find than the basket, and he +stood perspiring in the evening sun, trying to avoid the +smell of the drains and to prevent the little girl from +singing against Poggibonsi. The olive-trees beside him were +draped with the weekly--or more probably the monthly--wash. +What a frightful spotty blouse! He could not think where he +had seen it. Then he remembered that it was Lilia's. She +had brought it "to hack about in" at Sawston, and had taken +it to Italy because "in Italy anything does." He had +rebuked her for the sentiment. + +"Beautiful as an angel!" bellowed Perfetta, holding out +something which must be Lilia's baby. "But who am I addressing?" + +"Thank you--here is my card." He had written on it a +civil request to Gino for an interview next morning. But +before he placed it in the basket and revealed his identity, +he wished to find something out. "Has a young lady happened +to call here lately--a young English lady?" + +Perfetta begged his pardon: she was a little deaf. + +"A young lady--pale, large, tall." + +She did not quite catch. + +"A YOUNG LADY!" + +"Perfetta is deaf when she chooses," said the Dogana's +relative. At last Philip admitted the peculiarity and +strode away. He paid off the detestable child at the +Volterra gate. She got two nickel pieces and was not +pleased, partly because it was too much, partly because he +did not look pleased when he gave it to her. He caught her +fathers and cousins winking at each other as he walked past +them. Monteriano seemed in one conspiracy to make him look +a fool. He felt tired and anxious and muddled, and not sure +of anything except that his temper was lost. In this mood +he returned to the Stella d'Italia, and there, as he was +ascending the stairs, Miss Abbott popped out of the +dining-room on the first floor and beckoned to him mysteriously. + +"I was going to make myself some tea," he said, with his +hand still on the banisters. + +"I should be grateful--" + +So he followed her into the dining-room and shut the door. + +"You see," she began, "Harriet knows nothing." + +"No more do I. He was out." + +"But what's that to do with it?" + +He presented her with an unpleasant smile. She fenced +well, as he had noticed before. "He was out. You find me +as ignorant as you have left Harriet." + +"What do you mean? Please, please Mr. Herriton, don't +be mysterious: there isn't the time. Any moment Harriet may +be down, and we shan't have decided how to behave to her. +Sawston was different: we had to keep up appearances. But +here we must speak out, and I think I can trust you to do +it. Otherwise we'll never start clear." + +"Pray let us start clear," said Philip, pacing up and +down the room. "Permit me to begin by asking you a +question. In which capacity have you come to Monteriano--spy +or traitor?" + +"Spy!" she answered, without a moment's hesitation. She +was standing by the little Gothic window as she spoke--the +hotel had been a palace once--and with her finger she was +following the curves of the moulding as if they might feel +beautiful and strange. "Spy," she repeated, for Philip was +bewildered at learning her guilt so easily, and could not +answer a word. "Your mother has behaved dishonourably all +through. She never wanted the child; no harm in that; but +she is too proud to let it come to me. She has done all she +could to wreck things; she did not tell you everything; she +has told Harriet nothing at all; she has lied or acted lies +everywhere. I cannot trust your mother. So I have come +here alone--all across Europe; no one knows it; my father +thinks I am in Normandy--to spy on Mrs. Herriton. Don't +let's argue!" for he had begun, almost mechanically, to +rebuke her for impertinence. "If you are here to get the +child, I will help you; if you are here to fail, I shall get +it instead of you." + +"It is hopeless to expect you to believe me," he +stammered. "But I can assert that we are here to get the +child, even if it costs us all we've got. My mother has +fixed no money limit whatever. I am here to carry out her +instructions. I think that you will approve of them, as you +have practically dictated them. I do not approve of them. +They are absurd." + +She nodded carelessly. She did not mind what he said. +All she wanted was to get the baby out of Monteriano. + +"Harriet also carries out your instructions," he +continued. "She, however, approves of them, and does not +know that they proceed from you. I think, Miss Abbott, you +had better take entire charge of the rescue party. I have +asked for an interview with Signor Carella tomorrow +morning. Do you acquiesce?" + +She nodded again. + +"Might I ask for details of your interview with him? +They might be helpful to me." + +He had spoken at random. To his delight she suddenly +collapsed. Her hand fell from the window. Her face was red +with more than the reflection of evening. + +"My interview--how do you know of it?" + +"From Perfetta, if it interests you." + +"Who ever is Perfetta?" + +"The woman who must have let you in." + +"In where?" + +"Into Signor Carella's house." + +"Mr. Herriton!" she exclaimed. "How could you believe +her? Do you suppose that I would have entered that man's +house, knowing about him all that I do? I think you have +very odd ideas of what is possible for a lady. I hear you +wanted Harriet to go. Very properly she refused. Eighteen +months ago I might have done such a thing. But I trust I +have learnt how to behave by now." + +Philip began to see that there were two Miss Abbotts--the +Miss Abbott who could travel alone to Monteriano, and the +Miss Abbott who could not enter Gino's house when she got +there. It was an amusing discovery. Which of them would +respond to his next move? + +"I suppose I misunderstood Perfetta. Where did you have +your interview, then?" + +"Not an interview--an accident--I am very sorry--I meant +you to have the chance of seeing him first. Though it is +your fault. You are a day late. You were due here +yesterday. So I came yesterday, and, not finding you, went +up to the Rocca--you know that kitchen-garden where they let +you in, and there is a ladder up to a broken tower, where +you can stand and see all the other towers below you and the +plain and all the other hills?" + +"Yes, yes. I know the Rocca; I told you of it." + +"So I went up in the evening for the sunset: I had +nothing to do. He was in the garden: it belongs to a friend +of his." + +"And you talked." + +"It was very awkward for me. But I had to talk: he +seemed to make me. You see he thought I was here as a +tourist; he thinks so still. He intended to be civil, and I +judged it better to be civil also." + +"And of what did you talk?" + +"The weather--there will be rain, he says, by tomorrow +evening--the other towns, England, myself, about you a +little, and he actually mentioned Lilia. He was perfectly +disgusting; he pretended he loved her; he offered to show me +her grave--the grave of the woman he has murdered!" + +"My dear Miss Abbott, he is not a murderer. I have just +been driving that into Harriet. And when you know the +Italians as well as I do, you will realize that in all that +he said to you he was perfectly sincere. The Italians are +essentially dramatic; they look on death and love as +spectacles. I don't doubt that he persuaded himself, for +the moment, that he had behaved admirably, both as husband +and widower." + +"You may be right," said Miss Abbott, impressed for the +first time. "When I tried to pave the way, so to speak--to +hint that he had not behaved as he ought--well, it was no +good at all. He couldn't or wouldn't understand." + +There was something very humorous in the idea of Miss +Abbott approaching Gino, on the Rocca, in the spirit of a +district visitor. Philip, whose temper was returning, laughed. + +"Harriet would say he has no sense of sin." + +"Harriet may be right, I am afraid." + +"If so, perhaps he isn't sinful!" + +Miss Abbott was not one to encourage levity. "I know +what he has done," she said. "What he says and what he +thinks is of very little importance." + +Philip smiled at her crudity. "I should like to hear, +though, what he said about me. Is he preparing a warm reception?" + +"Oh, no, not that. I never told him that you and +Harriet were coming. You could have taken him by surprise +if you liked. He only asked for you, and wished he hadn't +been so rude to you eighteen months ago." + +"What a memory the fellow has for little things!" He +turned away as he spoke, for he did not want her to see his +face. It was suffused with pleasure. For an apology, which +would have been intolerable eighteen months ago, was +gracious and agreeable now. + +She would not let this pass. "You did not think it a +little thing at the time. You told me he had assaulted you." + +"I lost my temper," said Philip lightly. His vanity had +been appeased, and he knew it. This tiny piece of civility +had changed his mood. "Did he really--what exactly did he +say?" + +"He said he was sorry--pleasantly, as Italians do say +such things. But he never mentioned the baby once." + +What did the baby matter when the world was suddenly +right way up? Philip smiled, and was shocked at himself for +smiling, and smiled again. For romance had come back to +Italy; there were no cads in her; she was beautiful, +courteous, lovable, as of old. And Miss Abbott--she, too, +was beautiful in her way, for all her gaucheness and +conventionality. She really cared about life, and tried to +live it properly. And Harriet--even Harriet tried. + +This admirable change in Philip proceeds from nothing +admirable, and may therefore provoke the gibes of the +cynical. But angels and other practical people will accept +it reverently, and write it down as good. + +"The view from the Rocca (small gratuity) is finest at +sunset," he murmured, more to himself than to her. + +"And he never mentioned the baby once," Miss Abbott +repeated. But she had returned to the window, and again her +finger pursued the delicate curves. He watched her in +silence, and was more attracted to her than he had ever been +before. She really was the strangest mixture. + +"The view from the Rocca--wasn't it fine?" + +"What isn't fine here?" she answered gently, and then +added, "I wish I was Harriet," throwing an extraordinary +meaning into the words. + +"Because Harriet--?" + +She would not go further, but he believed that she had +paid homage to the complexity of life. For her, at all +events, the expedition was neither easy nor jolly. Beauty, +evil, charm, vulgarity, mystery--she also acknowledged this +tangle, in spite of herself. And her voice thrilled him +when she broke silence with "Mr. Herriton--come here--look at +this!" + +She removed a pile of plates from the Gothic window, and +they leant out of it. Close opposite, wedged between mean +houses, there rose up one of the great towers. It is your +tower: you stretch a barricade between it and the hotel, and +the traffic is blocked in a moment. Farther up, where the +street empties out by the church, your connections, the +Merli and the Capocchi, do likewise. They command the +Piazza, you the Siena gate. No one can move in either but +he shall be instantly slain, either by bows or by crossbows, +or by Greek fire. Beware, however, of the back bedroom +windows. For they are menaced by the tower of the +Aldobrandeschi, and before now arrows have stuck quivering +over the washstand. Guard these windows well, lest there be +a repetition of the events of February 1338, when the hotel +was surprised from the rear, and your dearest friend--you +could just make out that it was he--was thrown at you over +the stairs. + +"It reaches up to heaven," said Philip, "and down to the +other place." The summit of the tower was radiant in the +sun, while its base was in shadow and pasted over with +advertisements. "Is it to be a symbol of the town?" + +She gave no hint that she understood him. But they +remained together at the window because it was a little +cooler and so pleasant. Philip found a certain grace and +lightness in his companion which he had never noticed in +England. She was appallingly narrow, but her consciousness +of wider things gave to her narrowness a pathetic charm. He +did not suspect that he was more graceful too. For our +vanity is such that we hold our own characters immutable, +and we are slow to acknowledge that they have changed, even +for the better. + +Citizens came out for a little stroll before dinner. +Some of them stood and gazed at the advertisements on the tower. + +"Surely that isn't an opera-bill?" said Miss Abbott. + +Philip put on his pince-nez. " 'Lucia di Lammermoor. +By the Master Donizetti. Unique representation. This evening.' + +"But is there an opera? Right up here?" + +"Why, yes. These people know how to live. They would +sooner have a thing bad than not have it at all. That is +why they have got to have so much that is good. However bad +the performance is tonight, it will be alive. Italians +don't love music silently, like the beastly Germans. The +audience takes its share--sometimes more." + +"Can't we go?" + +He turned on her, but not unkindly. "But we're here to +rescue a child!" + +He cursed himself for the remark. All the pleasure and +the light went out of her face, and she became again Miss +Abbott of Sawston--good, oh, most undoubtedly good, but most +appallingly dull. Dull and remorseful: it is a deadly +combination, and he strove against it in vain till he was +interrupted by the opening of the dining-room door. + +They started as guiltily as if they had been flirting. +Their interview had taken such an unexpected course. Anger, +cynicism, stubborn morality--all had ended in a feeling of +good-will towards each other and towards the city which had +received them. And now Harriet was here--acrid, +indissoluble, large; the same in Italy as in +England--changing her disposition never, and her atmosphere +under protest. + +Yet even Harriet was human, and the better for a little +tea. She did not scold Philip for finding Gino out, as she +might reasonably have done. She showered civilities on Miss +Abbott, exclaiming again and again that Caroline's visit was +one of the most fortunate coincidences in the world. +Caroline did not contradict her. + +"You see him tomorrow at ten, Philip. Well, don't +forget the blank cheque. Say an hour for the business. No, +Italians are so slow; say two. Twelve o'clock. Lunch. +Well--then it's no good going till the evening train. I can +manage the baby as far as Florence--" + +"My dear sister, you can't run on like that. You don't +buy a pair of gloves in two hours, much less a baby." + +"Three hours, then, or four; or make him learn English +ways. At Florence we get a nurse--" + +"But, Harriet," said Miss Abbott, "what if at first he +was to refuse?" + +"I don't know the meaning of the word," said Harriet +impressively. "I've told the landlady that Philip and I +only want our rooms one night, and we shall keep to it." + +"I dare say it will be all right. But, as I told you, I +thought the man I met on the Rocca a strange, difficult man." + +"He's insolent to ladies, we know. But my brother can +be trusted to bring him to his senses. That woman, Philip, +whom you saw will carry the baby to the hotel. Of course +you must tip her for it. And try, if you can, to get poor +Lilia's silver bangles. They were nice quiet things, and +will do for Irma. And there is an inlaid box I lent +her--lent, not gave--to keep her handkerchiefs in. It's of no +real value; but this is our only chance. Don't ask for it; +but if you see it lying about, just say--" + +"No, Harriet; I'll try for the baby, but for nothing +else. I promise to do that tomorrow, and to do it in the +way you wish. But tonight, as we're all tired, we want a +change of topic. We want relaxation. We want to go to the +theatre." + +"Theatres here? And at such a moment?" + +"We should hardly enjoy it, with the great interview +impending," said Miss Abbott, with an anxious glance at Philip. + +He did not betray her, but said, "Don't you think it's +better than sitting in all the evening and getting nervous?" + +His sister shook her head. "Mother wouldn't like it. +It would be most unsuitable--almost irreverent. Besides all +that, foreign theatres are notorious. Don't you remember +those letters in the 'Church Family Newspaper'?" + +"But this is an opera--'Lucia di Lammermoor'--Sir Walter +Scott--classical, you know." + +Harriet's face grew resigned. "Certainly one has so few +opportunities of hearing music. It is sure to be very bad. +But it might be better than sitting idle all the evening. +We have no book, and I lost my crochet at Florence." + +"Good. Miss Abbott, you are coming too?" + +"It is very kind of you, Mr. Herriton. In some ways I +should enjoy it; but--excuse the suggestion--I don't think we +ought to go to cheap seats." + +"Good gracious me!" cried Harriet, "I should never have +thought of that. As likely as not, we should have tried to +save money and sat among the most awful people. One keeps +on forgetting this is Italy." + +"Unfortunately I have no evening dress; and if the seats--" + +"Oh, that'll be all right," said Philip, smiling at his +timorous, scrupulous women-kind. "We'll go as we are, and +buy the best we can get. Monteriano is not formal." + +So this strenuous day of resolutions, plans, alarms, +battles, victories, defeats, truces, ended at the opera. +Miss Abbott and Harriet were both a little shame-faced. +They thought of their friends at Sawston, who were supposing +them to be now tilting against the powers of evil. What +would Mrs. Herriton, or Irma, or the curates at the Back +Kitchen say if they could see the rescue party at a place of +amusement on the very first day of its mission? Philip, +too, marvelled at his wish to go. He began to see that he +was enjoying his time in Monteriano, in spite of the +tiresomeness of his companions and the occasional +contrariness of himself. + +He had been to this theatre many years before, on the +occasion of a performance of "La Zia di Carlo." Since then +it had been thoroughly done up, in the tints of the +beet-root and the tomato, and was in many other ways a +credit to the little town. The orchestra had been enlarged, +some of the boxes had terra-cotta draperies, and over each +box was now suspended an enormous tablet, neatly framed, +bearing upon it the number of that box. There was also a +drop-scene, representing a pink and purple landscape, +wherein sported many a lady lightly clad, and two more +ladies lay along the top of the proscenium to steady a large +and pallid clock. So rich and so appalling was the effect, +that Philip could scarcely suppress a cry. There is +something majestic in the bad taste of Italy; it is not the +bad taste of a country which knows no better; it has not the +nervous vulgarity of England, or the blinded vulgarity of +Germany. It observes beauty, and chooses to pass it by. +But it attains to beauty's confidence. This tiny theatre of +Monteriano spraddled and swaggered with the best of them, +and these ladies with their clock would have nodded to the +young men on the ceiling of the Sistine. + +Philip had tried for a box, but all the best were taken: +it was rather a grand performance, and he had to be content +with stalls. Harriet was fretful and insular. Miss Abbott +was pleasant, and insisted on praising everything: her only +regret was that she had no pretty clothes with her. + +"We do all right," said Philip, amused at her unwonted vanity. + +"Yes, I know; but pretty things pack as easily as ugly +ones. We had no need to come to Italy like guys." + +This time he did not reply, "But we're here to rescue a +baby." For he saw a charming picture, as charming a picture +as he had seen for years--the hot red theatre; outside the +theatre, towers and dark gates and mediaeval walls; beyond +the walls olive-trees in the starlight and white winding +roads and fireflies and untroubled dust; and here in the +middle of it all, Miss Abbott, wishing she had not come +looking like a guy. She had made the right remark. Most +undoubtedly she had made the right remark. This stiff +suburban woman was unbending before the shrine. + +"Don't you like it at all?" he asked her. + +"Most awfully." And by this bald interchange they +convinced each other that Romance was here. + +Harriet, meanwhile, had been coughing ominously at the +drop-scene, which presently rose on the grounds of +Ravenswood, and the chorus of Scotch retainers burst into +cry. The audience accompanied with tappings and drummings, +swaying in the melody like corn in the wind. Harriet, +though she did not care for music, knew how to listen to +it. She uttered an acid "Shish!" + +"Shut it," whispered her brother. + +"We must make a stand from the beginning. They're talking." + +"It is tiresome," murmured Miss Abbott; "but perhaps it +isn't for us to interfere." + +Harriet shook her head and shished again. The people +were quiet, not because it is wrong to talk during a chorus, +but because it is natural to be civil to a visitor. For a +little time she kept the whole house in order, and could +smile at her brother complacently. + +Her success annoyed him. He had grasped the principle +of opera in Italy--it aims not at illusion but at +entertainment--and he did not want this great evening-party +to turn into a prayer-meeting. But soon the boxes began to +fill, and Harriet's power was over. Families greeted each +other across the auditorium. People in the pit hailed their +brothers and sons in the chorus, and told them how well they +were singing. When Lucia appeared by the fountain there was +loud applause, and cries of "Welcome to Monteriano!" + +"Ridiculous babies!" said Harriet, settling down in her stall. + +"Why, it is the famous hot lady of the Apennines," cried +Philip; "the one who had never, never before--" + +"Ugh! Don't. She will be very vulgar. And I'm sure +it's even worse here than in the tunnel. I wish we'd never--" + +Lucia began to sing, and there was a moment's silence. +She was stout and ugly; but her voice was still beautiful, +and as she sang the theatre murmured like a hive of happy +bees. All through the coloratura she was accompanied by +sighs, and its top note was drowned in a shout of universal joy. + +So the opera proceeded. The singers drew inspiration +from the audience, and the two great sextettes were rendered +not unworthily. Miss Abbott fell into the spirit of the +thing. She, too, chatted and laughed and applauded and +encored, and rejoiced in the existence of beauty. As for +Philip, he forgot himself as well as his mission. He was +not even an enthusiastic visitor. For he had been in this +place always. It was his home. + +Harriet, like M. Bovary on a more famous occasion, was +trying to follow the plot. Occasionally she nudged her +companions, and asked them what had become of Walter Scott. +She looked round grimly. The audience sounded drunk, and +even Caroline, who never took a drop, was swaying oddly. +Violent waves of excitement, all arising from very little, +went sweeping round the theatre. The climax was reached in +the mad scene. Lucia, clad in white, as befitted her +malady, suddenly gathered up her streaming hair and bowed +her acknowledgment to the audience. Then from the back of +the stage--she feigned not to see it--there advanced a kind of +bamboo clothes-horse, stuck all over with bouquets. It was +very ugly, and most of the flowers in it were false. Lucia +knew this, and so did the audience; and they all knew that +the clothes-horse was a piece of stage property, brought in +to make the performance go year after year. None the less +did it unloose the great deeps. With a scream of amazement +and joy she embraced the animal, pulled out one or two +practicable blossoms, pressed them to her lips, and flung +them into her admirers. They flung them back, with loud +melodious cries, and a little boy in one of the stageboxes +snatched up his sister's carnations and offered them. "Che +carino!" exclaimed the singer. She darted at the little boy +and kissed him. Now the noise became tremendous. +"Silence! silence!" shouted many old gentlemen behind. +"Let the divine creature continue!" But the young men in +the adjacent box were imploring Lucia to extend her civility +to them. She refused, with a humorous, expressive gesture. +One of them hurled a bouquet at her. She spurned it with +her foot. Then, encouraged by the roars of the audience, +she picked it up and tossed it to them. Harriet was always +unfortunate. The bouquet struck her full in the chest, and +a little billet-doux fell out of it into her lap. + +"Call this classical!" she cried, rising from her seat. +"It's not even respectable! Philip! take me out at once." + +"Whose is it?" shouted her brother, holding up the +bouquet in one hand and the billet-doux in the other. +"Whose is it?" + +The house exploded, and one of the boxes was violently +agitated, as if some one was being hauled to the front. +Harriet moved down the gangway, and compelled Miss Abbott to +follow her. Philip, still laughing and calling "Whose is +it?" brought up the rear. He was drunk with excitement. +The heat, the fatigue, and the enjoyment had mounted into +his head. + +"To the left!" the people cried. "The innamorato is to +the left." + +He deserted his ladies and plunged towards the box. A +young man was flung stomach downwards across the +balustrade. Philip handed him up the bouquet and the note. +Then his own hands were seized affectionately. It all +seemed quite natural. + +"Why have you not written?" cried the young man. "Why +do you take me by surprise?" + +"Oh, I've written," said Philip hilariously. "I left a +note this afternoon." + +"Silence! silence!" cried the audience, who were +beginning to have enough. "Let the divine creature +continue." Miss Abbott and Harriet had disappeared. + +"No! no!" cried the young man. "You don't escape me +now." For Philip was trying feebly to disengage his hands. +Amiable youths bent out of the box and invited him to enter it. + +"Gino's friends are ours--" + +"Friends?" cried Gino. "A relative! A brother! Fra +Filippo, who has come all the way from England and never written." + +"I left a message." + +The audience began to hiss. + +"Come in to us." + +"Thank you--ladies--there is not time--" + +The next moment he was swinging by his arms. The moment +after he shot over the balustrade into the box. Then the +conductor, seeing that the incident was over, raised his +baton. The house was hushed, and Lucia di Lammermoor +resumed her song of madness and death. + +Philip had whispered introductions to the pleasant +people who had pulled him in--tradesmen's sons perhaps they +were, or medical students, or solicitors' clerks, or sons of +other dentists. There is no knowing who is who in Italy. +The guest of the evening was a private soldier. He shared +the honour now with Philip. The two had to stand side by +side in the front, and exchange compliments, whilst Gino +presided, courteous, but delightfully familiar. Philip +would have a spasm of horror at the muddle he had made. But +the spasm would pass, and again he would be enchanted by the +kind, cheerful voices, the laughter that was never vapid, +and the light caress of the arm across his back. + +He could not get away till the play was nearly finished, +and Edgardo was singing amongst the tombs of ancestors. His +new friends hoped to see him at the Garibaldi tomorrow +evening. He promised; then he remembered that if they kept +to Harriet's plan he would have left Monteriano. "At ten +o'clock, then," he said to Gino. "I want to speak to you +alone. At ten." + +"Certainly!" laughed the other. + +Miss Abbott was sitting up for him when he got back. +Harriet, it seemed, had gone straight to bed. + +"That was he, wasn't it?" she asked. + +"Yes, rather." + +"I suppose you didn't settle anything?" + +"Why, no; how could I? The fact is--well, I got taken by +surprise, but after all, what does it matter? There's no +earthly reason why we shouldn't do the business pleasantly. +He's a perfectly charming person, and so are his friends. +I'm his friend now--his long-lost brother. What's the harm? +I tell you, Miss Abbott, it's one thing for England and +another for Italy. There we plan and get on high moral +horses. Here we find what asses we are, for things go off +quite easily, all by themselves. My hat, what a night! Did +you ever see a really purple sky and really silver stars +before? Well, as I was saying, it's absurd to worry; he's +not a porky father. He wants that baby as little as I do. +He's been ragging my dear mother--just as he ragged me +eighteen months ago, and I've forgiven him. Oh, but he has +a sense of humour!" + +Miss Abbott, too, had a wonderful evening, nor did she +ever remember such stars or such a sky. Her head, too, was +full of music, and that night when she opened the window her +room was filled with warm, sweet air. She was bathed in +beauty within and without; she could not go to bed for +happiness. Had she ever been so happy before? Yes, once +before, and here, a night in March, the night Gino and Lilia +had told her of their love--the night whose evil she had come +now to undo. + +She gave a sudden cry of shame. "This time--the same +place--the same thing"--and she began to beat down her +happiness, knowing it to be sinful. She was here to fight +against this place, to rescue a little soul--who was innocent +as yet. She was here to champion morality and purity, and +the holy life of an English home. In the spring she had +sinned through ignorance; she was not ignorant now. "Help +me!" she cried, and shut the window as if there was magic in +the encircling air. But the tunes would not go out of her +head, and all night long she was troubled by torrents of +music, and by applause and laughter, and angry young men who +shouted the distich out of Baedeker:-- + + Poggibonizzi fatti in la, + Che Monteriano si fa citta! + +Poggibonsi was revealed to her as they sang--a joyless, +straggling place, full of people who pretended. When she +woke up she knew that it had been Sawston. + + + +Chapter 7 + +At about nine o'clock next morning Perfetta went out on to +the loggia, not to look at the view, but to throw some dirty +water at it. "Scusi tanto!" she wailed, for the water +spattered a tall young lady who had for some time been +tapping at the lower door. + +"Is Signor Carella in?" the young lady asked. It was no +business of Perfetta's to be shocked, and the style of the +visitor seemed to demand the reception-room. Accordingly +she opened its shutters, dusted a round patch on one of the +horsehair chairs, and bade the lady do herself the +inconvenience of sitting down. Then she ran into Monteriano +and shouted up and down its streets until such time as her +young master should hear her. + +The reception-room was sacred to the dead wife. Her +shiny portrait hung upon the wall--similar, doubtless, in all +respects to the one which would be pasted on her tombstone. +A little piece of black drapery had been tacked above the +frame to lend a dignity to woe. But two of the tacks had +fallen out, and the effect was now rakish, as of a +drunkard's bonnet. A coon song lay open on the piano, and +of the two tables one supported Baedeker's "Central Italy," +the other Harriet's inlaid box. And over everything there +lay a deposit of heavy white dust, which was only blown off +one moment to thicken on another. It is well to be +remembered with love. It is not so very dreadful to be +forgotten entirely. But if we shall resent anything on +earth at all, we shall resent the consecration of a deserted +room. + +Miss Abbott did not sit down, partly because the +antimacassars might harbour fleas, partly because she had +suddenly felt faint, and was glad to cling on to the funnel +of the stove. She struggled with herself, for she had need +to be very calm; only if she was very calm might her +behaviour be justified. She had broken faith with Philip +and Harriet: she was going to try for the baby before they +did. If she failed she could scarcely look them in the face +again. + +"Harriet and her brother," she reasoned, "don't realize +what is before them. She would bluster and be rude; he +would be pleasant and take it as a joke. Both of them--even +if they offered money--would fail. But I begin to understand +the man's nature; he does not love the child, but he will be +touchy about it--and that is quite as bad for us. He's +charming, but he's no fool; he conquered me last year; he +conquered Mr. Herriton yesterday, and if I am not careful he +will conquer us all today, and the baby will grow up in +Monteriano. He is terribly strong; Lilia found that out, +but only I remember it now." + +This attempt, and this justification of it, were the +results of the long and restless night. Miss Abbott had +come to believe that she alone could do battle with Gino, +because she alone understood him; and she had put this, as +nicely as she could, in a note which she had left for +Philip. It distressed her to write such a note, partly +because her education inclined her to reverence the male, +partly because she had got to like Philip a good deal after +their last strange interview. His pettiness would be +dispersed, and as for his "unconventionality," which was so +much gossiped about at Sawston, she began to see that it did +not differ greatly from certain familiar notions of her +own. If only he would forgive her for what she was doing +now, there might perhaps be before them a long and +profitable friendship. But she must succeed. No one would +forgive her if she did not succeed. She prepared to do +battle with the powers of evil. + +The voice of her adversary was heard at last, singing +fearlessly from his expanded lungs, like a professional. +Herein he differed from Englishmen, who always have a little +feeling against music, and sing only from the throat, +apologetically. He padded upstairs, and looked in at the +open door of the reception-room without seeing her. Her +heart leapt and her throat was dry when he turned away and +passed, still singing, into the room opposite. It is +alarming not to be seen. + +He had left the door of this room open, and she could +see into it, right across the landing. It was in a shocking +mess. Food, bedclothes, patent-leather boots, dirty plates, +and knives lay strewn over a large table and on the floor. +But it was the mess that comes of life, not of desolation. +It was preferable to the charnel-chamber in which she was +standing now, and the light in it was soft and large, as +from some gracious, noble opening. + +He stopped singing, and cried "Where is Perfetta?" + +His back was turned, and he was lighting a cigar. He +was not speaking to Miss Abbott. He could not even be +expecting her. The vista of the landing and the two open +doors made him both remote and significant, like an actor on +the stage, intimate and unapproachable at the same time. +She could no more call out to him than if he was Hamlet. + +"You know!" he continued, "but you will not tell me. +Exactly like you." He reclined on the table and blew a fat +smoke-ring. "And why won't you tell me the numbers? I have +dreamt of a red hen--that is two hundred and five, and a +friend unexpected--he means eighty-two. But I try for the +Terno this week. So tell me another number." + +Miss Abbott did not know of the Tombola. His speech +terrified her. She felt those subtle restrictions which +come upon us in fatigue. Had she slept well she would have +greeted him as soon as she saw him. Now it was impossible. +He had got into another world. + +She watched his smoke-ring. The air had carried it +slowly away from him, and brought it out intact upon the landing. + +"Two hundred and five--eighty-two. In any case I shall +put them on Bari, not on Florence. I cannot tell you why; I +have a feeling this week for Bari." Again she tried to +speak. But the ring mesmerized her. It had become vast and +elliptical, and floated in at the reception-room door. + +"Ah! you don't care if you get the profits. You won't +even say 'Thank you, Gino.' Say it, or I'll drop hot, +red-hot ashes on you. 'Thank you, Gino--'" + +The ring had extended its pale blue coils towards her. +She lost self-control. It enveloped her. As if it was a +breath from the pit, she screamed. + +There he was, wanting to know what had frightened her, +how she had got here, why she had never spoken. He made her +sit down. He brought her wine, which she refused. She had +not one word to say to him. + +"What is it?" he repeated. "What has frightened you?" + +He, too, was frightened, and perspiration came starting +through the tan. For it is a serious thing to have been +watched. We all radiate something curiously intimate when +we believe ourselves to be alone. + +"Business--" she said at last. + +"Business with me?" + +"Most important business." She was lying, white and +limp, in the dusty chair. + +"Before business you must get well; this is the best wine." + +She refused it feebly. He poured out a glass. She +drank it. As she did so she became self-conscious. However +important the business, it was not proper of her to have +called on him, or to accept his hospitality. + +"Perhaps you are engaged," she said. "And as I am not +very well--" + +"You are not well enough to go back. And I am not engaged." + +She looked nervously at the other room. + +"Ah, now I understand," he exclaimed. "Now I see what +frightened you. But why did you never speak?" And taking +her into the room where he lived, he pointed to--the baby. + +She had thought so much about this baby, of its welfare, +its soul, its morals, its probable defects. But, like most +unmarried people, she had only thought of it as a word--just +as the healthy man only thinks of the word death, not of +death itself. The real thing, lying asleep on a dirty rug, +disconcerted her. It did not stand for a principle any +longer. It was so much flesh and blood, so many inches and +ounces of life--a glorious, unquestionable fact, which a man +and another woman had given to the world. You could talk to +it; in time it would answer you; in time it would not answer +you unless it chose, but would secrete, within the compass +of its body, thoughts and wonderful passions of its own. +And this was the machine on which she and Mrs. Herriton and +Philip and Harriet had for the last month been exercising +their various ideals--had determined that in time it should +move this way or that way, should accomplish this and not +that. It was to be Low Church, it was to be +high-principled, it was to be tactful, gentlemanly, +artistic--excellent things all. Yet now that she saw this +baby, lying asleep on a dirty rug, she had a great +disposition not to dictate one of them, and to exert no more +influence than there may be in a kiss or in the vaguest of +the heartfelt prayers. + +But she had practised self-discipline, and her thoughts +and actions were not yet to correspond. To recover her +self-esteem she tried to imagine that she was in her +district, and to behave accordingly. + +"What a fine child, Signor Carella. And how nice of you +to talk to it. Though I see that the ungrateful little +fellow is asleep! Seven months? No, eight; of course +eight. Still, he is a remarkably fine child for his age." + +Italian is a bad medium for condescension. The +patronizing words came out gracious and sincere, and he +smiled with pleasure. + +"You must not stand. Let us sit on the loggia, where it +is cool. I am afraid the room is very untidy," he added, +with the air of a hostess who apologizes for a stray thread +on the drawing-room carpet. Miss Abbott picked her way to +the chair. He sat near her, astride the parapet, with one +foot in the loggia and the other dangling into the view. +His face was in profile, and its beautiful contours drove +artfully against the misty green of the opposing hills. +"Posing!" said Miss Abbott to herself. "A born artist's model." + +"Mr. Herriton called yesterday," she began, "but you +were out." + +He started an elaborate and graceful explanation. He +had gone for the day to Poggibonsi. Why had the Herritons +not written to him, so that he could have received them +properly? Poggibonsi would have done any day; not but what +his business there was fairly important. What did she +suppose that it was? + +Naturally she was not greatly interested. She had not +come from Sawston to guess why he had been to Poggibonsi. +She answered politely that she had no idea, and returned to +her mission. + +"But guess!" he persisted, clapping the balustrade +between his hands. + +She suggested, with gentle sarcasm, that perhaps he had +gone to Poggibonsi to find something to do. + +He intimated that it was not as important as all that. +Something to do--an almost hopeless quest! "E manca +questo!" He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, to +indicate that he had no money. Then he sighed, and blew +another smoke-ring. Miss Abbott took heart and turned +diplomatic. + +"This house," she said, "is a large house." + +"Exactly," was his gloomy reply. "And when my poor wife +died--" He got up, went in, and walked across the landing to +the reception-room door, which he closed reverently. Then +he shut the door of the living-room with his foot, returned +briskly to his seat, and continued his sentence. "When my +poor wife died I thought of having my relatives to live +here. My father wished to give up his practice at Empoli; +my mother and sisters and two aunts were also willing. But +it was impossible. They have their ways of doing things, +and when I was younger I was content with them. But now I +am a man. I have my own ways. Do you understand?" + +"Yes, I do," said Miss Abbott, thinking of her own dear +father, whose tricks and habits, after twenty-five years +spent in their company, were beginning to get on her +nerves. She remembered, though, that she was not here to +sympathize with Gino--at all events, not to show that she +sympathized. She also reminded herself that he was not +worthy of sympathy. "It is a large house," she repeated. + +"Immense; and the taxes! But it will be better +when--Ah! but you have never guessed why I went to +Poggibonsi--why it was that I was out when he called." + +"I cannot guess, Signor Carella. I am here on business." + +"But try." + +"I cannot; I hardly know you." + +"But we are old friends," he said, "and your approval +will be grateful to me. You gave it me once before. Will +you give it now?" + +"I have not come as a friend this time," she answered +stiffly. "I am not likely, Signor Carella, to approve of +anything you do." + +"Oh, Signorina!" He laughed, as if he found her piquant +and amusing. "Surely you approve of marriage?" + +"Where there is love," said Miss Abbott, looking at him +hard. His face had altered in the last year, but not for +the worse, which was baffling. + +"Where there is love," said he, politely echoing the +English view. Then he smiled on her, expecting congratulations. + +"Do I understand that you are proposing to marry again?" + +He nodded. + +"I forbid you, then!" + +He looked puzzled, but took it for some foreign banter, +and laughed. + +"I forbid you!" repeated Miss Abbott, and all the +indignation of her sex and her nationality went thrilling +through the words. + +"But why?" He jumped up, frowning. His voice was +squeaky and petulant, like that of a child who is suddenly +forbidden a toy. + +"You have ruined one woman; I forbid you to ruin +another. It is not a year since Lilia died. You pretended +to me the other day that you loved her. It is a lie. You +wanted her money. Has this woman money too?" + +"Why, yes!" he said irritably. "A little." + +"And I suppose you will say that you love her." + +"I shall not say it. It will be untrue. Now my poor +wife--" He stopped, seeing that the comparison would involve +him in difficulties. And indeed he had often found Lilia as +agreeable as any one else. + +Miss Abbott was furious at this final insult to her dead +acquaintance. She was glad that after all she could be so +angry with the boy. She glowed and throbbed; her tongue +moved nimbly. At the finish, if the real business of the +day had been completed, she could have swept majestically +from the house. But the baby still remained, asleep on a +dirty rug. + +Gino was thoughtful, and stood scratching his head. He +respected Miss Abbott. He wished that she would respect +him. "So you do not advise me?" he said dolefully. "But +why should it be a failure?" + +Miss Abbott tried to remember that he was really a child +still--a child with the strength and the passions of a +disreputable man. "How can it succeed," she said solemnly, +"where there is no love?" + +"But she does love me! I forgot to tell you that." + +"Indeed." + +"Passionately." He laid his hand upon his own heart. + +"Then God help her!" + +He stamped impatiently. "Whatever I say displeases you, +Signorina. God help you, for you are most unfair. You say +that I ill-treated my dear wife. It is not so. I have +never ill-treated any one. You complain that there is no +love in this marriage. I prove that there is, and you +become still more angry. What do you want? Do you suppose +she will not be contented? Glad enough she is to get me, +and she will do her duty well." + +"Her duty!" cried Miss Abbott, with all the bitterness +of which she was capable. + +"Why, of course. She knows why I am marrying her." + +"To succeed where Lilia failed! To be your housekeeper, +your slave, you--" The words she would like to have said +were too violent for her. + +"To look after the baby, certainly," said he. + +"The baby--?" She had forgotten it. + +"It is an English marriage," he said proudly. "I do not +care about the money. I am having her for my son. Did you +not understand that?" + +"No," said Miss Abbott, utterly bewildered. Then, for a +moment, she saw light. "It is not necessary, Signor +Carella. Since you are tired of the baby--" + +Ever after she remembered it to her credit that she saw +her mistake at once. "I don't mean that," she added quickly. + +"I know," was his courteous response. "Ah, in a foreign +language (and how perfectly you speak Italian) one is +certain to make slips." + +She looked at his face. It was apparently innocent of satire. + +"You meant that we could not always be together yet, he +and I. You are right. What is to be done? I cannot afford +a nurse, and Perfetta is too rough. When he was ill I dare +not let her touch him. When he has to be washed, which +happens now and then, who does it? I. I feed him, or settle +what he shall have. I sleep with him and comfort him when +he is unhappy in the night. No one talks, no one may sing +to him but I. Do not be unfair this time; I like to do these +things. But nevertheless (his voice became pathetic) they +take up a great deal of time, and are not all suitable for a +young man." + +"Not at all suitable," said Miss Abbott, and closed her +eyes wearily. Each moment her difficulties were +increasing. She wished that she was not so tired, so open +to contradictory impressions. She longed for Harriet's +burly obtuseness or for the soulless diplomacy of Mrs. Herriton. + +"A little more wine?" asked Gino kindly. + +"Oh, no, thank you! But marriage, Signor Carella, is a +very serious step. Could you not manage more simply? Your +relative, for example--" + +"Empoli! I would as soon have him in England!" + +"England, then--" + +He laughed. + +"He has a grandmother there, you know--Mrs. Theobald." + +"He has a grandmother here. No, he is troublesome, but +I must have him with me. I will not even have my father and +mother too. For they would separate us," he added. + +"How?" + +"They would separate our thoughts." + +She was silent. This cruel, vicious fellow knew of +strange refinements. The horrible truth, that wicked people +are capable of love, stood naked before her, and her moral +being was abashed. It was her duty to rescue the baby, to +save it from contagion, and she still meant to do her duty. +But the comfortable sense of virtue left her. She was in +the presence of something greater than right or wrong. + +Forgetting that this was an interview, he had strolled +back into the room, driven by the instinct she had aroused +in him. "Wake up!" he cried to his baby, as if it was some +grown-up friend. Then he lifted his foot and trod lightly +on its stomach. + +Miss Abbott cried, "Oh, take care!" She was +unaccustomed to this method of awakening the young. + +"He is not much longer than my boot, is he? Can you +believe that in time his own boots will be as large? And +that he also--" + +"But ought you to treat him like that?" + +He stood with one foot resting on the little body, +suddenly musing, filled with the desire that his son should +be like him, and should have sons like him, to people the +earth. It is the strongest desire that can come to a man--if +it comes to him at all--stronger even than love or the desire +for personal immortality. All men vaunt it, and declare +that it is theirs; but the hearts of most are set +elsewhere. It is the exception who comprehends that +physical and spiritual life may stream out of him for ever. +Miss Abbott, for all her goodness, could not comprehend it, +though such a thing is more within the comprehension of +women. And when Gino pointed first to himself and then to +his baby and said "father-son," she still took it as a piece +of nursery prattle, and smiled mechanically. + +The child, the first fruits, woke up and glared at her. +Gino did not greet it, but continued the exposition of his policy. + +"This woman will do exactly what I tell her. She is +fond of children. She is clean; she has a pleasant voice. +She is not beautiful; I cannot pretend that to you for a +moment. But she is what I require." + +The baby gave a piercing yell. + +"Oh, do take care!" begged Miss Abbott. "You are +squeezing it." + +"It is nothing. If he cries silently then you may be +frightened. He thinks I am going to wash him, and he is +quite right." + +"Wash him!" she cried. "You? Here?" The homely piece +of news seemed to shatter all her plans. She had spent a +long half-hour in elaborate approaches, in high moral +attacks; she had neither frightened her enemy nor made him +angry, nor interfered with the least detail of his domestic life. + +"I had gone to the Farmacia," he continued, "and was +sitting there comfortably, when suddenly I remembered that +Perfetta had heated water an hour ago--over there, look, +covered with a cushion. I came away at once, for really he +must be washed. You must excuse me. I can put it off no longer." + +"I have wasted your time," she said feebly. + +He walked sternly to the loggia and drew from it a large +earthenware bowl. It was dirty inside; he dusted it with a +tablecloth. Then he fetched the hot water, which was in a +copper pot. He poured it out. He added cold. He felt in +his pocket and brought out a piece of soap. Then he took up +the baby, and, holding his cigar between his teeth, began to +unwrap it. Miss Abbott turned to go. + +"But why are you going? Excuse me if I wash him while +we talk." + +"I have nothing more to say," said Miss Abbott. All she +could do now was to find Philip, confess her miserable +defeat, and bid him go in her stead and prosper better. She +cursed her feebleness; she longed to expose it, without +apologies or tears. + +"Oh, but stop a moment!" he cried. "You have not seen +him yet." + +"I have seen as much as I want, thank you." + +The last wrapping slid off. He held out to her in his +two hands a little kicking image of bronze. + +"Take him!" + +She would not touch the child. + +"I must go at once," she cried; for the tears--the wrong +tears--were hurrying to her eyes. + +"Who would have believed his mother was blonde? For he +is brown all over--brown every inch of him. Ah, but how +beautiful he is! And he is mine; mine for ever. Even if he +hates me he will be mine. He cannot help it; he is made out +of me; I am his father." + +It was too late to go. She could not tell why, but it +was too late. She turned away her head when Gino lifted his +son to his lips. This was something too remote from the +prettiness of the nursery. The man was majestic; he was a +part of Nature; in no ordinary love scene could he ever be +so great. For a wonderful physical tie binds the parents to +the children; and--by some sad, strange irony--it does not +bind us children to our parents. For if it did, if we could +answer their love not with gratitude but with equal love, +life would lose much of its pathos and much of its squalor, +and we might be wonderfully happy. Gino passionately +embracing, Miss Abbott reverently averting her eyes--both of +them had parents whom they did not love so very much. + +"May I help you to wash him?" she asked humbly. + +He gave her his son without speaking, and they knelt +side by side, tucking up their sleeves. The child had +stopped crying, and his arms and legs were agitated by some +overpowering joy. Miss Abbott had a woman's pleasure in +cleaning anything--more especially when the thing was human. +She understood little babies from long experience in a +district, and Gino soon ceased to give her directions, and +only gave her thanks. + +"It is very kind of you," he murmured, "especially in +your beautiful dress. He is nearly clean already. Why, I +take the whole morning! There is so much more of a baby +than one expects. And Perfetta washes him just as she +washes clothes. Then he screams for hours. My wife is to +have a light hand. Ah, how he kicks! Has he splashed you? +I am very sorry." + +"I am ready for a soft towel now," said Miss Abbott, who +was strangely exalted by the service. + +"Certainly! certainly!" He strode in a knowing way to +a cupboard. But he had no idea where the soft towel was. +Generally he dabbed the baby on the first dry thing he found. + +"And if you had any powder." + +He struck his forehead despairingly. Apparently the +stock of powder was just exhausted. + +She sacrificed her own clean handkerchief. He put a +chair for her on the loggia, which faced westward, and was +still pleasant and cool. There she sat, with twenty miles +of view behind her, and he placed the dripping baby on her +knee. It shone now with health and beauty: it seemed to +reflect light, like a copper vessel. Just such a baby +Bellini sets languid on his mother's lap, or Signorelli +flings wriggling on pavements of marble, or Lorenzo di +Credi, more reverent but less divine, lays carefully among +flowers, with his head upon a wisp of golden straw. For a +time Gino contemplated them standing. Then, to get a better +view, he knelt by the side of the chair, with his hands +clasped before him. + +So they were when Philip entered, and saw, to all +intents and purposes, the Virgin and Child, with Donor. + +"Hullo!" he exclaimed; for he was glad to find things in +such cheerful trim. + +She did not greet him, but rose up unsteadily and handed +the baby to his father. + +"No, do stop!" whispered Philip. "I got your note. I'm +not offended; you're quite right. I really want you; I +could never have done it alone." + +No words came from her, but she raised her hands to her +mouth, like one who is in sudden agony. + +"Signorina, do stop a little--after all your kindness." + +She burst into tears. + +"What is it?" said Philip kindly. + +She tried to speak, and then went away weeping bitterly. + +The two men stared at each other. By a common impulse +they ran on to the loggia. They were just in time to see +Miss Abbott disappear among the trees. + +"What is it?" asked Philip again. There was no answer, +and somehow he did not want an answer. Some strange thing +had happened which he could not presume to understand. He +would find out from Miss Abbott, if ever he found out at all. + +"Well, your business," said Gino, after a puzzled sigh. + +"Our business--Miss Abbott has told you of that." + +"No." + +"But surely--" + +"She came for business. But she forgot about it; so did I." + +Perfetta, who had a genius for missing people, now +returned, loudly complaining of the size of Monteriano and +the intricacies of its streets. Gino told her to watch the +baby. Then he offered Philip a cigar, and they proceeded to +the business. + + + +Chapter 8 + +"Mad!" screamed Harriet,--"absolutely stark, staring, raving mad!" + +Philip judged it better not to contradict her. + +"What's she here for? Answer me that. What's she doing +in Monteriano in August? Why isn't she in Normandy? Answer +that. She won't. I can: she's come to thwart us; she's +betrayed us--got hold of mother's plans. Oh, goodness, my head!" + +He was unwise enough to reply, "You mustn't accuse her +of that. Though she is exasperating, she hasn't come here +to betray us." + +"Then why has she come here? Answer me that." + +He made no answer. But fortunately his sister was too +much agitated to wait for one. "Bursting in on me--crying +and looking a disgusting sight--and says she has been to see +the Italian. Couldn't even talk properly; pretended she had +changed her opinions. What are her opinions to us? I was +very calm. I said: 'Miss Abbott, I think there is a little +misapprehension in this matter. My mother, Mrs. Herriton--' +Oh, goodness, my head! Of course you've failed--don't +trouble to answer--I know you've failed. Where's the baby, +pray? Of course you haven't got it. Dear sweet Caroline +won't let you. Oh, yes, and we're to go away at once and +trouble the father no more. Those are her commands. +Commands! COMMANDS!" And Harriet also burst into tears. + +Philip governed his temper. His sister was annoying, +but quite reasonable in her indignation. Moreover, Miss +Abbott had behaved even worse than she supposed. + +"I've not got the baby, Harriet, but at the same time I +haven't exactly failed. I and Signor Carella are to have +another interview this afternoon, at the Caffe Garibaldi. +He is perfectly reasonable and pleasant. Should you be +disposed to come with me, you would find him quite willing +to discuss things. He is desperately in want of money, and +has no prospect of getting any. I discovered that. At the +same time, he has a certain affection for the child." For +Philip's insight, or perhaps his opportunities, had not been +equal to Miss Abbott's. + +Harriet would only sob, and accuse her brother of +insulting her; how could a lady speak to such a horrible +man? That, and nothing else, was enough to stamp Caroline. +Oh, poor Lilia! + +Philip drummed on the bedroom window-sill. He saw no +escape from the deadlock. For though he spoke cheerfully +about his second interview with Gino, he felt at the bottom +of his heart that it would fail. Gino was too courteous: he +would not break off negotiations by sharp denial; he loved +this civil, half-humorous bargaining. And he loved fooling +his opponent, and did it so nicely that his opponent did not +mind being fooled. + +"Miss Abbott has behaved extraordinarily," he said at +last; "but at the same time--" + +His sister would not hear him. She burst forth again on +the madness, the interference, the intolerable duplicity of +Caroline. + +"Harriet, you must listen. My dear, you must stop +crying. I have something quite important to say." + +"I shall not stop crying," said she. But in time, +finding that he would not speak to her, she did stop. + +"Remember that Miss Abbott has done us no harm. She +said nothing to him about the matter. He assumes that she +is working with us: I gathered that." + +"Well, she isn't." + +"Yes; but if you're careful she may be. I interpret her +behaviour thus: She went to see him, honestly intending to +get the child away. In the note she left me she says so, +and I don't believe she'd lie." + +"I do." + +"When she got there, there was some pretty domestic +scene between him and the baby, and she has got swept off in +a gush of sentimentalism. Before very long, if I know +anything about psychology, there will be a reaction. She'll +be swept back." + +"I don't understand your long words. Say plainly--" + +"When she's swept back, she'll be invaluable. For she +has made quite an impression on him. He thinks her so nice +with the baby. You know, she washed it for him." + +"Disgusting!" + +Harriet's ejaculations were more aggravating than the +rest of her. But Philip was averse to losing his temper. +The access of joy that had come to him yesterday in the +theatre promised to be permanent. He was more anxious than +heretofore to be charitable towards the world. + +"If you want to carry off the baby, keep your peace with +Miss Abbott. For if she chooses, she can help you better +than I can." + +"There can be no peace between me and her," said Harriet +gloomily. + +"Did you--" + +"Oh, not all I wanted. She went away before I had +finished speaking--just like those cowardly people! --into the +church." + +"Into Santa Deodata's?" + +"Yes; I'm sure she needs it. Anything more unchristian--" + +In time Philip went to the church also, leaving his +sister a little calmer and a little disposed to think over +his advice. What had come over Miss Abbott? He had always +thought her both stable and sincere. That conversation he +had had with her last Christmas in the train to Charing +Cross--that alone furnished him with a parallel. For the +second time, Monteriano must have turned her head. He was +not angry with her, for he was quite indifferent to the +outcome of their expedition. He was only extremely interested. + +It was now nearly midday, and the streets were +clearing. But the intense heat had broken, and there was a +pleasant suggestion of rain. The Piazza, with its three +great attractions--the Palazzo Pubblico, the Collegiate +Church, and the Caffe Garibaldi: the intellect, the soul, +and the body--had never looked more charming. For a moment +Philip stood in its centre, much inclined to be dreamy, and +thinking how wonderful it must feel to belong to a city, +however mean. He was here, however, as an emissary of +civilization and as a student of character, and, after a +sigh, he entered Santa Deodata's to continue his mission. + +There had been a FESTA two days before, and the church +still smelt of incense and of garlic. The little son of the +sacristan was sweeping the nave, more for amusement than for +cleanliness, sending great clouds of dust over the frescoes +and the scattered worshippers. The sacristan himself had +propped a ladder in the centre of the Deluge--which fills one +of the nave spandrels--and was freeing a column from its +wealth of scarlet calico. Much scarlet calico also lay upon +the floor--for the church can look as fine as any theatre--and +the sacristan's little daughter was trying to fold it up. +She was wearing a tinsel crown. The crown really belonged +to St. Augustine. But it had been cut too big: it fell down +over his cheeks like a collar: you never saw anything so +absurd. One of the canons had unhooked it just before the +FIESTA began, and had given it to the sacristan's daughter. + +"Please," cried Philip, "is there an English lady here?" + +The man's mouth was full of tin-tacks, but he nodded +cheerfully towards a kneeling figure. In the midst of this +confusion Miss Abbott was praying. + +He was not much surprised: a spiritual breakdown was +quite to be expected. For though he was growing more +charitable towards mankind, he was still a little jaunty, +and too apt to stake out beforehand the course that will be +pursued by the wounded soul. It did not surprise him, +however, that she should greet him naturally, with none of +the sour self-consciousness of a person who had just risen +from her knees. This was indeed the spirit of Santa +Deodata's, where a prayer to God is thought none the worse +of because it comes next to a pleasant word to a neighbour. +"I am sure that I need it," said she; and he, who had +expected her to be ashamed, became confused, and knew not +what to reply. + +"I've nothing to tell you," she continued. "I have +simply changed straight round. If I had planned the whole +thing out, I could not have treated you worse. I can talk +it over now; but please believe that I have been crying." + +"And please believe that I have not come to scold you," +said Philip. "I know what has happened." + +"What?" asked Miss Abbott. Instinctively she led the +way to the famous chapel, the fifth chapel on the right, +wherein Giovanni da Empoli has painted the death and burial +of the saint. Here they could sit out of the dust and the +noise, and proceed with a discussion which promised to be important. + +"What might have happened to me--he had made you believe +that he loved the child." + +"Oh, yes; he has. He will never give it up." + +"At present it is still unsettled." + +"It will never be settled." + +"Perhaps not. Well, as I said, I know what has +happened, and I am not here to scold you. But I must ask +you to withdraw from the thing for the present. Harriet is +furious. But she will calm down when she realizes that you +have done us no harm, and will do none." + +"I can do no more," she said. "But I tell you plainly I +have changed sides." + +"If you do no more, that is all we want. You promise +not to prejudice our cause by speaking to Signor Carella?" + +"Oh, certainly. I don't want to speak to him again; I +shan't ever see him again." + +"Quite nice, wasn't he?" + +"Quite." + +"Well, that's all I wanted to know. I'll go and tell +Harriet of your promise, and I think things'll quiet down now." + +But he did not move, for it was an increasing pleasure +to him to be near her, and her charm was at its strongest +today. He thought less of psychology and feminine +reaction. The gush of sentimentalism which had carried her +away had only made her more alluring. He was content to +observe her beauty and to profit by the tenderness and the +wisdom that dwelt within her. + +"Why aren't you angry with me?" she asked, after a pause. + +"Because I understand you--all sides, I think,--Harriet, +Signor Carella, even my mother." + +"You do understand wonderfully. You are the only one of +us who has a general view of the muddle." + +He smiled with pleasure. It was the first time she had +ever praised him. His eyes rested agreeably on Santa +Deodata, who was dying in full sanctity, upon her back. +There was a window open behind her, revealing just such a +view as he had seen that morning, and on her widowed +mother's dresser there stood just such another copper pot. +The saint looked neither at the view nor at the pot, and at +her widowed mother still less. For lo! she had a vision: +the head and shoulders of St. Augustine were sliding like +some miraculous enamel along the rough-cast wall. It is a +gentle saint who is content with half another saint to see +her die. In her death, as in her life, Santa Deodata did +not accomplish much. + +"So what are you going to do?" said Miss Abbott. + +Philip started, not so much at the words as at the +sudden change in the voice. "Do?" he echoed, rather +dismayed. "This afternoon I have another interview." + +"It will come to nothing. Well?" + +"Then another. If that fails I shall wire home for +instructions. I dare say we may fail altogether, but we +shall fail honourably." + +She had often been decided. But now behind her decision +there was a note of passion. She struck him not as +different, but as more important, and he minded it very much +when she said-- + +"That's not doing anything! You would be doing +something if you kidnapped the baby, or if you went straight +away. But that! To fail honourably! To come out of the +thing as well as you can! Is that all you are after?" + +"Why, yes," he stammered. "Since we talk openly, that +is all I am after just now. What else is there? If I can +persuade Signor Carella to give in, so much the better. If +he won't, I must report the failure to my mother and then go +home. Why, Miss Abbott, you can't expect me to follow you +through all these turns--" + +"I don't! But I do expect you to settle what is right +and to follow that. Do you want the child to stop with his +father, who loves him and will bring him up badly, or do you +want him to come to Sawston, where no one loves him, but +where he will be brought up well? There is the question put +dispassionately enough even for you. Settle it. Settle +which side you'll fight on. But don't go talking about an +'honourable failure,' which means simply not thinking and +not acting at all." + +"Because I understand the position of Signor Carella and +of you, it's no reason that--" + +"None at all. Fight as if you think us wrong. Oh, +what's the use of your fair-mindedness if you never decide +for yourself? Any one gets hold of you and makes you do +what they want. And you see through them and laugh at +them--and do it. It's not enough to see clearly; I'm +muddle-headed and stupid, and not worth a quarter of you, +but I have tried to do what seemed right at the time. And +you--your brain and your insight are splendid. But when you +see what's right you're too idle to do it. You told me once +that we shall be judged by our intentions, not by our +accomplishments. I thought it a grand remark. But we must +intend to accomplish--not sit intending on a chair." + +"You are wonderful!" he said gravely. + +"Oh, you appreciate me!" she burst out again. "I wish +you didn't. You appreciate us all--see good in all of us. +And all the time you are dead--dead--dead. Look, why aren't +you angry?" She came up to him, and then her mood suddenly +changed, and she took hold of both his hands. "You are so +splendid, Mr. Herriton, that I can't bear to see you +wasted. I can't bear--she has not been good to you--your +mother." + +"Miss Abbott, don't worry over me. Some people are born +not to do things. I'm one of them; I never did anything at +school or at the Bar. I came out to stop Lilia's marriage, +and it was too late. I came out intending to get the baby, +and I shall return an 'honourable failure.' I never expect +anything to happen now, and so I am never disappointed. You +would be surprised to know what my great events are. Going +to the theatre yesterday, talking to you now--I don't suppose +I shall ever meet anything greater. I seem fated to pass +through the world without colliding with it or moving it--and +I'm sure I can't tell you whether the fate's good or evil. +I don't die--I don't fall in love. And if other people die +or fall in love they always do it when I'm just not there. +You are quite right; life to me is just a spectacle, +which--thank God, and thank Italy, and thank you--is now more +beautiful and heartening than it has ever been before." + +She said solemnly, "I wish something would happen to +you, my dear friend; I wish something would happen to you." + +"But why?" he asked, smiling. "Prove to me why I don't +do as I am." + +She also smiled, very gravely. She could not prove it. +No argument existed. Their discourse, splendid as it had +been, resulted in nothing, and their respective opinions and +policies were exactly the same when they left the church as +when they had entered it. + +Harriet was rude at lunch. She called Miss Abbott a +turncoat and a coward to her face. Miss Abbott resented +neither epithet, feeling that one was justified and the +other not unreasonable. She tried to avoid even the +suspicion of satire in her replies. But Harriet was sure +that she was satirical because she was so calm. She got +more and more violent, and Philip at one time feared that +she would come to blows. + +"Look here!" he cried, with something of the old manner, +"it's too hot for this. We've been talking and interviewing +each other all the morning, and I have another interview +this afternoon. I do stipulate for silence. Let each lady +retire to her bedroom with a book." + +"I retire to pack," said Harriet. "Please remind Signor +Carella, Philip, that the baby is to be here by half-past +eight this evening." + +"Oh, certainly, Harriet. I shall make a point of +reminding him." + +"And order a carriage to take us to the evening train." + +"And please," said Miss Abbott, "would you order a +carriage for me too?" + +"You going?" he exclaimed. + +"Of course," she replied, suddenly flushing. "Why not?" + +"Why, of course you would be going. Two carriages, +then. Two carriages for the evening train." He looked at +his sister hopelessly. "Harriet, whatever are you up to? +We shall never be ready." + +"Order my carriage for the evening train," said Harriet, +and departed. + +"Well, I suppose I shall. And I shall also have my +interview with Signor Carella." + +Miss Abbott gave a little sigh. + +"But why should you mind? Do you suppose that I shall +have the slightest influence over him?" + +"No. But--I can't repeat all that I said in the church. +You ought never to see him again. You ought to bundle +Harriet into a carriage, not this evening, but now, and +drive her straight away." + +"Perhaps I ought. But it isn't a very big 'ought.' +Whatever Harriet and I do the issue is the same. Why, I can +see the splendour of it--even the humour. Gino sitting up +here on the mountain-top with his cub. We come and ask for +it. He welcomes us. We ask for it again. He is equally +pleasant. I'm agreeable to spend the whole week bargaining +with him. But I know that at the end of it I shall descend +empty-handed to the plains. It might be finer of me to make +up my mind. But I'm not a fine character. And nothing +hangs on it." + +"Perhaps I am extreme," she said humbly. "I've been +trying to run you, just like your mother. I feel you ought +to fight it out with Harriet. Every little trifle, for some +reason, does seem incalculably important today, and when you +say of a thing that 'nothing hangs on it,' it sounds like +blasphemy. There's never any knowing--(how am I to put +it?)--which of our actions, which of our idlenesses won't +have things hanging on it for ever." + +He assented, but her remark had only an aesthetic value. +He was not prepared to take it to his heart. All the +afternoon he rested--worried, but not exactly despondent. +The thing would jog out somehow. Probably Miss Abbott was +right. The baby had better stop where it was loved. And +that, probably, was what the fates had decreed. He felt +little interest in the matter, and he was sure that he had +no influence. + +It was not surprising, therefore, that the interview at +the Caffe Garibaldi came to nothing. Neither of them took +it very seriously. And before long Gino had discovered how +things lay, and was ragging his companion hopelessly. +Philip tried to look offended, but in the end he had to +laugh. "Well, you are right," he said. "This affair is +being managed by the ladies." + +"Ah, the ladies--the ladies!" cried the other, and then +he roared like a millionaire for two cups of black coffee, +and insisted on treating his friend, as a sign that their +strife was over. + +"Well, I have done my best," said Philip, dipping a long +slice of sugar into his cup, and watching the brown liquid +ascend into it. "I shall face my mother with a good +conscience. Will you bear me witness that I've done my best?" + +"My poor fellow, I will!" He laid a sympathetic hand on +Philip's knee. + +"And that I have--" The sugar was now impregnated with +coffee, and he bent forward to swallow it. As he did so his +eyes swept the opposite of the Piazza, and he saw there, +watching them, Harriet. "Mia sorella!" he exclaimed. Gino, +much amused, laid his hand upon the little table, and beat +the marble humorously with his fists. Harriet turned away +and began gloomily to inspect the Palazzo Pubblico. + +"Poor Harriet!" said Philip, swallowing the sugar. "One +more wrench and it will all be over for her; we are leaving +this evening." + +Gino was sorry for this. "Then you will not be here +this evening as you promised us. All three leaving?" + +"All three," said Philip, who had not revealed the +secession of Miss Abbott; "by the night train; at least, +that is my sister's plan. So I'm afraid I shan't be here." + +They watched the departing figure of Harriet, and then +entered upon the final civilities. They shook each other +warmly by both hands. Philip was to come again next year, +and to write beforehand. He was to be introduced to Gino's +wife, for he was told of the marriage now. He was to be +godfather to his next baby. As for Gino, he would remember +some time that Philip liked vermouth. He begged him to give +his love to Irma. Mrs. Herriton--should he send her his +sympathetic regards? No; perhaps that would hardly do. + +So the two young men parted with a good deal of genuine +affection. For the barrier of language is sometimes a +blessed barrier, which only lets pass what is good. Or--to +put the thing less cynically--we may be better in new clean +words, which have never been tainted by our pettiness or +vice. Philip, at all events, lived more graciously in +Italian, the very phrases of which entice one to be happy +and kind. It was horrible to think of the English of +Harriet, whose every word would be as hard, as distinct, and +as unfinished as a lump of coal. + +Harriet, however, talked little. She had seen enough to +know that her brother had failed again, and with unwonted +dignity she accepted the situation. She did her packing, +she wrote up her diary, she made a brown paper cover for the +new Baedeker. Philip, finding her so amenable, tried to +discuss their future plans. But she only said that they +would sleep in Florence, and told him to telegraph for +rooms. They had supper alone. Miss Abbott did not come +down. The landlady told them that Signor Carella had called +on Miss Abbott to say good-bye, but she, though in, had not +been able to see him. She also told them that it had begun +to rain. Harriet sighed, but indicated to her brother that +he was not responsible. + +The carriages came round at a quarter past eight. It +was not raining much, but the night was extraordinarily +dark, and one of the drivers wanted to go slowly to the +station. Miss Abbott came down and said that she was ready, +and would start at once. + +"Yes, do," said Philip, who was standing in the hall. +"Now that we have quarrelled we scarcely want to travel in +procession all the way down the hill. Well, good-bye; it's +all over at last; another scene in my pageant has shifted." + +"Good-bye; it's been a great pleasure to see you. I +hope that won't shift, at all events." She gripped his hand. + +"You sound despondent," he said, laughing. "Don't +forget that you return victorious." + +"I suppose I do," she replied, more despondently than +ever, and got into the carriage. He concluded that she was +thinking of her reception at Sawston, whither her fame would +doubtless precede her. Whatever would Mrs. Herriton do? +She could make things quite unpleasant when she thought it +right. She might think it right to be silent, but then +there was Harriet. Who would bridle Harriet's tongue? +Between the two of them Miss Abbott was bound to have a bad +time. Her reputation, both for consistency and for moral +enthusiasm, would be lost for ever. + +"It's hard luck on her," he thought. "She is a good +person. I must do for her anything I can." Their intimacy +had been very rapid, but he too hoped that it would not +shift. He believed that he understood her, and that she, by +now, had seen the worst of him. What if after a long +time--if after all--he flushed like a boy as he looked after +her carriage. + +He went into the dining-room to look for Harriet. +Harriet was not to be found. Her bedroom, too, was empty. +All that was left of her was the purple prayer-book which +lay open on the bed. Philip took it up aimlessly, and +saw--"Blessed be the Lord my God who teacheth my hands to war +and my fingers to fight." He put the book in his pocket, +and began to brood over more profitable themes. + +Santa Deodata gave out half past eight. All the luggage +was on, and still Harriet had not appeared. "Depend upon +it," said the landlady, "she has gone to Signor Carella's to +say good-bye to her little nephew." Philip did not think it +likely. They shouted all over the house and still there was +no Harriet. He began to be uneasy. He was helpless without +Miss Abbott; her grave, kind face had cheered him +wonderfully, even when it looked displeased. Monteriano was +sad without her; the rain was thickening; the scraps of +Donizetti floated tunelessly out of the wineshops, and of +the great tower opposite he could only see the base, fresh +papered with the advertisements of quacks. + +A man came up the street with a note. Philip read, +"Start at once. Pick me up outside the gate. Pay the +bearer. H. H." + +"Did the lady give you this note?" he cried. + +The man was unintelligible. + +"Speak up!" exclaimed Philip. "Who gave it you--and where?" + +Nothing but horrible sighings and bubblings came out of +the man. + +"Be patient with him," said the driver, turning round on +the box. "It is the poor idiot." And the landlady came out +of the hotel and echoed "The poor idiot. He cannot speak. +He takes messages for us all." + +Philip then saw that the messenger was a ghastly +creature, quite bald, with trickling eyes and grey twitching +nose. In another country he would have been shut up; here +he was accepted as a public institution, and part of +Nature's scheme. + +"Ugh!" shuddered the Englishman. "Signora padrona, find +out from him; this note is from my sister. What does it +mean? Where did he see her?" + +"It is no good," said the landlady. "He understands +everything but he can explain nothing." + +"He has visions of the saints," said the man who drove +the cab. + +"But my sister--where has she gone? How has she met him?" + +"She has gone for a walk," asserted the landlady. It +was a nasty evening, but she was beginning to understand the +English. "She has gone for a walk--perhaps to wish good-bye +to her little nephew. Preferring to come back another way, +she has sent you this note by the poor idiot and is waiting +for you outside the Siena gate. Many of my guests do this." + +There was nothing to do but to obey the message. He +shook hands with the landlady, gave the messenger a nickel +piece, and drove away. After a dozen yards the carriage +stopped. The poor idiot was running and whimpering behind. + +"Go on," cried Philip. "I have paid him plenty." + +A horrible hand pushed three soldi into his lap. It was +part of the idiot's malady only to receive what was just for +his services. This was the change out of the nickel piece. + +"Go on!" shouted Philip, and flung the money into the +road. He was frightened at the episode; the whole of life +had become unreal. It was a relief to be out of the Siena +gate. They drew up for a moment on the terrace. But there +was no sign of Harriet. The driver called to the Dogana +men. But they had seen no English lady pass. + +"What am I to do?" he cried; "it is not like the lady to +be late. We shall miss the train." + +"Let us drive slowly," said the driver, "and you shall +call her by name as we go." + +So they started down into the night, Philip calling +"Harriet! Harriet! Harriet!" And there she was, waiting +for them in the wet, at the first turn of the zigzag. + +"Harriet, why don't you answer?" + +"I heard you coming," said she, and got quickly in. Not +till then did he see that she carried a bundle. + +"What's that?" + +"Hush--" + +"Whatever is that?" + +"Hush--sleeping." + +Harriet had succeeded where Miss Abbott and Philip had +failed. It was the baby. + +She would not let him talk. The baby, she repeated, was +asleep, and she put up an umbrella to shield it and her from +the rain. He should hear all later, so he had to conjecture +the course of the wonderful interview--an interview between +the South pole and the North. It was quite easy to +conjecture: Gino crumpling up suddenly before the intense +conviction of Harriet; being told, perhaps, to his face that +he was a villain; yielding his only son perhaps for money, +perhaps for nothing. "Poor Gino," he thought. "He's no +greater than I am, after all." + +Then he thought of Miss Abbott, whose carriage must be +descending the darkness some mile or two below them, and his +easy self-accusation failed. She, too, had conviction; he +had felt its force; he would feel it again when she knew +this day's sombre and unexpected close. + +"You have been pretty secret," he said; "you might tell +me a little now. What do we pay for him? All we've got?" + +"Hush!" answered Harriet, and dandled the bundle +laboriously, like some bony prophetess--Judith, or Deborah, +or Jael. He had last seen the baby sprawling on the knees +of Miss Abbott, shining and naked, with twenty miles of view +behind him, and his father kneeling by his feet. And that +remembrance, together with Harriet, and the darkness, and +the poor idiot, and the silent rain, filled him with sorrow +and with the expectation of sorrow to come. + +Monteriano had long disappeared, and he could see +nothing but the occasional wet stem of an olive, which their +lamp illumined as they passed it. They travelled quickly, +for this driver did not care how fast he went to the +station, and would dash down each incline and scuttle +perilously round the curves. + +"Look here, Harriet," he said at last, "I feel bad; I +want to see the baby." + +"Hush!" + +"I don't mind if I do wake him up. I want to see him. +I've as much right in him as you." + +Harriet gave in. But it was too dark for him to see the +child's face. "Wait a minute," he whispered, and before she +could stop him he had lit a match under the shelter of her +umbrella. "But he's awake!" he exclaimed. The match went out. + +"Good ickle quiet boysey, then." + +Philip winced. "His face, do you know, struck me as all +wrong." + +"All wrong?" + +"All puckered queerly." + +"Of course--with the shadows--you couldn't see him." + +"Well, hold him up again." She did so. He lit another +match. It went out quickly, but not before he had seen that +the baby was crying. + +"Nonsense," said Harriet sharply. "We should hear him +if he cried." + +"No, he's crying hard; I thought so before, and I'm +certain now." + +Harriet touched the child's face. It was bathed in +tears. "Oh, the night air, I suppose," she said, "or +perhaps the wet of the rain." + +"I say, you haven't hurt it, or held it the wrong way, +or anything; it is too uncanny--crying and no noise. Why +didn't you get Perfetta to carry it to the hotel instead of +muddling with the messenger? It's a marvel he understood +about the note." + +"Oh, he understands." And he could feel her shudder. +"He tried to carry the baby--" + +"But why not Gino or Perfetta?" + +"Philip, don't talk. Must I say it again? Don't talk. +The baby wants to sleep." She crooned harshly as they +descended, and now and then she wiped up the tears which +welled inexhaustibly from the little eyes. Philip looked +away, winking at times himself. It was as if they were +travelling with the whole world's sorrow, as if all the +mystery, all the persistency of woe were gathered to a +single fount. The roads were now coated with mud, and the +carriage went more quietly but not less swiftly, sliding by +long zigzags into the night. He knew the landmarks pretty +well: here was the crossroad to Poggibonsi; and the last +view of Monteriano, if they had light, would be from here. +Soon they ought to come to that little wood where violets +were so plentiful in spring. He wished the weather had not +changed; it was not cold, but the air was extraordinarily +damp. It could not be good for the child. + +"I suppose he breathes, and all that sort of thing?" he said. + +"Of course," said Harriet, in an angry whisper. "You've +started him again. I'm certain he was asleep. I do wish +you wouldn't talk; it makes me so nervous." + +"I'm nervous too. I wish he'd scream. It's too +uncanny. Poor Gino! I'm terribly sorry for Gino." + +"Are you?" + +"Because he's weak--like most of us. He doesn't know +what he wants. He doesn't grip on to life. But I like that +man, and I'm sorry for him." + +Naturally enough she made no answer. + +"You despise him, Harriet, and you despise me. But you +do us no good by it. We fools want some one to set us on +our feet. Suppose a really decent woman had set up Gino--I +believe Caroline Abbott might have done it--mightn't he have +been another man?" + +"Philip," she interrupted, with an attempt at +nonchalance, "do you happen to have those matches handy? We +might as well look at the baby again if you have." + +The first match blew out immediately. So did the +second. He suggested that they should stop the carriage and +borrow the lamp from the driver. + +"Oh, I don't want all that bother. Try again." + +They entered the little wood as he tried to strike the +third match. At last it caught. Harriet poised the +umbrella rightly, and for a full quarter minute they +contemplated the face that trembled in the light of the +trembling flame. Then there was a shout and a crash. They +were lying in the mud in darkness. The carriage had overturned. + +Philip was a good deal hurt. He sat up and rocked +himself to and fro, holding his arm. He could just make out +the outline of the carriage above him, and the outlines of +the carriage cushions and of their luggage upon the grey +road. The accident had taken place in the wood, where it +was even darker than in the open. + +"Are you all right?" he managed to say. Harriet was +screaming, the horse was kicking, the driver was cursing +some other man. + +Harriet's screams became coherent. "The baby--the +baby--it slipped--it's gone from my arms--I stole it!" + +"God help me!" said Philip. A cold circle came round +his mouth, and, he fainted. + +When he recovered it was still the same confusion. The +horse was kicking, the baby had not been found, and Harriet +still screamed like a maniac, "I stole it! I stole it! I +stole it! It slipped out of my arms!" + +"Keep still!" he commanded the driver. "Let no one +move. We may tread on it. Keep still." + +For a moment they all obeyed him. He began to crawl +through the mud, touching first this, then that, grasping +the cushions by mistake, listening for the faintest whisper +that might guide him. He tried to light a match, holding +the box in his teeth and striking at it with the uninjured +hand. At last he succeeded, and the light fell upon the +bundle which he was seeking. + +It had rolled off the road into the wood a little way, +and had fallen across a great rut. So tiny it was that had +it fallen lengthways it would have disappeared, and he might +never have found it. + +"I stole it! I and the idiot--no one was there." She +burst out laughing. + +He sat down and laid it on his knee. Then he tried to +cleanse the face from the mud and the rain and the tears. +His arm, he supposed, was broken, but he could still move it +a little, and for the moment he forgot all pain. He was +listening--not for a cry, but for the tick of a heart or the +slightest tremor of breath. + +"Where are you?" called a voice. It was Miss Abbott, +against whose carriage they had collided. She had relit one +of the lamps, and was picking her way towards him. + +"Silence!" he called again, and again they obeyed. He +shook the bundle; he breathed into it; he opened his coat +and pressed it against him. Then he listened, and heard +nothing but the rain and the panting horses, and Harriet, +who was somewhere chuckling to herself in the dark. + +Miss Abbott approached, and took it gently from him. +The face was already chilly, but thanks to Philip it was no +longer wet. Nor would it again be wetted by any tear. + + + +Chapter 9 + +The details of Harriet's crime were never known. In her +illness she spoke more of the inlaid box that she lent to +Lilia--lent, not given--than of recent troubles. It was clear +that she had gone prepared for an interview with Gino, and +finding him out, she had yielded to a grotesque temptation. +But how far this was the result of ill-temper, to what +extent she had been fortified by her religion, when and how +she had met the poor idiot--these questions were never +answered, nor did they interest Philip greatly. Detection +was certain: they would have been arrested by the police of +Florence or Milan, or at the frontier. As it was, they had +been stopped in a simpler manner a few miles out of the town. + +As yet he could scarcely survey the thing. It was too +great. Round the Italian baby who had died in the mud there +centred deep passions and high hopes. People had been +wicked or wrong in the matter; no one save himself had been +trivial. Now the baby had gone, but there remained this +vast apparatus of pride and pity and love. For the dead, +who seemed to take away so much, really take with them +nothing that is ours. The passion they have aroused lives +after them, easy to transmute or to transfer, but well-nigh +impossible to destroy. And Philip knew that he was still +voyaging on the same magnificent, perilous sea, with the sun +or the clouds above him, and the tides below. + +The course of the moment--that, at all events, was +certain. He and no one else must take the news to Gino. It +was easy to talk of Harriet's crime--easy also to blame the +negligent Perfetta or Mrs. Herriton at home. Every one had +contributed--even Miss Abbott and Irma. If one chose, one +might consider the catastrophe composite or the work of +fate. But Philip did not so choose. It was his own fault, +due to acknowledged weakness in his own character. +Therefore he, and no one else, must take the news of it to Gino. + +Nothing prevented him. Miss Abbott was engaged with +Harriet, and people had sprung out of the darkness and were +conducting them towards some cottage. Philip had only to +get into the uninjured carriage and order the driver to +return. He was back at Monteriano after a two hours' +absence. Perfetta was in the house now, and greeted him +cheerfully. Pain, physical and mental, had made him +stupid. It was some time before he realized that she had +never missed the child. + +Gino was still out. The woman took him to the +reception-room, just as she had taken Miss Abbott in the +morning, and dusted a circle for him on one of the horsehair +chairs. But it was dark now, so she left the guest a little +lamp. + +"I will be as quick as I can," she told him. "But there +are many streets in Monteriano; he is sometimes difficult to +find. I could not find him this morning." + +"Go first to the Caffe Garibaldi," said Philip, +remembering that this was the hour appointed by his friends +of yesterday. + +He occupied the time he was left alone not in +thinking--there was nothing to think about; he simply had to +tell a few facts--but in trying to make a sling for his +broken arm. The trouble was in the elbow-joint, and as long +as he kept this motionless he could go on as usual. But +inflammation was beginning, and the slightest jar gave him +agony. The sling was not fitted before Gino leapt up the +stairs, crying-- + +"So you are back! How glad I am! We are all waiting--" + +Philip had seen too much to be nervous. In low, even +tones he told what had happened; and the other, also +perfectly calm, heard him to the end. In the silence +Perfetta called up that she had forgotten the baby's evening +milk; she must fetch it. When she had gone Gino took up the +lamp without a word, and they went into the other room. + +"My sister is ill," said Philip, "and Miss Abbott is +guiltless. I should be glad if you did not have to trouble them." + +Gino had stooped down by the way, and was feeling the +place where his son had lain. Now and then he frowned a +little and glanced at Philip. + +"It is through me," he continued. "It happened because +I was cowardly and idle. I have come to know what you will do." + +Gino had left the rug, and began to pat the table from +the end, as if he was blind. The action was so uncanny that +Philip was driven to intervene. + +"Gently, man, gently; he is not here." + +He went up and touched him on the shoulder. + +He twitched away, and began to pass his hands over +things more rapidly--over the table, the chairs, the entire +floor, the walls as high as he could reach them. Philip had +not presumed to comfort him. But now the tension was too +great--he tried. + +"Break down, Gino; you must break down. Scream and +curse and give in for a little; you must break down." + +There was no reply, and no cessation of the sweeping hands. + +"It is time to be unhappy. Break down or you will be +ill like my sister. You will go--" + +The tour of the room was over. He had touched +everything in it except Philip. Now he approached him. He +face was that of a man who has lost his old reason for life +and seeks a new one. + +"Gino!" + +He stopped for a moment; then he came nearer. Philip +stood his ground. + +"You are to do what you like with me, Gino. Your son is +dead, Gino. He died in my arms, remember. It does not +excuse me; but he did die in my arms." + +The left hand came forward, slowly this time. It +hovered before Philip like an insect. Then it descended and +gripped him by his broken elbow. + +Philip struck out with all the strength of his other +arm. Gino fell to the blow without a cry or a word. + +"You brute!" exclaimed the Englishman. "Kill me if you +like! But just you leave my broken arm alone." + +Then he was seized with remorse, and knelt beside his +adversary and tried to revive him. He managed to raise him +up, and propped his body against his own. He passed his arm +round him. Again he was filled with pity and tenderness. +He awaited the revival without fear, sure that both of them +were safe at last. + +Gino recovered suddenly. His lips moved. For one +blessed moment it seemed that he was going to speak. But he +scrambled up in silence, remembering everything, and he made +not towards Philip, but towards the lamp. + +"Do what you like; but think first--" + +The lamp was tossed across the room, out through the +loggia. It broke against one of the trees below. Philip +began to cry out in the dark. + +Gino approached from behind and gave him a sharp pinch. +Philip spun round with a yell. He had only been pinched on +the back, but he knew what was in store for him. He struck +out, exhorting the devil to fight him, to kill him, to do +anything but this. Then he stumbled to the door. It was +open. He lost his head, and, instead of turning down the +stairs, he ran across the landing into the room opposite. +There he lay down on the floor between the stove and the +skirting-board. + +His senses grew sharper. He could hear Gino coming in +on tiptoe. He even knew what was passing in his mind, how +now he was at fault, now he was hopeful, now he was +wondering whether after all the victim had not escaped down +the stairs. There was a quick swoop above him, and then a +low growl like a dog's. Gino had broken his finger-nails +against the stove. + +Physical pain is almost too terrible to bear. We can +just bear it when it comes by accident or for our good--as it +generally does in modern life--except at school. But when it +is caused by the malignity of a man, full grown, fashioned +like ourselves, all our control disappears. Philip's one +thought was to get away from that room at whatever sacrifice +of nobility or pride. + +Gino was now at the further end of the room, groping by +the little tables. Suddenly the instinct came to him. He +crawled quickly to where Philip lay and had him clean by the +elbow. + +The whole arm seemed red-hot, and the broken bone grated +in the joint, sending out shoots of the essence of pain. +His other arm was pinioned against the wall, and Gino had +trampled in behind the stove and was kneeling on his legs. +For the space of a minute he yelled and yelled with all the +force of his lungs. Then this solace was denied him. The +other hand, moist and strong, began to close round his throat. + +At first he was glad, for here, he thought, was death at +last. But it was only a new torture; perhaps Gino inherited +the skill of his ancestors--and childlike ruffians who flung +each other from the towers. Just as the windpipe closed, +the hand fell off, and Philip was revived by the motion of +his arm. And just as he was about to faint and gain at last +one moment of oblivion, the motion stopped, and he would +struggle instead against the pressure on his throat. + +Vivid pictures were dancing through the pain--Lilia dying +some months back in this very house, Miss Abbott bending +over the baby, his mother at home, now reading evening +prayers to the servants. He felt that he was growing +weaker; his brain wandered; the agony did not seem so +great. Not all Gino's care could indefinitely postpone the +end. His yells and gurgles became mechanical--functions of +the tortured flesh rather than true notes of indignation and +despair. He was conscious of a horrid tumbling. Then his +arm was pulled a little too roughly, and everything was +quiet at last. + +"But your son is dead, Gino. Your son is dead, dear +Gino. Your son is dead." + +The room was full of light, and Miss Abbott had Gino by +the shoulders, holding him down in a chair. She was +exhausted with the struggle, and her arms were trembling. + +"What is the good of another death? What is the good of +more pain?" + +He too began to tremble. Then he turned and looked +curiously at Philip, whose face, covered with dust and foam, +was visible by the stove. Miss Abbott allowed him to get +up, though she still held him firmly. He gave a loud and +curious cry--a cry of interrogation it might be called. +Below there was the noise of Perfetta returning with the +baby's milk. + +"Go to him," said Miss Abbott, indicating Philip. "Pick +him up. Treat him kindly." + +She released him, and he approached Philip slowly. His +eyes were filling with trouble. He bent down, as if he +would gently raise him up. + +"Help! help!" moaned Philip. His body had suffered too +much from Gino. It could not bear to be touched by him. + +Gino seemed to understand. He stopped, crouched above +him. Miss Abbott herself came forward and lifted her friend +in her arms. + +"Oh, the foul devil!" he murmured. "Kill him! Kill him +for me." + +Miss Abbott laid him tenderly on the couch and wiped his +face. Then she said gravely to them both, "This thing stops +here." + +"Latte! latte!" cried Perfetta, hilariously ascending +the stairs. + +"Remember," she continued, "there is to be no revenge. +I will have no more intentional evil. We are not to fight +with each other any more." + +"I shall never forgive him," sighed Philip. + +"Latte! latte freschissima! bianca come neve!" +Perfetta came in with another lamp and a little jug. + +Gino spoke for the first time. "Put the milk on the +table," he said. "It will not be wanted in the other +room." The peril was over at last. A great sob shook the +whole body, another followed, and then he gave a piercing +cry of woe, and stumbled towards Miss Abbott like a child +and clung to her. + +All through the day Miss Abbott had seemed to Philip +like a goddess, and more than ever did she seem so now. +Many people look younger and more intimate during great +emotion. But some there are who look older, and remote, and +he could not think that there was little difference in +years, and none in composition, between her and the man +whose head was laid upon her breast. Her eyes were open, +full of infinite pity and full of majesty, as if they +discerned the boundaries of sorrow, and saw unimaginable +tracts beyond. Such eyes he had seen in great pictures but +never in a mortal. Her hands were folded round the +sufferer, stroking him lightly, for even a goddess can do no +more than that. And it seemed fitting, too, that she should +bend her head and touch his forehead with her lips. + +Philip looked away, as he sometimes looked away from the +great pictures where visible forms suddenly become +inadequate for the things they have shown to us. He was +happy; he was assured that there was greatness in the +world. There came to him an earnest desire to be good +through the example of this good woman. He would try +henceforward to be worthy of the things she had revealed. +Quietly, without hysterical prayers or banging of drums, he +underwent conversion. He was saved. + +"That milk," said she, "need not be wasted. Take it, +Signor Carella, and persuade Mr. Herriton to drink." + +Gino obeyed her, and carried the child's milk to +Philip. And Philip obeyed also and drank. + +"Is there any left?" + +"A little," answered Gino. + +"Then finish it." For she was determined to use such +remnants as lie about the world. + +"Will you not have some?" + +"I do not care for milk; finish it all." + +"Philip, have you had enough milk?" + +"Yes, thank you, Gino; finish it all." + +He drank the milk, and then, either by accident or in +some spasm of pain, broke the jug to pieces. Perfetta +exclaimed in bewilderment. "It does not matter," he told +her. "It does not matter. It will never be wanted any +more." + + + +Chapter 10 + +"He will have to marry her," said Philip. "I heard from him +this morning, just as we left Milan. He finds he has gone +too far to back out. It would be expensive. I don't know +how much he minds--not as much as we suppose, I think. At +all events there's not a word of blame in the letter. I +don't believe he even feels angry. I never was so +completely forgiven. Ever since you stopped him killing me, +it has been a vision of perfect friendship. He nursed me, +he lied for me at the inquest, and at the funeral, though he +was crying, you would have thought it was my son who had +died. Certainly I was the only person he had to be kind to; +he was so distressed not to make Harriet's acquaintance, and +that he scarcely saw anything of you. In his letter he says +so again." + +"Thank him, please, when you write," said Miss Abbott, +"and give him my kindest regards." + +"Indeed I will." He was surprised that she could slide +away from the man so easily. For his own part, he was bound +by ties of almost alarming intimacy. Gino had the southern +knack of friendship. In the intervals of business he would +pull out Philip's life, turn it inside out, remodel it, and +advise him how to use it for the best. The sensation was +pleasant, for he was a kind as well as a skilful operator. +But Philip came away feeling that he had not a secret corner +left. In that very letter Gino had again implored him, as a +refuge from domestic difficulties, "to marry Miss Abbott, +even if her dowry is small." And how Miss Abbott herself, +after such tragic intercourse, could resume the conventions +and send calm messages of esteem, was more than he could +understand. + +"When will you see him again?" she asked. They were +standing together in the corridor of the train, slowly +ascending out of Italy towards the San Gothard tunnel. + +"I hope next spring. Perhaps we shall paint Siena red +for a day or two with some of the new wife's money. It was +one of the arguments for marrying her." + +"He has no heart," she said severely. "He does not +really mind about the child at all." + +"No; you're wrong. He does. He is unhappy, like the +rest of us. But he doesn't try to keep up appearances as we +do. He knows that the things that have made him happy once +will probably make him happy again--" + +"He said he would never be happy again." + +"In his passion. Not when he was calm. We English say +it when we are calm--when we do not really believe it any +longer. Gino is not ashamed of inconsistency. It is one of +the many things I like him for." + +"Yes; I was wrong. That is so." + +"He's much more honest with himself than I am," +continued Philip, "and he is honest without an effort and +without pride. But you, Miss Abbott, what about you? Will +you be in Italy next spring?" + +"No." + +"I'm sorry. When will you come back, do you think?" + +"I think never." + +"For whatever reason?" He stared at her as if she were +some monstrosity. + +"Because I understand the place. There is no need." + +"Understand Italy!" he exclaimed. + +"Perfectly." + +"Well, I don't. And I don't understand you," he +murmured to himself, as he paced away from her up the +corridor. By this time he loved her very much, and he could +not bear to be puzzled. He had reached love by the +spiritual path: her thoughts and her goodness and her +nobility had moved him first, and now her whole body and all +its gestures had become transfigured by them. The beauties +that are called obvious--the beauties of her hair and her +voice and her limbs--he had noticed these last; Gino, who +never traversed any path at all, had commended them +dispassionately to his friend. + +Why was he so puzzling? He had known so much about her +once--what she thought, how she felt, the reasons for her +actions. And now he only knew that he loved her, and all +the other knowledge seemed passing from him just as he +needed it most. Why would she never come to Italy again? +Why had she avoided himself and Gino ever since the evening +that she had saved their lives? The train was nearly +empty. Harriet slumbered in a compartment by herself. He +must ask her these questions now, and he returned quickly to +her down the corridor. + +She greeted him with a question of her own. "Are your +plans decided?" + +"Yes. I can't live at Sawston." + +"Have you told Mrs. Herriton?" + +"I wrote from Monteriano. I tried to explain things; +but she will never understand me. Her view will be that the +affair is settled--sadly settled since the baby is dead. +Still it's over; our family circle need be vexed no more. +She won't even be angry with you. You see, you have done us +no harm in the long run. Unless, of course, you talk about +Harriet and make a scandal. So that is my plan--London and +work. What is yours?" + +"Poor Harriet!" said Miss Abbott. "As if I dare judge +Harriet! Or anybody." And without replying to Philip's +question she left him to visit the other invalid. + +Philip gazed after her mournfully, and then he looked +mournfully out of the window at the decreasing streams. All +the excitement was over--the inquest, Harriet's short +illness, his own visit to the surgeon. He was convalescent, +both in body and spirit, but convalescence brought no joy. +In the looking-glass at the end of the corridor he saw his +face haggard, and his shoulders pulled forward by the weight +of the sling. Life was greater than he had supposed, but it +was even less complete. He had seen the need for strenuous +work and for righteousness. And now he saw what a very +little way those things would go. + +"Is Harriet going to be all right?" he asked. Miss +Abbott had come back to him. + +"She will soon be her old self," was the reply. For +Harriet, after a short paroxysm of illness and remorse, was +quickly returning to her normal state. She had been +"thoroughly upset" as she phrased it, but she soon ceased to +realize that anything was wrong beyond the death of a poor +little child. Already she spoke of "this unlucky accident," +and "the mysterious frustration of one's attempts to make +things better." Miss Abbott had seen that she was +comfortable, and had given her a kind kiss. But she +returned feeling that Harriet, like her mother, considered +the affair as settled. + +"I'm clear enough about Harriet's future, and about +parts of my own. But I ask again, What about yours?" + +"Sawston and work," said Miss Abbott. + +"No." + +"Why not?" she asked, smiling. + +"You've seen too much. You've seen as much and done +more than I have." + +"But it's so different. Of course I shall go to +Sawston. You forget my father; and even if he wasn't there, +I've a hundred ties: my district--I'm neglecting it +shamefully--my evening classes, the St. James'--" + +"Silly nonsense!" he exploded, suddenly moved to have +the whole thing out with her. "You're too good--about a +thousand times better than I am. You can't live in that +hole; you must go among people who can hope to understand +you. I mind for myself. I want to see you often--again +and again." + +"Of course we shall meet whenever you come down; and I +hope that it will mean often." + +"It's not enough; it'll only be in the old horrible way, +each with a dozen relatives round us. No, Miss Abbott; it's +not good enough." + +"We can write at all events." + +"You will write?" he cried, with a flush of pleasure. +At times his hopes seemed so solid. + +"I will indeed." + +"But I say it's not enough--you can't go back to the old +life if you wanted to. Too much has happened." + +"I know that," she said sadly. + +"Not only pain and sorrow, but wonderful things: that +tower in the sunlight--do you remember it, and all you said +to me? The theatre, even. And the next day--in the church; +and our times with Gino." + +"All the wonderful things are over," she said. "That is +just where it is." + +"I don't believe it. At all events not for me. The +most wonderful things may be to come--" + +"The wonderful things are over," she repeated, and +looked at him so mournfully that he dare not contradict +her. The train was crawling up the last ascent towards the +Campanile of Airolo and the entrance of the tunnel. + +"Miss Abbott," he murmured, speaking quickly, as if +their free intercourse might soon be ended, "what is the +matter with you? I thought I understood you, and I don't. +All those two great first days at Monteriano I read you as +clearly as you read me still. I saw why you had come, and +why you changed sides, and afterwards I saw your wonderful +courage and pity. And now you're frank with me one moment, +as you used to be, and the next moment you shut me up. You +see I owe too much to you--my life, and I don't know what +besides. I won't stand it. You've gone too far to turn +mysterious. I'll quote what you said to me: 'Don't be +mysterious; there isn't the time.' I'll quote something +else: 'I and my life must be where I live.' You can't live +at Sawston." + +He had moved her at last. She whispered to herself +hurriedly. "It is tempting--" And those three words threw +him into a tumult of joy. What was tempting to her? After +all was the greatest of things possible? Perhaps, after +long estrangement, after much tragedy, the South had brought +them together in the end. That laughter in the theatre, +those silver stars in the purple sky, even the violets of a +departed spring, all had helped, and sorrow had helped also, +and so had tenderness to others. + +"It is tempting," she repeated, "not to be mysterious. +I've wanted often to tell you, and then been afraid. I +could never tell any one else, certainly no woman, and I +think you're the one man who might understand and not be +disgusted." + +"Are you lonely?" he whispered. "Is it anything like that?" + +"Yes." The train seemed to shake him towards her. He +was resolved that though a dozen people were looking, he +would yet take her in his arms. "I'm terribly lonely, or I +wouldn't speak. I think you must know already." Their +faces were crimson, as if the same thought was surging +through them both. + +"Perhaps I do." He came close to her. "Perhaps I could +speak instead. But if you will say the word plainly you'll +never be sorry; I will thank you for it all my life." + +She said plainly, "That I love him." Then she broke +down. Her body was shaken with sobs, and lest there should +be any doubt she cried between the sobs for Gino! Gino! Gino! + +He heard himself remark "Rather! I love him too! When +I can forget how he hurt me that evening. Though whenever +we shake hands--" One of them must have moved a step or two, +for when she spoke again she was already a little way apart. + +"You've upset me." She stifled something that was +perilously near hysterics. "I thought I was past all this. +You're taking it wrongly. I'm in love with Gino--don't pass +it off--I mean it crudely--you know what I mean. So laugh at me." + +"Laugh at love?" asked Philip. + +"Yes. Pull it to pieces. Tell me I'm a fool or +worse--that he's a cad. Say all you said when Lilia fell in +love with him. That's the help I want. I dare tell you +this because I like you--and because you're without passion; +you look on life as a spectacle; you don't enter it; you +only find it funny or beautiful. So I can trust you to cure +me. Mr. Herriton, isn't it funny?" She tried to laugh +herself, but became frightened and had to stop. "He's not a +gentleman, nor a Christian, nor good in any way. He's never +flattered me nor honoured me. But because he's handsome, +that's been enough. The son of an Italian dentist, with a +pretty face." She repeated the phrase as if it was a charm +against passion. "Oh, Mr. Herriton, isn't it funny!" Then, +to his relief, she began to cry. "I love him, and I'm not +ashamed of it. I love him, and I'm going to Sawston, and if +I mayn't speak about him to you sometimes, I shall die." + +In that terrible discovery Philip managed to think not +of himself but of her. He did not lament. He did not even +speak to her kindly, for he saw that she could not stand +it. A flippant reply was what she asked and +needed--something flippant and a little cynical. And indeed +it was the only reply he could trust himself to make. + +"Perhaps it is what the books call 'a passing fancy'?" + +She shook her head. Even this question was too +pathetic. For as far as she knew anything about herself, +she knew that her passions, once aroused, were sure. "If I +saw him often," she said, "I might remember what he is +like. Or he might grow old. But I dare not risk it, so +nothing can alter me now." + +"Well, if the fancy does pass, let me know." After all, +he could say what he wanted. + +"Oh, you shall know quick enough--" + +"But before you retire to Sawston--are you so mighty sure?" + +"What of?" She had stopped crying. He was treating her +exactly as she had hoped. + +"That you and he--" He smiled bitterly at the thought of +them together. Here was the cruel antique malice of the +gods, such as they once sent forth against Pasiphae. +Centuries of aspiration and culture--and the world could not +escape it. "I was going to say--whatever have you got in +common?" + +"Nothing except the times we have seen each other." +Again her face was crimson. He turned his own face away. + +"Which--which times?" + +"The time I thought you weak and heedless, and went +instead of you to get the baby. That began it, as far as I +know the beginning. Or it may have begun when you took us +to the theatre, and I saw him mixed up with music and +light. But didn't understand till the morning. Then you +opened the door--and I knew why I had been so happy. +Afterwards, in the church, I prayed for us all; not for +anything new, but that we might just be as we were--he with +the child he loved, you and I and Harriet safe out of the +place--and that I might never see him or speak to him again. +I could have pulled through then--the thing was only coming +near, like a wreath of smoke; it hadn't wrapped me round." + +"But through my fault," said Philip solemnly, "he is +parted from the child he loves. And because my life was in +danger you came and saw him and spoke to him again." For +the thing was even greater than she imagined. Nobody but +himself would ever see round it now. And to see round it he +was standing at an immense distance. He could even be glad +that she had once held the beloved in her arms. + +"Don't talk of 'faults.' You're my friend for ever, Mr. +Herriton, I think. Only don't be charitable and shift or +take the blame. Get over supposing I'm refined. That's +what puzzles you. Get over that." + +As he spoke she seemed to be transfigured, and to have +indeed no part with refinement or unrefinement any longer. +Out of this wreck there was revealed to him something +indestructible--something which she, who had given it, could +never take away. + +"I say again, don't be charitable. If he had asked me, +I might have given myself body and soul. That would have +been the end of my rescue party. But all through he took me +for a superior being--a goddess. I who was worshipping every +inch of him, and every word he spoke. And that saved me." + +Philip's eyes were fixed on the Campanile of Airolo. +But he saw instead the fair myth of Endymion. This woman +was a goddess to the end. For her no love could be +degrading: she stood outside all degradation. This episode, +which she thought so sordid, and which was so tragic for +him, remained supremely beautiful. To such a height was he +lifted, that without regret he could now have told her that +he was her worshipper too. But what was the use of telling +her? For all the wonderful things had happened. + +"Thank you," was all that he permitted himself. "Thank +you for everything." + +She looked at him with great friendliness, for he had +made her life endurable. At that moment the train entered +the San Gothard tunnel. They hurried back to the carriage +to close the windows lest the smuts should get into +Harriet's eyes. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg Etext of Where Angels Fear to Tread + diff --git a/old/waftt10.zip b/old/waftt10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..aaec992 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/waftt10.zip diff --git a/old/waftt10h.htm b/old/waftt10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c493fde --- /dev/null +++ b/old/waftt10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5607 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<title>Where Angels Fear To Tread by E. M. Forster</title> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> +<style type="text/css"> +<!-- +body {margin:10%; text-align:justify} +blockquote {font-size:14pt} +P {font-size:14pt} +--> +</style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> +Project Gutenberg's Where Angels Fear To Tread by E. M. Forster +#4 in our series by E. M. 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Forster</h3> + +<br> + + +<h3 align="CENTER">Chapter 1</h3> + +<p>They were all at Charing Cross to see Lilia off--Philip, +Harriet, Irma, Mrs. Herriton herself. Even Mrs. Theobald, +squired by Mr. Kingcroft, had braved the journey from Yorkshire +to bid her only daughter good-bye. Miss Abbott was likewise +attended by numerous relatives, and the sight of so many people +talking at once and saying such different things caused Lilia to +break into ungovernable peals of laughter.<br> +"Quite an ovation," she cried, sprawling out of her +first-class carriage. "They'll take us for royalty. Oh, Mr. +Kingcroft, get us foot-warmers."<br> +The good-natured young man hurried away, and Philip, taking +his place, flooded her with a final stream of advice and +injunctions--where to stop, how to learn Italian, when to use +mosquito-nets, what pictures to look at. "Remember," he +concluded, "that it is only by going off the track that you get +to know the country. See the little towns--Gubbio, Pienza, +Cortona, San Gemignano, Monteriano. And don't, let me beg you, +go with that awful tourist idea that Italy's only a museum of +antiquities and art. Love and understand the Italians, for the +people are more marvellous than the land."<br> +"How I wish you were coming, Philip," she said, flattered at +the unwonted notice her brother-in-law was giving her.<br> +"I wish I were." He could have managed it without great +difficulty, for his career at the Bar was not so intense as to +prevent occasional holidays. But his family disliked his +continual visits to the Continent, and he himself often found +pleasure in the idea that he was too busy to leave town.<br> +"Good-bye, dear every one. What a whirl!" She caught sight +of her little daughter Irma, and felt that a touch of maternal +solemnity was required. "Good-bye, darling. Mind you're always +good, and do what Granny tells you."<br> +She referred not to her own mother, but to her mother-in-law, +Mrs. Herriton, who hated the title of Granny.<br> +Irma lifted a serious face to be kissed, and said cautiously, +"I'll do my best."<br> +"She is sure to be good," said Mrs. Herriton, who was +standing pensively a little out of the hubbub. But Lilia was +already calling to Miss Abbott, a tall, grave, rather +nice-looking young lady who was conducting her adieus in a more +decorous manner on the platform.<br> +"Caroline, my Caroline! Jump in, or your chaperon will go +off without you."<br> +And Philip, whom the idea of Italy always intoxicated, had +started again, telling her of the supreme moments of her coming +journey--the Campanile of Airolo, which would burst on her when +she emerged from the St. Gothard tunnel, presaging the future; +the view of the Ticino and Lago Maggiore as the train climbed the +slopes of Monte Cenere; the view of Lugano, the view of +Como--Italy gathering thick around her now--the arrival at her +first resting-place, when, after long driving through dark and +dirty streets, she should at last behold, amid the roar of trams +and the glare of arc lamps, the buttresses of the cathedral of +Milan.<br> +"Handkerchiefs and collars," screamed Harriet, "in my inlaid +box! I've lent you my inlaid box."<br> +"Good old Harry!" She kissed every one again, and there was +a moment's silence. They all smiled steadily, excepting Philip, +who was choking in the fog, and old Mrs. Theobald, who had begun +to cry. Miss Abbott got into the carriage. The guard himself +shut the door, and told Lilia that she would be all right. Then +the train moved, and they all moved with it a couple of steps, +and waved their handkerchiefs, and uttered cheerful little +cries. At that moment Mr. Kingcroft reappeared, carrying a +footwarmer by both ends, as if it was a tea-tray. He was sorry +that he was too late, and called out in a quivering voice, +"Good-bye, Mrs. Charles. May you enjoy yourself, and may God +bless you."<br> +Lilia smiled and nodded, and then the absurd position of the +foot-warmer overcame her, and she began to laugh again.<br> +"Oh, I am so sorry," she cried back, "but you do look so +funny. Oh, you all look so funny waving! Oh, pray!" And +laughing helplessly, she was carried out into the fog.<br> +"High spirits to begin so long a journey," said Mrs. +Theobald, dabbing her eyes.<br> +Mr. Kingcroft solemnly moved his head in token of agreement. +"I wish," said he, "that Mrs. Charles had gotten the footwarmer. +These London porters won't take heed to a country chap."<br> +"But you did your best," said Mrs. Herriton. "And I think it +simply noble of you to have brought Mrs. Theobald all the way +here on such a day as this." Then, rather hastily, she shook +hands, and left him to take Mrs. Theobald all the way back.<br> +Sawston, her own home, was within easy reach of London, and +they were not late for tea. Tea was in the dining-room, with an +egg for Irma, to keep up the child's spirits. The house seemed +strangely quiet after a fortnight's bustle, and their +conversation was spasmodic and subdued. They wondered whether +the travellers had got to Folkestone, whether it would be at all +rough, and if so what would happen to poor Miss Abbott.<br> +"And, Granny, when will the old ship get to Italy?" asked +Irma.<br> +"'Grandmother,' dear; not 'Granny,'" said Mrs. Herriton, +giving her a kiss. "And we say 'a boat' or 'a steamer,' not 'a +ship.' Ships have sails. And mother won't go all the way by +sea. You look at the map of Europe, and you'll see why. +Harriet, take her. Go with Aunt Harriet, and she'll show you the +map."<br> +"Righto!" said the little girl, and dragged the reluctant +Harriet into the library. Mrs. Herriton and her son were left +alone. There was immediately confidence between them.<br> +"Here beginneth the New Life," said Philip.<br> +"Poor child, how vulgar!" murmured Mrs. Herriton. "It's +surprising that she isn't worse. But she has got a look of poor +Charles about her."<br> +"And--alas, alas!--a look of old Mrs. Theobald. What +appalling apparition was that! I did think the lady was +bedridden as well as imbecile. Why ever did she come?"<br> +"Mr. Kingcroft made her. I am certain of it. He wanted to +see Lilia again, and this was the only way."<br> +"I hope he is satisfied. I did not think my sister-in-law +distinguished herself in her farewells."<br> +Mrs. Herriton shuddered. "I mind nothing, so long as she has +gone--and gone with Miss Abbott. It is mortifying to think that +a widow of thirty-three requires a girl ten years younger to look +after her."<br> +"I pity Miss Abbott. Fortunately one admirer is chained to +England. Mr. Kingcroft cannot leave the crops or the climate or +something. I don't think, either, he improved his chances +today. He, as well as Lilia, has the knack of being absurd in +public."<br> +Mrs. Herriton replied, "When a man is neither well bred, nor +well connected, nor handsome, nor clever, nor rich, even Lilia +may discard him in time."<br> +"No. I believe she would take any one. Right up to the +last, when her boxes were packed, she was 'playing' the chinless +curate. Both the curates are chinless, but hers had the dampest +hands. I came on them in the Park. They were speaking of the +Pentateuch."<br> +"My dear boy! If possible, she has got worse and worse. It +was your idea of Italian travel that saved us!"<br> +Philip brightened at the little compliment. "The odd part is +that she was quite eager--always asking me for information; and +of course I was very glad to give it. I admit she is a +Philistine, appallingly ignorant, and her taste in art is false. +Still, to have any taste at all is something. And I do believe +that Italy really purifies and ennobles all who visit her. She +is the school as well as the playground of the world. It is +really to Lilia's credit that she wants to go there."<br> +"She would go anywhere," said his mother, who had heard +enough of the praises of Italy. "I and Caroline Abbott had the +greatest difficulty in dissuading her from the Riviera."<br> +"No, Mother; no. She was really keen on Italy. This travel +is quite a crisis for her." He found the situation full of +whimsical romance: there was something half attractive, half +repellent in the thought of this vulgar woman journeying to +places he loved and revered. Why should she not be +transfigured? The same had happened to the Goths.<br> +Mrs. Herriton did not believe in romance nor in +transfiguration, nor in parallels from history, nor in anything +else that may disturb domestic life. She adroitly changed the +subject before Philip got excited. Soon Harriet returned, having +given her lesson in geography. Irma went to bed early, and was +tucked up by her grandmother. Then the two ladies worked and +played cards. Philip read a book. And so they all settled down +to their quiet, profitable existence, and continued it without +interruption through the winter.<br> +It was now nearly ten years since Charles had fallen in love +with Lilia Theobald because she was pretty, and during that time +Mrs. Herriton had hardly known a moment's rest. For six months +she schemed to prevent the match, and when it had taken place she +turned to another task--the supervision of her daughter-in-law. +Lilia must be pushed through life without bringing discredit on +the family into which she had married. She was aided by Charles, +by her daughter Harriet, and, as soon as he was old enough, by +the clever one of the family, Philip. The birth of Irma made +things still more difficult. But fortunately old Mrs. Theobald, +who had attempted interference, began to break up. It was an +effort to her to leave Whitby, and Mrs. Herriton discouraged the +effort as far as possible. That curious duel which is fought +over every baby was fought and decided early. Irma belonged to +her father's family, not to her mother's.<br> +Charles died, and the struggle recommenced. Lilia tried to +assert herself, and said that she should go to take care of Mrs. +Theobald. It required all Mrs. Herriton's kindness to prevent +her. A house was finally taken for her at Sawston, and there for +three years she lived with Irma, continually subject to the +refining influences of her late husband's family.<br> +During one of her rare Yorkshire visits trouble began again. +Lilia confided to a friend that she liked a Mr. Kingcroft +extremely, but that she was not exactly engaged to him. The news +came round to Mrs. Herriton, who at once wrote, begging for +information, and pointing out that Lilia must either be engaged +or not, since no intermediate state existed. It was a good +letter, and flurried Lilia extremely. She left Mr. Kingcroft +without even the pressure of a rescue-party. She cried a great +deal on her return to Sawston, and said she was very sorry. Mrs. +Herriton took the opportunity of speaking more seriously about +the duties of widowhood and motherhood than she had ever done +before. But somehow things never went easily after. Lilia would +not settle down in her place among Sawston matrons. She was a +bad housekeeper, always in the throes of some domestic crisis, +which Mrs. Herriton, who kept her servants for years, had to step +across and adjust. She let Irma stop away from school for +insufficient reasons, and she allowed her to wear rings. She +learnt to bicycle, for the purpose of waking the place up, and +coasted down the High Street one Sunday evening, falling off at +the turn by the church. If she had not been a relative, it would +have been entertaining. But even Philip, who in theory loved +outraging English conventions, rose to the occasion, and gave her +a talking which she remembered to her dying day. It was just +then, too, that they discovered that she still allowed Mr. +Kingcroft to write to her "as a gentleman friend," and to send +presents to Irma.<br> +Philip thought of Italy, and the situation was saved. +Caroline, charming, sober, Caroline Abbott, who lived two +turnings away, was seeking a companion for a year's travel. +Lilia gave up her house, sold half her furniture, left the other +half and Irma with Mrs. Herriton, and had now departed, amid +universal approval, for a change of scene.<br> +She wrote to them frequently during the winter--more +frequently than she wrote to her mother. Her letters were always +prosperous. Florence she found perfectly sweet, Naples a dream, +but very whiffy. In Rome one had simply to sit still and feel. +Philip, however, declared that she was improving. He was +particularly gratified when in the early spring she began to +visit the smaller towns that he had recommended. "In a place +like this," she wrote, "one really does feel in the heart of +things, and off the beaten track. Looking out of a Gothic window +every morning, it seems impossible that the middle ages have +passed away." The letter was from Monteriano, and concluded with +a not unsuccessful description of the wonderful little town.<br> +"It is something that she is contented," said Mrs. Herriton. +"But no one could live three months with Caroline Abbott and not +be the better for it."<br> +Just then Irma came in from school, and she read her mother's +letter to her, carefully correcting any grammatical errors, for +she was a loyal supporter of parental authority--Irma listened +politely, but soon changed the subject to hockey, in which her +whole being was absorbed. They were to vote for colours that +afternoon--yellow and white or yellow and green. What did her +grandmother think?<br> +Of course Mrs. Herriton had an opinion, which she sedately +expounded, in spite of Harriet, who said that colours were +unnecessary for children, and of Philip, who said that they were +ugly. She was getting proud of Irma, who had certainly greatly +improved, and could no longer be called that most appalling of +things--a vulgar child. She was anxious to form her before her +mother returned. So she had no objection to the leisurely +movements of the travellers, and even suggested that they should +overstay their year if it suited them.<br> +Lilia's next letter was also from Monteriano, and Philip grew +quite enthusiastic.<br> +"They've stopped there over a week!" he cried. "Why! I +shouldn't have done as much myself. They must be really keen, +for the hotel's none too comfortable."<br> +"I cannot understand people," said Harriet. "What can they +be doing all day? And there is no church there, I suppose."<br> +"There is Santa Deodata, one of the most beautiful churches +in Italy."<br> +"Of course I mean an English church," said Harriet stiffly. +"Lilia promised me that she would always be in a large town on +Sundays."<br> +"If she goes to a service at Santa Deodata's, she will find +more beauty and sincerity than there is in all the Back Kitchens +of Europe."<br> +The Back Kitchen was his nickname for St. James's, a small +depressing edifice much patronized by his sister. She always +resented any slight on it, and Mrs. Herriton had to +intervene.<br> +"Now, dears, don't. Listen to Lilia's letter. 'We love this +place, and I do not know how I shall ever thank Philip for +telling me it. It is not only so quaint, but one sees the +Italians unspoiled in all their simplicity and charm here. The +frescoes are wonderful. Caroline, who grows sweeter every day, +is very busy sketching.' "<br> +"Every one to his taste!" said Harriet, who always delivered +a platitude as if it was an epigram. She was curiously virulent +about Italy, which she had never visited, her only experience of +the Continent being an occasional six weeks in the Protestant +parts of Switzerland.<br> +"Oh, Harriet is a bad lot!" said Philip as soon as she left +the room. His mother laughed, and told him not to be naughty; +and the appearance of Irma, just off to school, prevented further +discussion. Not only in Tracts is a child a peacemaker.<br> +"One moment, Irma," said her uncle. "I'm going to the +station. I'll give you the pleasure of my company."<br> +They started together. Irma was gratified; but conversation +flagged, for Philip had not the art of talking to the young. +Mrs. Herriton sat a little longer at the breakfast table, +re-reading Lilia's letter. Then she helped the cook to clear, +ordered dinner, and started the housemaid turning out the +drawing-room, Tuesday being its day. The weather was lovely, and +she thought she would do a little gardening, as it was quite +early. She called Harriet, who had recovered from the insult to +St. James's, and together they went to the kitchen garden and +began to sow some early vegetables.<br> +"We will save the peas to the last; they are the greatest +fun," said Mrs. Herriton, who had the gift of making work a +treat. She and her elderly daughter always got on very well, +though they had not a great deal in common. Harriet's education +had been almost too successful. As Philip once said, she had +"bolted all the cardinal virtues and couldn't digest them." +Though pious and patriotic, and a great moral asset for the +house, she lacked that pliancy and tact which her mother so much +valued, and had expected her to pick up for herself. Harriet, if +she had been allowed, would have driven Lilia to an open rupture, +and, what was worse, she would have done the same to Philip two +years before, when he returned full of passion for Italy, and +ridiculing Sawston and its ways.<br> +"It's a shame, Mother!" she had cried. "Philip laughs at +everything--the Book Club, the Debating Society, the Progressive +Whist, the bazaars. People won't like it. We have our +reputation. A house divided against itself cannot stand."<br> +Mrs. Herriton replied in the memorable words, "Let Philip say +what he likes, and he will let us do what we like." And Harriet +had acquiesced.<br> +They sowed the duller vegetables first, and a pleasant +feeling of righteous fatigue stole over them as they addressed +themselves to the peas. Harriet stretched a string to guide the +row straight, and Mrs. Herriton scratched a furrow with a pointed +stick. At the end of it she looked at her watch.<br> +"It's twelve! The second post's in. Run and see if there +are any letters."<br> +Harriet did not want to go. "Let's finish the peas. There +won't be any letters."<br> +"No, dear; please go. I'll sow the peas, but you shall cover +them up--and mind the birds don't see 'em!"<br> +Mrs. Herriton was very careful to let those peas trickle +evenly from her hand, and at the end of the row she was conscious +that she had never sown better. They were expensive too.<br> +"Actually old Mrs. Theobald!" said Harriet, returning.<br> +"Read me the letter. My hands are dirty. How intolerable +the crested paper is."<br> +Harriet opened the envelope.<br> +"I don't understand," she said; "it doesn't make sense."<br> +"Her letters never did."<br> +"But it must be sillier than usual," said Harriet, and her +voice began to quaver. "Look here, read it, Mother; I can't make +head or tail."<br> +Mrs. Herriton took the letter indulgently. "What is the +difficulty?" she said after a long pause. "What is it that +puzzles you in this letter?"<br> +"The meaning--" faltered Harriet. The sparrows hopped nearer +and began to eye the peas.<br> +"The meaning is quite clear--Lilia is engaged to be married. +Don't cry, dear; please me by not crying--don't talk at all. +It's more than I could bear. She is going to marry some one she +has met in a hotel. Take the letter and read for yourself." +Suddenly she broke down over what might seem a small point. "How +dare she not tell me direct! How dare she write first to +Yorkshire! Pray, am I to hear through Mrs. Theobald--a +patronizing, insolent letter like this? Have I no claim at all? +Bear witness, dear"--she choked with passion--"bear witness that +for this I'll never forgive her!"<br> +"Oh, what is to be done?" moaned Harriet. "What is to be +done?"<br> +"This first!" She tore the letter into little pieces and +scattered it over the mould. "Next, a telegram for Lilia! No! +a telegram for Miss Caroline Abbott. She, too, has something to +explain."<br> +"Oh, what is to be done?" repeated Harriet, as she followed +her mother to the house. She was helpless before such +effrontery. What awful thing--what awful person had come to +Lilia? "Some one in the hotel." The letter only said that. +What kind of person? A gentleman? An Englishman? The letter +did not say.<br> +"Wire reason of stay at Monteriano. Strange rumours," read +Mrs. Herriton, and addressed the telegram to Abbott, Stella +d'Italia, Monteriano, Italy. "If there is an office there," she +added, "we might get an answer this evening. Since Philip is +back at seven, and the eight-fifteen catches the midnight boat at +Dover--Harriet, when you go with this, get £100 in £5 +notes at the bank."<br> +"Go, dear, at once; do not talk. I see Irma coming back; go +quickly.... Well, Irma dear, and whose team are you in this +afternoon--Miss Edith's or Miss May's?"<br> +But as soon as she had behaved as usual to her +grand-daughter, she went to the library and took out the large +atlas, for she wanted to know about Monteriano. The name was in +the smallest print, in the midst of a woolly-brown tangle of +hills which were called the "Sub-Apennines." It was not so very +far from Siena, which she had learnt at school. Past it there +wandered a thin black line, notched at intervals like a saw, and +she knew that this was a railway. But the map left a good deal +to imagination, and she had not got any. She looked up the place +in "Childe Harold," but Byron had not been there. Nor did Mark +Twain visit it in the "Tramp Abroad." The resources of +literature were exhausted: she must wait till Philip came home. +And the thought of Philip made her try Philip's room, and there +she found "Central Italy," by Baedeker, and opened it for the +first time in her life and read in it as follows:--</p> + +<blockquote><br> +<em>Monteriano</em> (pop. 4800). Hotels: Stella d'Italia, +moderate only; Globo, dirty. * Caffè Garibaldi. Post and +Telegraph office in Corso Vittorio Emmanuele, next to theatre. +Photographs at Seghena's (cheaper in Florence). Diligence (1 +lira) meets principal trains.<br> +Chief attractions (2-3 hours): Santa Deodata, Palazzo +Pubblico, Sant' Agostino, Santa Caterina, Sant' Ambrogio, Palazzo +Capocchi. Guide (2 lire) unnecessary. A walk round the Walls +should on no account be omitted. The view from the Rocca (small +gratuity) is finest at sunset.<br> +History: Monteriano, the Mons Rianus of Antiquity, whose +Ghibelline tendencies are noted by Dante (Purg. xx.), definitely +emancipated itself from Poggibonsi in 1261. Hence the distich, +<em>"Poggibonizzi, faui in là, che Monteriano si fa +città!"</em> till recently enscribed over the Siena +gate. It remained independent till 1530, when it was sacked by +the Papal troops and became part of the Grand Duchy of Tuscany. +It is now of small importance, and seat of the district prison. +The inhabitants are still noted for their agreeable manners. + +<div align="CENTER">- - - - -</div> + +<p>The traveller will proceed direct from the Siena gate to +the Collegiate Church of Santa Deodata, and inspect (5th chapel +on right) the charming * Frescoes....</p> +</blockquote> + +<br> + + +<p>Mrs. Herriton did not proceed. She was not one to detect +the hidden charms of Baedeker. Some of the information seemed to +her unnecessary, all of it was dull. Whereas Philip could never +read "The view from the Rocca (small gratuity) is finest at +sunset" without a catching at the heart. Restoring the book to +its place, she went downstairs, and looked up and down the +asphalt paths for her daughter. She saw her at last, two +turnings away, vainly trying to shake off Mr. Abbott, Miss +Caroline Abbott's father. Harriet was always unfortunate. At +last she returned, hot, agitated, crackling with bank-notes, and +Irma bounced to greet her, and trod heavily on her corn.<br> +"Your feet grow larger every day," said the agonized Harriet, +and gave her niece a violent push. Then Irma cried, and Mrs. +Herriton was annoyed with Harriet for betraying irritation. +Lunch was nasty; and during pudding news arrived that the cook, +by sheer dexterity, had broken a very vital knob off the +kitchen-range. "It is too bad," said Mrs. Herriton. Irma said +it was three bad, and was told not to be rude. After lunch +Harriet would get out Baedeker, and read in injured tones about +Monteriano, the Mons Rianus of Antiquity, till her mother stopped +her.<br> +"It's ridiculous to read, dear. She's not trying to marry +any one in the place. Some tourist, obviously, who's stopping in +the hotel. The place has nothing to do with it at all."<br> +"But what a place to go to! What nice person, too, do you +meet in a hotel?"<br> +"Nice or nasty, as I have told you several times before, is +not the point. Lilia has insulted our family, and she shall +suffer for it. And when you speak against hotels, I think you +forget that I met your father at Chamounix. You can contribute +nothing, dear, at present, and I think you had better hold your +tongue. I am going to the kitchen, to speak about the +range."<br> +She spoke just too much, and the cook said that if she could +not give satisfaction--she had better leave. A small thing at +hand is greater than a great thing remote, and Lilia, +misconducting herself upon a mountain in Central Italy, was +immediately hidden. Mrs. Herriton flew to a registry office, +failed; flew to another, failed again; came home, was told by the +housemaid that things seemed so unsettled that she had better +leave as well; had tea, wrote six letters, was interrupted by +cook and housemaid, both weeping, asking her pardon, and +imploring to be taken back. In the flush of victory the +door-bell rang, and there was the telegram: "Lilia engaged to +Italian nobility. Writing. Abbott."<br> +"No answer," said Mrs. Herriton. "Get down Mr. Philip's +Gladstone from the attic."<br> +She would not allow herself to be frightened by the unknown. +Indeed she knew a little now. The man was not an Italian noble, +otherwise the telegram would have said so. It must have been +written by Lilia. None but she would have been guilty of the +fatuous vulgarity of "Italian nobility." She recalled phrases of +this morning's letter: "We love this place--Caroline is sweeter +than ever, and busy sketching--Italians full of simplicity and +charm." And the remark of Baedeker, "The inhabitants are still +noted for their agreeable manners," had a baleful meaning now. +If Mrs. Herriton had no imagination, she had intuition, a more +useful quality, and the picture she made to herself of Lilia's +<em>fiancé</em> did not prove altogether wrong.<br> +So Philip was received with the news that he must start in +half an hour for Monteriano. He was in a painful position. For +three years he had sung the praises of the Italians, but he had +never contemplated having one as a relative. He tried to soften +the thing down to his mother, but in his heart of hearts he +agreed with her when she said, "The man may be a duke or he may +be an organ-grinder. That is not the point. If Lilia marries +him she insults the memory of Charles, she insults Irma, she +insults us. Therefore I forbid her, and if she disobeys we have +done with her for ever."<br> +"I will do all I can," said Philip in a low voice. It was +the first time he had had anything to do. He kissed his mother +and sister and puzzled Irma. The hall was warm and attractive as +he looked back into it from the cold March night, and he departed +for Italy reluctantly, as for something commonplace and dull.<br> +Before Mrs. Herriton went to bed she wrote to Mrs. Theobald, +using plain language about Lilia's conduct, and hinting that it +was a question on which every one must definitely choose sides. +She added, as if it was an afterthought, that Mrs. Theobald's +letter had arrived that morning.<br> +Just as she was going upstairs she remembered that she never +covered up those peas. It upset her more than anything, and +again and again she struck the banisters with vexation. Late as +it was, she got a lantern from the tool-shed and went down the +garden to rake the earth over them. The sparrows had taken every +one. But countless fragments of the letter remained, disfiguring +the tidy ground.</p> + +<hr size="0"> +<br> +<br> + + +<h3 align="CENTER">Chapter 2</h3> + +<p>When the bewildered tourist alights at the station of +Monteriano, he finds himself in the middle of the country. There +are a few houses round the railway, and many more dotted over the +plain and the slopes of the hills, but of a town, mediaeval or +otherwise, not the slightest sign. He must take what is suitably +termed a "legno"--a piece of wood--and drive up eight miles of +excellent road into the middle ages. For it is impossible, as +well as sacrilegious, to be as quick as Baedeker.<br> +It was three in the afternoon when Philip left the realms of +commonsense. He was so weary with travelling that he had fallen +asleep in the train. His fellow-passengers had the usual Italian +gift of divination, and when Monteriano came they knew he wanted +to go there, and dropped him out. His feet sank into the hot +asphalt of the platform, and in a dream he watched the train +depart, while the porter who ought to have been carrying his bag, +ran up the line playing touch-you-last with the guard. Alas! he +was in no humour for Italy. Bargaining for a legno bored him +unutterably. The man asked six lire; and though Philip knew that +for eight miles it should scarcely be more than four, yet he was +about to give what he was asked, and so make the man discontented +and unhappy for the rest of the day. He was saved from this +social blunder by loud shouts, and looking up the road saw one +cracking his whip and waving his reins and driving two horses +furiously, and behind him there appeared the swaying figure of a +woman, holding star-fish fashion on to anything she could touch. +It was Miss Abbott, who had just received his letter from Milan +announcing the time of his arrival, and had hurried down to meet +him.<br> +He had known Miss Abbott for years, and had never had much +opinion about her one way or the other. She was good, quiet, +dull, and amiable, and young only because she was twenty-three: +there was nothing in her appearance or manner to suggest the fire +of youth. All her life had been spent at Sawston with a dull and +amiable father, and her pleasant, pallid face, bent on some +respectable charity, was a familiar object of the Sawston +streets. Why she had ever wished to leave them was surprising; +but as she truly said, "I am John Bull to the backbone, yet I do +want to see Italy, just once. Everybody says it is marvellous, +and that one gets no idea of it from books at all." The curate +suggested that a year was a long time; and Miss Abbott, with +decorous playfulness, answered him, "Oh, but you must let me have +my fling! I promise to have it once, and once only. It will +give me things to think about and talk about for the rest of my +life." The curate had consented; so had Mr. Abbott. And here +she was in a legno, solitary, dusty, frightened, with as much to +answer and to answer for as the most dashing adventuress could +desire.<br> +They shook hands without speaking. She made room for Philip +and his luggage amidst the loud indignation of the unsuccessful +driver, whom it required the combined eloquence of the +station-master and the station beggar to confute. The silence +was prolonged until they started. For three days he had been +considering what he should do, and still more what he should +say. He had invented a dozen imaginary conversations, in all of +which his logic and eloquence procured him certain victory. But +how to begin? He was in the enemy's country, and everything--the +hot sun, the cold air behind the heat, the endless rows of +olive-trees, regular yet mysterious--seemed hostile to the placid +atmosphere of Sawston in which his thoughts took birth. At the +outset he made one great concession. If the match was really +suitable, and Lilia were bent on it, he would give in, and trust +to his influence with his mother to set things right. He would +not have made the concession in England; but here in Italy, +Lilia, however wilful and silly, was at all events growing to be +a human being.<br> +"Are we to talk it over now?" he asked.<br> +"Certainly, please," said Miss Abbott, in great agitation. +"If you will be so very kind."<br> +"Then how long has she been engaged?"<br> +Her face was that of a perfect fool--a fool in terror.<br> +"A short time--quite a short time," she stammered, as if the +shortness of the time would reassure him.<br> +"I should like to know how long, if you can remember."<br> +She entered into elaborate calculations on her fingers. +"Exactly eleven days," she said at last.<br> +"How long have you been here?"<br> +More calculations, while he tapped irritably with his foot. +"Close on three weeks."<br> +"Did you know him before you came?"<br> +"No."<br> +"Oh! Who is he?"<br> +"A native of the place."<br> +The second silence took place. They had left the plain now +and were climbing up the outposts of the hills, the olive-trees +still accompanying. The driver, a jolly fat man, had got out to +ease the horses, and was walking by the side of the carriage.<br> +"I understood they met at the hotel."<br> +"It was a mistake of Mrs. Theobald's."<br> +"I also understand that he is a member of the Italian +nobility."<br> +She did not reply.<br> +"May I be told his name?"<br> +Miss Abbott whispered, "Carella." But the driver heard her, +and a grin split over his face. The engagement must be known +already.<br> +"Carella? Conte or Marchese, or what?"<br> +"Signor," said Miss Abbott, and looked helplessly aside.<br> +"Perhaps I bore you with these questions. If so, I will +stop."<br> +"Oh, no, please; not at all. I am here--my own idea--to give +all information which you very naturally--and to see if +somehow--please ask anything you like."<br> +"Then how old is he?"<br> +"Oh, quite young. Twenty-one, I believe."<br> +There burst from Philip the exclamation, "Good Lord!"<br> +"One would never believe it," said Miss Abbott, flushing. +"He looks much older."<br> +"And is he good-looking?" he asked, with gathering +sarcasm.<br> +She became decisive. "Very good-looking. All his features +are good, and he is well built--though I dare say English +standards would find him too short."<br> +Philip, whose one physical advantage was his height, felt +annoyed at her implied indifference to it.<br> +"May I conclude that you like him?"<br> +She replied decisively again, "As far as I have seen him, I +do."<br> +At that moment the carriage entered a little wood, which lay +brown and sombre across the cultivated hill. The trees of the +wood were small and leafless, but noticeable for this--that their +stems stood in violets as rocks stand in the summer sea. There +are such violets in England, but not so many. Nor are there so +many in Art, for no painter has the courage. The cart-ruts were +channels, the hollow lagoons; even the dry white margin of the +road was splashed, like a causeway soon to be submerged under the +advancing tide of spring. Philip paid no attention at the time: +he was thinking what to say next. But his eyes had registered +the beauty, and next March he did not forget that the road to +Monteriano must traverse innumerable flowers.<br> +"As far as I have seen him, I do like him," repeated Miss +Abbott, after a pause.<br> +He thought she sounded a little defiant, and crushed her at +once.<br> +"What is he, please? You haven't told me that. What's his +position?"<br> +She opened her mouth to speak, and no sound came from it. +Philip waited patiently. She tried to be audacious, and failed +pitiably.<br> +"No position at all. He is kicking his heels, as my father +would say. You see, he has only just finished his military +service."<br> +"As a private?"<br> +"I suppose so. There is general conscription. He was in the +Bersaglieri, I think. Isn't that the crack regiment?"<br> +"The men in it must be short and broad. They must also be +able to walk six miles an hour."<br> +She looked at him wildly, not understanding all that he said, +but feeling that he was very clever. Then she continued her +defence of Signor Carella.<br> +"And now, like most young men, he is looking out for +something to do."<br> +"Meanwhile?"<br> +"Meanwhile, like most young men, he lives with his +people--father, mother, two sisters, and a tiny tot of a +brother."<br> +There was a grating sprightliness about her that drove him +nearly mad. He determined to silence her at last.<br> +"One more question, and only one more. What is his +father?"<br> +"His father," said Miss Abbott. "Well, I don't suppose +you'll think it a good match. But that's not the point. I mean +the point is not--I mean that social differences--love, after +all--not but what--I--"<br> +Philip ground his teeth together and said nothing.<br> +"Gentlemen sometimes judge hardly. But I feel that you, and +at all events your mother--so really good in every sense, so +really unworldly--after all, love-marriages are made in +heaven."<br> +"Yes, Miss Abbott, I know. But I am anxious to hear heaven's +choice. You arouse my curiosity. Is my sister-in-law to marry +an angel?"<br> +"Mr. Herriton, don't--please, Mr. Herriton--a dentist. His +father's a dentist."<br> +Philip gave a cry of personal disgust and pain. He shuddered +all over, and edged away from his companion. A dentist! A +dentist at Monteriano. A dentist in fairyland! False teeth and +laughing gas and the tilting chair at a place which knew the +Etruscan League, and the Pax Romana, and Alaric himself, and the +Countess Matilda, and the Middle Ages, all fighting and holiness, +and the Renaissance, all fighting and beauty! He thought of +Lilia no longer. He was anxious for himself: he feared that +Romance might die.<br> +Romance only dies with life. No pair of pincers will ever +pull it out of us. But there is a spurious sentiment which +cannot resist the unexpected and the incongruous and the +grotesque. A touch will loosen it, and the sooner it goes from +us the better. It was going from Philip now, and therefore he +gave the cry of pain.<br> +"I cannot think what is in the air," he began. "If Lilia was +determined to disgrace us, she might have found a less repulsive +way. A boy of medium height with a pretty face, the son of a +dentist at Monteriano. Have I put it correctly? May I surmise +that he has not got one penny? May I also surmise that his +social position is nil? Furthermore--"<br> +"Stop! I'll tell you no more."<br> +"Really, Miss Abbott, it is a little late for reticence. You +have equipped me admirably!"<br> +"I'll tell you not another word!" she cried, with a spasm of +terror. Then she got out her handkerchief, and seemed as if she +would shed tears. After a silence, which he intended to +symbolize to her the dropping of a curtain on the scene, he began +to talk of other subjects.<br> +They were among olives again, and the wood with its beauty +and wildness had passed away. But as they climbed higher the +country opened out, and there appeared, high on a hill to the +right, Monteriano. The hazy green of the olives rose up to its +walls, and it seemed to float in isolation between trees and sky, +like some fantastic ship city of a dream. Its colour was brown, +and it revealed not a single house--nothing but the narrow circle +of the walls, and behind them seventeen towers--all that was left +of the fifty-two that had filled the city in her prime. Some +were only stumps, some were inclining stiffly to their fall, some +were still erect, piercing like masts into the blue. It was +impossible to praise it as beautiful, but it was also impossible +to damn it as quaint.<br> +Meanwhile Philip talked continually, thinking this to be +great evidence of resource and tact. It showed Miss Abbott that +he had probed her to the bottom, but was able to conquer his +disgust, and by sheer force of intellect continue to be as +agreeable and amusing as ever. He did not know that he talked a +good deal of nonsense, and that the sheer force of his intellect +was weakened by the sight of Monteriano, and by the thought of +dentistry within those walls.<br> +The town above them swung to the left, to the right, to the +left again, as the road wound upward through the trees, and the +towers began to glow in the descending sun. As they drew near, +Philip saw the heads of people gathering black upon the walls, +and he knew well what was happening--how the news was spreading +that a stranger was in sight, and the beggars were aroused from +their content and bid to adjust their deformities; how the +alabaster man was running for his wares, and the Authorized Guide +running for his peaked cap and his two cards of +recommendation--one from Miss M'Gee, Maida Vale, the other, less +valuable, from an Equerry to the Queen of Peru; how some one else +was running to tell the landlady of the Stella d'Italia to put on +her pearl necklace and brown boots and empty the slops from the +spare bedroom; and how the landlady was running to tell Lilia and +her boy that their fate was at hand.<br> +Perhaps it was a pity Philip had talked so profusely. He had +driven Miss Abbott half demented, but he had given himself no +time to concert a plan. The end came so suddenly. They emerged +from the trees on to the terrace before the walk, with the vision +of half Tuscany radiant in the sun behind them, and then they +turned in through the Siena gate, and their journey was over. +The Dogana men admitted them with an air of gracious welcome, and +they clattered up the narrow dark street, greeted by that mixture +of curiosity and kindness which makes each Italian arrival so +wonderful.<br> +He was stunned and knew not what to do. At the hotel he +received no ordinary reception. The landlady wrung him by the +hand; one person snatched his umbrella, another his bag; people +pushed each other out of his way. The entrance seemed blocked +with a crowd. Dogs were barking, bladder whistles being blown, +women waving their handkerchiefs, excited children screaming on +the stairs, and at the top of the stairs was Lilia herself, very +radiant, with her best blouse on.<br> +"Welcome!" she cried. "Welcome to Monteriano!" He greeted +her, for he did not know what else to do, and a sympathetic +murmur rose from the crowd below.<br> +"You told me to come here," she continued, "and I don't +forget it. Let me introduce Signor Carella!"<br> +Philip discerned in the corner behind her a young man who +might eventually prove handsome and well-made, but certainly did +not seem so then. He was half enveloped in the drapery of a cold +dirty curtain, and nervously stuck out a hand, which Philip took +and found thick and damp. There were more murmurs of approval +from the stairs.<br> +"Well, din-din's nearly ready," said Lilia. "Your room's +down the passage, Philip. You needn't go changing."<br> +He stumbled away to wash his hands, utterly crushed by her +effrontery.<br> +"Dear Caroline!" whispered Lilia as soon as he had gone. +"What an angel you've been to tell him! He takes it so well. +But you must have had a <em>mauvais quart d'heure.</em>"<br> +Miss Abbott's long terror suddenly turned into acidity. +"I've told nothing," she snapped. "It's all for you--and if it +only takes a quarter of an hour you'll be lucky!"<br> +Dinner was a nightmare. They had the smelly dining-room to +themselves. Lilia, very smart and vociferous, was at the head of +the table; Miss Abbott, also in her best, sat by Philip, looking, +to his irritated nerves, more like the tragedy confidante every +moment. That scion of the Italian nobility, Signor Carella, sat +opposite. Behind him loomed a bowl of goldfish, who swam round +and round, gaping at the guests.<br> +The face of Signor Carella was twitching too much for Philip +to study it. But he could see the hands, which were not +particularly clean, and did not get cleaner by fidgeting amongst +the shining slabs of hair. His starched cuffs were not clean +either, and as for his suit, it had obviously been bought for the +occasion as something really English--a gigantic check, which did +not even fit. His handkerchief he had forgotten, but never +missed it. Altogether, he was quite unpresentable, and very +lucky to have a father who was a dentist in Monteriano. And why, +even Lilia--But as soon as the meal began it furnished Philip +with an explanation.<br> +For the youth was hungry, and his lady filled his plate with +spaghetti, and when those delicious slippery worms were flying +down his throat, his face relaxed and became for a moment +unconscious and calm. And Philip had seen that face before in +Italy a hundred times--seen it and loved it, for it was not +merely beautiful, but had the charm which is the rightful +heritage of all who are born on that soil. But he did not want +to see it opposite him at dinner. It was not the face of a +gentleman.<br> +Conversation, to give it that name, was carried on in a +mixture of English and Italian. Lilia had picked up hardly any +of the latter language, and Signor Carella had not yet learnt any +of the former. Occasionally Miss Abbott had to act as +interpreter between the lovers, and the situation became uncouth +and revolting in the extreme. Yet Philip was too cowardly to +break forth and denounce the engagement. He thought he should be +more effective with Lilia if he had her alone, and pretended to +himself that he must hear her defence before giving judgment.<br> +Signor Carella, heartened by the spaghetti and the +throat-rasping wine, attempted to talk, and, looking politely +towards Philip, said, "England is a great country. The Italians +love England and the English."<br> +Philip, in no mood for international amenities, merely +bowed.<br> +"Italy too," the other continued a little resentfully, "is a +great country. She has produced many famous men--for example +Garibaldi and Dante. The latter wrote the 'Inferno,' the +'Purgatorio,' the 'Paradiso.' The 'Inferno' is the most +beautiful." And with the complacent tone of one who has received +a solid education, he quoted the opening lines--</p> + +<blockquote><em>Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita<br> +Mi ritrovai per una selva oscura<br> +Che la diritta via era smarrita--</em></blockquote> + +<p>a quotation which was more apt than he supposed.<br> +Lilia glanced at Philip to see whether he noticed that she +was marrying no ignoramus. Anxious to exhibit all the good +qualities of her betrothed, she abruptly introduced the subject +of pallone, in which, it appeared, he was a proficient player. +He suddenly became shy and developed a conceited grin--the grin +of the village yokel whose cricket score is mentioned before a +stranger. Philip himself had loved to watch pallone, that +entrancing combination of lawn-tennis and fives. But he did not +expect to love it quite so much again.<br> +"Oh, look!" exclaimed Lilia, "the poor wee fish!"<br> +A starved cat had been worrying them all for pieces of the +purple quivering beef they were trying to swallow. Signor +Carella, with the brutality so common in Italians, had caught her +by the paw and flung her away from him. Now she had climbed up +to the bowl and was trying to hook out the fish. He got up, +drove her off, and finding a large glass stopper by the bowl, +entirely plugged up the aperture with it.<br> +"But may not the fish die?" said Miss Abbott. "They have no +air."<br> +"Fish live on water, not on air," he replied in a knowing +voice, and sat down. Apparently he was at his ease again, for he +took to spitting on the floor. Philip glanced at Lilia but did +not detect her wincing. She talked bravely till the end of the +disgusting meal, and then got up saying, "Well, Philip, I am sure +you are ready for by-bye. We shall meet at twelve o'clock lunch +tomorrow, if we don't meet before. They give us +<em>caffè</em> later in our rooms."<br> +It was a little too impudent. Philip replied, "I should like +to see you now, please, in my room, as I have come all the way on +business." He heard Miss Abbott gasp. Signor Carella, who was +lighting a rank cigar, had not understood.<br> +It was as he expected. When he was alone with Lilia he lost +all nervousness. The remembrance of his long intellectual +supremacy strengthened him, and he began volubly--<br> +"My dear Lilia, don't let's have a scene. Before I arrived +I thought I might have to question you. It is unnecessary. I +know everything. Miss Abbott has told me a certain amount, and +the rest I see for myself."<br> +"See for yourself?" she exclaimed, and he remembered +afterwards that she had flushed crimson.<br> +"That he is probably a ruffian and certainly a cad."<br> +"There are no cads in Italy," she said quickly.<br> +He was taken aback. It was one of his own remarks. And she +further upset him by adding, "He is the son of a dentist. Why +not?"<br> +"Thank you for the information. I know everything, as I told +you before. I am also aware of the social position of an Italian +who pulls teeth in a minute provincial town."<br> +He was not aware of it, but he ventured to conclude that it +was pretty, low. Nor did Lilia contradict him. But she was +sharp enough to say, "Indeed, Philip, you surprise me. I +understood you went in for equality and so on."<br> +"And I understood that Signor Carella was a member of the +Italian nobility."<br> +"Well, we put it like that in the telegram so as not to shock +dear Mrs. Herriton. But it is true. He is a younger branch. Of +course families ramify--just as in yours there is your cousin +Joseph." She adroitly picked out the only undesirable member of +the Herriton clan. "Gino's father is courtesy itself, and rising +rapidly in his profession. This very month he leaves Monteriano, +and sets up at Poggibonsi. And for my own poor part, I think +what people are is what matters, but I don't suppose you'll +agree. And I should like you to know that Gino's uncle is a +priest--the same as a clergyman at home."<br> +Philip was aware of the social position of an Italian priest, +and said so much about it that Lilia interrupted him with, "Well, +his cousin's a lawyer at Rome."<br> +"What kind of 'lawyer'?"<br> +"Why, a lawyer just like you are--except that he has lots to +do and can never get away."<br> +The remark hurt more than he cared to show. He changed his +method, and in a gentle, conciliating tone delivered the +following speech:--<br> +"The whole thing is like a bad dream--so bad that it cannot +go on. If there was one redeeming feature about the man I might +be uneasy. As it is I can trust to time. For the moment, Lilia, +he has taken you in, but you will find him out soon. It is not +possible that you, a lady, accustomed to ladies and gentlemen, +will tolerate a man whose position is--well, not equal to the son +of the servants' dentist in Coronation Place. I am not blaming +you now. But I blame the glamour of Italy--I have felt it +myself, you know--and I greatly blame Miss Abbott."<br> +"Caroline! Why blame her? What's all this to do with +Caroline?"<br> +"Because we expected her to--" He saw that the answer would +involve him in difficulties, and, waving his hand, continued, "So +I am confident, and you in your heart agree, that this engagement +will not last. Think of your life at home--think of Irma! And +I'll also say think of us; for you know, Lilia, that we count you +more than a relation. I should feel I was losing my own sister +if you did this, and my mother would lose a daughter."<br> +She seemed touched at last, for she turned away her face and +said, "I can't break it off now!"<br> +"Poor Lilia," said he, genuinely moved. "I know it may be +painful. But I have come to rescue you, and, book-worm though I +may be, I am not frightened to stand up to a bully. He's merely +an insolent boy. He thinks he can keep you to your word by +threats. He will be different when he sees he has a man to deal +with."<br> +What follows should be prefaced with some simile--the simile +of a powder-mine, a thunderbolt, an earthquake--for it blew +Philip up in the air and flattened him on the ground and +swallowed him up in the depths. Lilia turned on her gallant +defender and said--<br> +"For once in my life I'll thank you to leave me alone. I'll +thank your mother too. For twelve years you've trained me and +tortured me, and I'll stand it no more. Do you think I'm a +fool? Do you think I never felt? Ah! when I came to your house +a poor young bride, how you all looked me over--never a kind +word--and discussed me, and thought I might just do; and your +mother corrected me, and your sister snubbed me, and you said +funny things about me to show how clever you were! And when +Charles died I was still to run in strings for the honour of your +beastly family, and I was to be cooped up at Sawston and learn to +keep house, and all my chances spoilt of marrying again. No, +thank you! No, thank you! 'Bully?' 'Insolent boy?' Who's that, +pray, but you? But, thank goodness, I can stand up against the +world now, for I've found Gino, and this time I marry for +love!"<br> +The coarseness and truth of her attack alike overwhelmed +him. But her supreme insolence found him words, and he too burst +forth.<br> +"Yes! and I forbid you to do it! You despise me, perhaps, +and think I'm feeble. But you're mistaken. You are ungrateful +and impertinent and contemptible, but I will save you in order to +save Irma and our name. There is going to be such a row in this +town that you and he'll be sorry you came to it. I shall shrink +from nothing, for my blood is up. It is unwise of you to laugh. +I forbid you to marry Carella, and I shall tell him so now."<br> +"Do," she cried. "Tell him so now. Have it out with him. +Gino! Gino! Come in! Avanti! Fra Filippo forbids the +banns!"<br> +Gino appeared so quickly that he must have been listening +outside the door.<br> +"Fra Filippo's blood's up. He shrinks from nothing. Oh, +take care he doesn't hurt you!" She swayed about in vulgar +imitation of Philip's walk, and then, with a proud glance at the +square shoulders of her betrothed, flounced out of the room.<br> +Did she intend them to fight? Philip had no intention of +doing so; and no more, it seemed, had Gino, who stood nervously +in the middle of the room with twitching lips and eyes.<br> +"Please sit down, Signor Carella," said Philip in Italian. +"Mrs. Herriton is rather agitated, but there is no reason we +should not be calm. Might I offer you a cigarette? Please sit +down."<br> +He refused the cigarette and the chair, and remained standing +in the full glare of the lamp. Philip, not averse to such +assistance, got his own face into shadow.<br> +For a long time he was silent. It might impress Gino, and it +also gave him time to collect himself. He would not this time +fall into the error of blustering, which he had caught so +unaccountably from Lilia. He would make his power felt by +restraint.<br> +Why, when he looked up to begin, was Gino convulsed with +silent laughter? It vanished immediately; but he became nervous, +and was even more pompous than he intended.<br> +"Signor Carella, I will be frank with you. I have come to +prevent you marrying Mrs. Herriton, because I see you will both +be unhappy together. She is English, you are Italian; she is +accustomed to one thing, you to another. And--pardon me if I say +it--she is rich and you are poor."<br> +"I am not marrying her because she is rich," was the sulky +reply.<br> +"I never suggested that for a moment," said Philip +courteously. "You are honourable, I am sure; but are you wise? +And let me remind you that we want her with us at home. Her +little daughter will be motherless, our home will be broken up. +If you grant my request you will earn our thanks--and you will +not be without a reward for your disappointment."<br> +"Reward--what reward?" He bent over the back of a chair and +looked earnestly at Philip. They were coming to terms pretty +quickly. Poor Lilia!<br> +Philip said slowly, "What about a thousand lire?"<br> +His soul went forth into one exclamation, and then he was +silent, with gaping lips. Philip would have given double: he had +expected a bargain.<br> +"You can have them tonight."<br> +He found words, and said, "It is too late."<br> +"But why?"<br> +"Because--" His voice broke. Philip watched his face,--a +face without refinement perhaps, but not without +expression,--watched it quiver and re-form and dissolve from +emotion into emotion. There was avarice at one moment, and +insolence, and politeness, and stupidity, and cunning--and let us +hope that sometimes there was love. But gradually one emotion +dominated, the most unexpected of all; for his chest began to +heave and his eyes to wink and his mouth to twitch, and suddenly +he stood erect and roared forth his whole being in one tremendous +laugh.<br> +Philip sprang up, and Gino, who had flung wide his arms to +let the glorious creature go, took him by the shoulders and shook +him, and said, "Because we are married--married--married as soon +as I knew you were, coming. There was no time to tell you. Oh. +oh! You have come all the way for nothing. Oh! And oh, your +generosity!" Suddenly he became grave, and said, "Please pardon +me; I am rude. I am no better than a peasant, and I--" Here he +saw Philip's face, and it was too much for him. He gasped and +exploded and crammed his hands into his mouth and spat them out +in another explosion, and gave Philip an aimless push, which +toppled him on to the bed. He uttered a horrified Oh! and then +gave up, and bolted away down the passage, shrieking like a +child, to tell the joke to his wife.<br> +For a time Philip lay on the bed, pretending to himself that +he was hurt grievously. He could scarcely see for temper, and in +the passage he ran against Miss Abbott, who promptly burst into +tears.<br> +"I sleep at the Globo," he told her, "and start for Sawston +tomorrow morning early. He has assaulted me. I could prosecute +him. But shall not."<br> +"I can't stop here," she sobbed. "I daren't stop here. You +will have to take me with you!"</p> + +<hr size="0"> +<br> +<br> + + +<h3 align="CENTER">Chapter 3</h3> + +<p>Opposite the Volterra gate of Monteriano, outside the city, is +a very respectable white-washed mud wall, with a coping of red +crinkled tiles to keep it from dissolution. It would suggest a +gentleman's garden if there was not in its middle a large hole, +which grows larger with every rain-storm. Through the hole is +visible, firstly, the iron gate that is intended to close it; +secondly, a square piece of ground which, though not quite, mud, +is at the same time not exactly grass; and finally, another wall, +stone this time, which has a wooden door in the middle and two +wooden-shuttered windows each side, and apparently forms the +façade of a one-storey house.<br> +This house is bigger than it looks, for it slides for two +storeys down the hill behind, and the wooden door, which is +always locked, really leads into the attic. The knowing person +prefers to follow the precipitous mule-track round the turn of +the mud wall till he can take the edifice in the rear. +Then--being now on a level with the cellars--he lifts up his head +and shouts. If his voice sounds like something light--a letter, +for example, or some vegetables, or a bunch of flowers--a basket +is let out of the first-floor windows by a string, into which he +puts his burdens and departs. But if he sounds like something +heavy, such as a log of wood, or a piece of meat, or a visitor, +he is interrogated, and then bidden or forbidden to ascend. The +ground floor and the upper floor of that battered house are alike +deserted, and the inmates keep the central portion, just as in a +dying body all life retires to the heart. There is a door at the +top of the first flight of stairs, and if the visitor is admitted +he will find a welcome which is not necessarily cold. There are +several rooms, some dark and mostly stuffy--a reception-room +adorned with horsehair chairs, wool-work stools, and a stove that +is never lit--German bad taste without German domesticity broods +over that room; also a living-room, which insensibly glides into +a bedroom when the refining influence of hospitality is absent, +and real bedrooms; and last, but not least, the loggia, where you +can live day and night if you feel inclined, drinking vermouth +and smoking cigarettes, with leagues of olive-trees and vineyards +and blue-green hills to watch you.<br> +It was in this house that the brief and inevitable tragedy of +Lilia's married life took place. She made Gino buy it for her, +because it was there she had first seen him sitting on the mud +wall that faced the Volterra gate. She remembered how the +evening sun had struck his hair, and how he had smiled down at +her, and being both sentimental and unrefined, was determined to +have the man and the place together. Things in Italy are cheap +for an Italian, and, though he would have preferred a house in +the piazza, or better still a house at Siena, or, bliss above +bliss, a house at Leghorn, he did as she asked, thinking that +perhaps she showed her good taste in preferring so retired an +abode.<br> +The house was far too big for them, and there was a general +concourse of his relatives to fill it up. His father wished to +make it a patriarchal concern, where all the family should have +their rooms and meet together for meals, and was perfectly +willing to give up the new practice at Poggibonsi and preside. +Gino was quite willing too, for he was an affectionate youth who +liked a large home-circle, and he told it as a pleasant bit of +news to Lilia, who did not attempt to conceal her horror.<br> +At once he was horrified too; saw that the idea was +monstrous; abused himself to her for having suggested it; rushed +off to tell his father that it was impossible. His father +complained that prosperity was already corrupting him and making +him unsympathetic and hard; his mother cried; his sisters accused +him of blocking their social advance. He was apologetic, and +even cringing, until they turned on Lilia. Then he turned on +them, saying that they could not understand, much less associate +with, the English lady who was his wife; that there should be one +master in that house--himself.<br> +Lilia praised and petted him on his return, calling him brave +and a hero and other endearing epithets. But he was rather blue +when his clan left Monteriano in much dignity--a dignity which +was not at all impaired by the acceptance of a cheque. They took +the cheque not to Poggibonsi, after all, but to Empoli--a lively, +dusty town some twenty miles off. There they settled down in +comfort, and the sisters said they had been driven to it by +Gino.<br> +The cheque was, of course, Lilia's, who was extremely +generous, and was quite willing to know anybody so long as she +had not to live with them, relations-in-law being on her nerves. +She liked nothing better than finding out some obscure and +distant connection--there were several of them--and acting the +lady bountiful, leaving behind her bewilderment, and too often +discontent. Gino wondered how it was that all his people, who +had formerly seemed so pleasant, had suddenly become plaintive +and disagreeable. He put it down to his lady wife's +magnificence, in comparison with which all seemed common. Her +money flew apace, in spite of the cheap living. She was even +richer than he expected; and he remembered with shame how he had +once regretted his inability to accept the thousand lire that +Philip Herriton offered him in exchange for her. It would have +been a shortsighted bargain.<br> +Lilia enjoyed settling into the house, with nothing to do +except give orders to smiling workpeople, and a devoted husband +as interpreter. She wrote a jaunty account of her happiness to +Mrs. Herriton, and Harriet answered the letter, saying (1) that +all future communications should be addressed to the solicitors; +(2) would Lilia return an inlaid box which Harriet had lent +her--but not given--to keep handkerchiefs and collars in?<br> +"Look what I am giving up to live with you!" she said to +Gino, never omitting to lay stress on her condescension. He took +her to mean the inlaid box, and said that she need not give it up +at all.<br> +"Silly fellow, no! I mean the life. Those Herritons are +very well connected. They lead Sawston society. But what do I +care, so long as I have my silly fellow!" She always treated him +as a boy, which he was, and as a fool, which he was not, thinking +herself so immeasurably superior to him that she neglected +opportunity after opportunity of establishing her rule. He was +good-looking and indolent; therefore he must be stupid. He was +poor; therefore he would never dare to criticize his +benefactress. He was passionately in love with her; therefore +she could do exactly as she liked.<br> +"It mayn't be heaven below," she thought, "but it's better +than Charles."<br> +And all the time the boy was watching her, and growing +up.<br> +She was reminded of Charles by a disagreeable letter from the +solicitors, bidding her disgorge a large sum of money for Irma, +in accordance with her late husband's will. It was just like +Charles's suspicious nature to have provided against a second +marriage. Gino was equally indignant, and between them they +composed a stinging reply, which had no effect. He then said +that Irma had better come out and live with them. "The air is +good, so is the food; she will be happy here, and we shall not +have to part with the money." But Lilia had not the courage even +to suggest this to the Herritons, and an unexpected terror seized +her at the thought of Irma or any English child being educated at +Monteriano.<br> +Gino became terribly depressed over the solicitors' letter, +more depressed than she thought necessary. There was no more to +do in the house, and he spent whole days in the loggia leaning +over the parapet or sitting astride it disconsolately.<br> +"Oh, you idle boy!" she cried, pinching his muscles. "Go and +play pallone."<br> +"I am a married man," he answered, without raising his head. +"I do not play games any more."<br> +"Go and see your friends then."<br> +"I have no friends now."<br> +"Silly, silly, silly! You can't stop indoors all day!"<br> +"I want to see no one but you." He spat on to an +olive-tree.<br> +"Now, Gino, don't be silly. Go and see your friends, and +bring them to see me. We both of us like society."<br> +He looked puzzled, but allowed himself to be persuaded, went +out, found that he was not as friendless as he supposed, and +returned after several hours in altered spirits. Lilia +congratulated herself on her good management.<br> +"I'm ready, too, for people now," she said. "I mean to wake +you all up, just as I woke up Sawston. Let's have plenty of +men--and make them bring their womenkind. I mean to have real +English tea-parties."<br> +"There is my aunt and her husband; but I thought you did not +want to receive my relatives."<br> +"I never said such a--"<br> +"But you would be right," he said earnestly. "They are not +for you. Many of them are in trade, and even we are little more; +you should have gentlefolk and nobility for your friends."<br> +"Poor fellow," thought Lilia. "It is sad for him to discover +that his people are vulgar." She began to tell him that she +loved him just for his silly self, and he flushed and began +tugging at his moustache.<br> +"But besides your relatives I must have other people here. +Your friends have wives and sisters, haven't they?"<br> +"Oh, yes; but of course I scarcely know them."<br> +"Not know your friends' people?"<br> +"Why, no. If they are poor and have to work for their living +I may see them--but not otherwise. Except--" He stopped. The +chief exception was a young lady, to whom he had once been +introduced for matrimonial purposes. But the dowry had proved +inadequate, and the acquaintance terminated.<br> +"How funny! But I mean to change all that. Bring your +friends to see me, and I will make them bring their people."<br> +He looked at her rather hopelessly.<br> +"Well, who are the principal people here? Who leads +society?"<br> +The governor of the prison, he supposed, and the officers who +assisted him.<br> +"Well, are they married?"<br> +"Yes."<br> +"There we are. Do you know them?"<br> +"Yes--in a way."<br> +"I see," she exclaimed angrily. "They look down on you, do +they, poor boy? Wait!" He assented. "Wait! I'll soon stop +that. Now, who else is there?"<br> +"The marchese, sometimes, and the canons of the Collegiate +Church."<br> +"Married?"<br> +"The canons--" he began with twinkling eyes.<br> +"Oh, I forgot your horrid celibacy. In England they would be +the centre of everything. But why shouldn't I know them? Would +it make it easier if I called all round? Isn't that your foreign +way?"<br> +He did not think it would make it easier.<br> +"But I must know some one! Who were the men you were talking +to this afternoon?"<br> +Low-class men. He could scarcely recollect their names.<br> +"But, Gino dear, if they're low class, why did you talk to +them? Don't you care about your position?"<br> +All Gino cared about at present was idleness and +pocket-money, and his way of expressing it was to exclaim, +"Ouf-pouf! How hot it is in here. No air; I sweat all over. I +expire. I must cool myself, or I shall never get to sleep." In +his funny abrupt way he ran out on to the loggia, where he lay +full length on the parapet, and began to smoke and spit under the +silence of the stars.<br> +Lilia gathered somehow from this conversation that +Continental society was not the go-as-you-please thing she had +expected. Indeed she could not see where Continental society +was. Italy is such a delightful place to live in if you happen +to be a man. There one may enjoy that exquisite luxury of +Socialism--that true Socialism which is based not on equality of +income or character, but on the equality of manners. In the +democracy of the <em>caffè</em> or the street the great +question of our life has been solved, and the brotherhood of man +is a reality. But is accomplished at the expense of the +sisterhood of women. Why should you not make friends with your +neighbour at the theatre or in the train, when you know and he +knows that feminine criticism and feminine insight and feminine +prejudice will never come between you? Though you become as +David and Jonathan, you need never enter his home, nor he yours. +All your lives you will meet under the open air, the only +roof-tree of the South, under which he will spit and swear, and +you will drop your h's, and nobody will think the worse of +either.<br> +Meanwhile the women--they have, of course, their house and +their church, with its admirable and frequent services, to which +they are escorted by the maid. Otherwise they do not go out +much, for it is not genteel to walk, and you are too poor to keep +a carriage. Occasionally you will take them to the +<em>caffè</em> or theatre, and immediately all your wonted +acquaintance there desert you, except those few who are expecting +and expected to marry into your family. It is all very sad. But +one consolation emerges--life is very pleasant in Italy if you +are a man.<br> +Hitherto Gino had not interfered with Lilia. She was so much +older than he was, and so much richer, that he regarded her as a +superior being who answered to other laws. He was not wholly +surprised, for strange rumours were always blowing over the Alps +of lands where men and women had the same amusements and +interests, and he had often met that privileged maniac, the lady +tourist, on her solitary walks. Lilia took solitary walks too, +and only that week a tramp had grabbed at her watch--an episode +which is supposed to be indigenous in Italy, though really less +frequent there than in Bond Street. Now that he knew her better, +he was inevitably losing his awe: no one could live with her and +keep it, especially when she had been so silly as to lose a gold +watch and chain. As he lay thoughtful along the parapet, he +realized for the first time the responsibilities of monied life. +He must save her from dangers, physical and social, for after all +she was a woman. "And I," he reflected, "though I am young, am +at all events a man, and know what is right."<br> +He found her still in the living-room, combing her hair, for +she had something of the slattern in her nature, and there was no +need to keep up appearances.<br> +"You must not go out alone," he said gently. "It is not +safe. If you want to walk, Perfetta shall accompany you." +Perfetta was a widowed cousin, too humble for social aspirations, +who was living with them as factotum.<br> +"Very well," smiled Lilia, "very well"--as if she were +addressing a solicitous kitten. But for all that she never took +a solitary walk again, with one exception, till the day of her +death.<br> +Days passed, and no one called except poor relatives. She +began to feel dull. Didn't he know the Sindaco or the bank +manager? Even the landlady of the Stella d'Italia would be +better than no one. She, when she went into the town, was +pleasantly received; but people naturally found a difficulty in +getting on with a lady who could not learn their language. And +the tea-party, under Gino's adroit management, receded ever and +ever before her.<br> +He had a good deal of anxiety over her welfare, for she did +not settle down in the house at all. But he was comforted by a +welcome and unexpected visitor. As he was going one afternoon +for the letters--they were delivered at the door, but it took +longer to get them at the office--some one humorously threw a +cloak over his head, and when he disengaged himself he saw his +very dear friend Spiridione Tesi of the custom-house at Chiasso, +whom he had not met for two years. What joy! what salutations! +so that all the passersby smiled with approval on the amiable +scene. Spiridione's brother was now station-master at Bologna, +and thus he himself could spend his holiday travelling over Italy +at the public expense. Hearing of Gino's marriage, he had come +to see him on his way to Siena, where lived his own uncle, lately +monied too.<br> +"They all do it," he exclaimed, "myself excepted." He was +not quite twenty-three. "But tell me more. She is English. +That is good, very good. An English wife is very good indeed. +And she is rich?"<br> +"Immensely rich."<br> +"Blonde or dark?"<br> +"Blonde."<br> +"Is it possible!"<br> +"It pleases me very much," said Gino simply. "If you +remember, I always desired a blonde." Three or four men had +collected, and were listening.<br> +"We all desire one," said Spiridione. "But you, Gino, +deserve your good fortune, for you are a good son, a brave man, +and a true friend, and from the very first moment I saw you I +wished you well."<br> +"No compliments, I beg," said Gino, standing with his hands +crossed on his chest and a smile of pleasure on his face.<br> +Spiridione addressed the other men, none of whom he had ever +seen before. "Is it not true? Does not he deserve this wealthy +blonde?"<br> +"He does deserve her," said all the men.<br> +It is a marvellous land, where you love it or hate it.<br> +There were no letters, and of course they sat down at the +Caffè Garibaldi, by the Collegiate Church--quite a good +<em>caffè</em> that for so small a city. There were +marble-topped tables, and pillars terra-cotta below and gold +above, and on the ceiling was a fresco of the battle of +Solferino. One could not have desired a prettier room. They had +vermouth and little cakes with sugar on the top, which they chose +gravely at the counter, pinching them first to be sure they were +fresh. And though vermouth is barely alcoholic, Spiridione +drenched his with soda-water to be sure that it should not get +into his head.<br> +They were in high spirits, and elaborate compliments +alternated curiously with gentle horseplay. But soon they put up +their legs on a pair of chairs and began to smoke.<br> +"Tell me," said Spiridione--"I forgot to ask--is she +young?"<br> +"Thirty-three."<br> +"Ah, well, we cannot have everything."<br> +"But you would be surprised. Had she told me twenty-eight, I +should not have disbelieved her."<br> +"Is she <em>simpatica?</em>" (Nothing will translate that +word.)<br> +Gino dabbed at the sugar and said after a silence, +"Sufficiently so."<br> +"It is a most important thing."<br> +"She is rich, she is generous, she is affable, she addresses +her inferiors without haughtiness."<br> +There was another silence. "It is not sufficient," said the +other. "One does not define it thus." He lowered his voice to a +whisper. "Last month a German was smuggling cigars. The +custom-house was dark. Yet I refused because I did not like +him. The gifts of such men do not bring happiness. <em>Non era +simpatico.</em> He paid for every one, and the fine for +deception besides."<br> +"Do you gain much beyond your pay?" asked Gino, diverted for +an instant.<br> +"I do not accept small sums now. It is not worth the risk. +But the German was another matter. But listen, my Gino, for I am +older than you and more full of experience. The person who +understands us at first sight, who never irritates us, who never +bores, to whom we can pour forth every thought and wish, not only +in speech but in silence--that is what I mean by +<em>simpatico</em>."<br> +"There are such men, I know," said Gino. "And I have heard +it said of children. But where will you find such a woman?"<br> +"That is true. Here you are wiser than I. <em>Sono poco +simpatiche le donne.</em> And the time we waste over them is +much." He sighed dolefully, as if he found the nobility of his +sex a burden.<br> +"One I have seen who may be so. She spoke very little, but +she was a young lady--different to most. She, too, was English, +the companion of my wife here. But Fra Filippo, the +brother-in-law, took her back with him. I saw them start. He +was very angry."<br> +Then he spoke of his exciting and secret marriage, and they +made fun of the unfortunate Philip, who had travelled over Europe +to stop it.<br> +"I regret though," said Gino, when they had finished +laughing, "that I toppled him on to the bed. A great tall man! +And when I am really amused I am often impolite."<br> +"You will never see him again," said Spiridione, who carried +plenty of philosophy about him. "And by now the scene will have +passed from his mind."<br> +"It sometimes happens that such things are recollected +longest. I shall never see him again, of course; but it is no +benefit to me that he should wish me ill. And even if he has +forgotten, I am still sorry that I toppled him on to the +bed."<br> +So their talk continued, at one moment full of childishness +and tender wisdom, the next moment scandalously gross. The +shadows of the terra-cotta pillars lengthened, and tourists, +flying through the Palazzo Pubblico opposite, could observe how +the Italians wasted time.<br> +The sight of tourists reminded Gino of something he might +say. "I want to consult you since you are so kind as to take an +interest in my affairs. My wife wishes to take solitary +walks."<br> +Spiridione was shocked.<br> +"But I have forbidden her."<br> +"Naturally."<br> +"She does not yet understand. She asked me to accompany her +sometimes--to walk without object! You know, she would like me +to be with her all day."<br> +"I see. I see." He knitted his brows and tried to think how +he could help his friend. "She needs employment. Is she a +Catholic?"<br> +"No."<br> +"That is a pity. She must be persuaded. It will be a great +solace to her when she is alone."<br> +"I am a Catholic, but of course I never go to church."<br> +"Of course not. Still, you might take her at first. That is +what my brother has done with his wife at Bologna and he has +joined the Free Thinkers. He took her once or twice himself, and +now she has acquired the habit and continues to go without +him."<br> +"Most excellent advice, and I thank you for it. But she +wishes to give tea-parties--men and women together whom she has +never seen."<br> +"Oh, the English! they are always thinking of tea. They +carry it by the kilogramme in their trunks, and they are so +clumsy that they always pack it at the top. But it is +absurd!"<br> +"What am I to do about it?"<br> +"Do nothing. Or ask me!"<br> +"Come!" cried Gino, springing up. "She will be quite +pleased."<br> +The dashing young fellow coloured crimson. "Of course I was +only joking."<br> +"I know. But she wants me to take my friends. Come now! +Waiter!"<br> +"If I do come," cried the other, "and take tea with you, this +bill must be my affair."<br> +"Certainly not; you are in my country!"<br> +A long argument ensued, in which the waiter took part, +suggesting various solutions. At last Gino triumphed. The bill +came to eightpence-halfpenny, and a halfpenny for the waiter +brought it up to ninepence. Then there was a shower of gratitude +on one side and of deprecation on the other, and when courtesies +were at their height they suddenly linked arms and swung down the +street, tickling each other with lemonade straws as they +went.<br> +Lilia was delighted to see them, and became more animated +than Gino had known her for a long time. The tea tasted of +chopped hay, and they asked to be allowed to drink it out of a +wine-glass, and refused milk; but, as she repeatedly observed, +this was something like. Spiridione's manners were very +agreeable. He kissed her hand on introduction, and as his +profession had taught him a little English, conversation did not +flag.<br> +"Do you like music?" she asked.<br> +"Passionately," he replied. "I have not studied scientific +music, but the music of the heart, yes."<br> +So she played on the humming piano very badly, and he sang, +not so badly. Gino got out a guitar and sang too, sitting out on +the loggia. It was a most agreeable visit.<br> +Gino said he would just walk his friend back to his +lodgings. As they went he said, without the least trace of +malice or satire in his voice, "I think you are quite right. I +shall not bring people to the house any more. I do not see why +an English wife should be treated differently. This is +Italy."<br> +"You are very wise," exclaimed the other; "very wise indeed. +The more precious a possession the more carefully it should be +guarded."<br> +They had reached the lodging, but went on as far as the +Caffè Garibaldi, where they spent a long and most +delightful evening.</p> + +<hr size="0"> +<br> +<br> + + +<h3 align="CENTER">Chapter 4</h3> + +<p>The advance of regret can be so gradual that it is impossible +to say "yesterday I was happy, today I am not." At no one moment +did Lilia realize that her marriage was a failure; yet during the +summer and autumn she became as unhappy as it was possible for +her nature to be. She had no unkind treatment, and few unkind +words, from her husband. He simply left her alone. In the +morning he went out to do "business," which, as far as she could +discover, meant sitting in the Farmacia. He usually returned to +lunch, after which he retired to another room and slept. In the +evening he grew vigorous again, and took the air on the ramparts, +often having his dinner out, and seldom returning till midnight +or later. There were, of course, the times when he was away +altogether--at Empoli, Siena, Florence, Bologna--for he delighted +in travel, and seemed to pick up friends all over the country. +Lilia often heard what a favorite he was.<br> +She began to see that she must assert herself, but she could +not see how. Her self-confidence, which had overthrown Philip, +had gradually oozed away. If she left the strange house there +was the strange little town. If she were to disobey her husband +and walk in the country, that would be stranger still--vast +slopes of olives and vineyards, with chalk-white farms, and in +the distance other slopes, with more olives and more farms, and +more little towns outlined against the cloudless sky. "I don't +call this country," she would say. "Why, it's not as wild as +Sawston Park!" And, indeed, there was scarcely a touch of +wildness in it--some of those slopes had been under cultivation +for two thousand years. But it was terrible and mysterious all +the same, and its continued presence made Lilia so uncomfortable +that she forgot her nature and began to reflect.<br> +She reflected chiefly about her marriage. The ceremony had +been hasty and expensive, and the rites, whatever they were, were +not those of the Church of England. Lilia had no religion in +her; but for hours at a time she would be seized with a vulgar +fear that she was not "married properly," and that her social +position in the next world might be as obscure as it was in +this. It might be safer to do the thing thoroughly, and one day +she took the advice of Spiridione and joined the Roman Catholic +Church, or as she called it, "Santa Deodata's." Gino approved; +he, too, thought it safer, and it was fun confessing, though the +priest was a stupid old man, and the whole thing was a good slap +in the face for the people at home.<br> +The people at home took the slap very soberly; indeed, there +were few left for her to give it to. The Herritons were out of +the question; they would not even let her write to Irma, though +Irma was occasionally allowed to write to her. Mrs. Theobald was +rapidly subsiding into dotage, and, as far as she could be +definite about anything, had definitely sided with the +Herritons. And Miss Abbott did likewise. Night after night did +Lilia curse this false friend, who had agreed with her that the +marriage would "do," and that the Herritons would come round to +it, and then, at the first hint of opposition, had fled back to +England shrieking and distraught. Miss Abbott headed the long +list of those who should never be written to, and who should +never be forgiven. Almost the only person who was not on that +list was Mr. Kingcroft, who had unexpectedly sent an affectionate +and inquiring letter. He was quite sure never to cross the +Channel, and Lilia drew freely on her fancy in the reply.<br> +At first she had seen a few English people, for Monteriano +was not the end of the earth. One or two inquisitive ladies, who +had heard at home of her quarrel with the Herritons, came to +call. She was very sprightly, and they thought her quite +unconventional, and Gino a charming boy, so all that was to the +good. But by May the season, such as it was, had finished, and +there would be no one till next spring. As Mrs. Herriton had +often observed, Lilia had no resources. She did not like music, +or reading, or work. Her one qualification for life was rather +blowsy high spirits, which turned querulous or boisterous +according to circumstances. She was not obedient, but she was +cowardly, and in the most gentle way, which Mrs. Herriton might +have envied, Gino made her do what he wanted. At first it had +been rather fun to let him get the upper hand. But it was +galling to discover that he could not do otherwise. He had a +good strong will when he chose to use it, and would not have had +the least scruple in using bolts and locks to put it into +effect. There was plenty of brutality deep down in him, and one +day Lilia nearly touched it.<br> +It was the old question of going out alone.<br> +"I always do it in England."<br> +"This is Italy."<br> +"Yes, but I'm older than you, and I'll settle."<br> +"I am your husband," he said, smiling. They had finished +their mid-day meal, and he wanted to go and sleep. Nothing would +rouse him up, until at last Lilia, getting more and more angry, +said, "And I've got the money."<br> +He looked horrified.<br> +Now was the moment to assert herself. She made the statement +again. He got up from his chair.<br> +"And you'd better mend your manners," she continued, "for +you'd find it awkward if I stopped drawing cheques."<br> +She was no reader of character, but she quickly became +alarmed. As she said to Perfetta afterwards, "None of his +clothes seemed to fit--too big in one place, too small in +another." His figure rather than his face altered, the shoulders +falling forward till his coat wrinkled across the back and pulled +away from his wrists. He seemed all arms. He edged round the +table to where she was sitting, and she sprang away and held the +chair between them, too frightened to speak or to move. He +looked at her with round, expressionless eyes, and slowly +stretched out his left hand.<br> +Perfetta was heard coming up from the kitchen. It seemed to +wake him up, and he turned away and went to his room without a +word.<br> +"What has happened?" cried Lilia, nearly fainting. "He is +ill--ill."<br> +Perfetta looked suspicious when she heard the account. "What +did you say to him?" She crossed herself.<br> +"Hardly anything," said Lilia and crossed herself also. Thus +did the two women pay homage to their outraged male.<br> +It was clear to Lilia at last that Gino had married her for +money. But he had frightened her too much to leave any place for +contempt. His return was terrifying, for he was frightened too, +imploring her pardon, lying at her feet, embracing her, murmuring +"It was not I," striving to define things which he did not +understand. He stopped in the house for three days, positively +ill with physical collapse. But for all his suffering he had +tamed her, and she never threatened to cut off supplies +again.<br> +Perhaps he kept her even closer than convention demanded. +But he was very young, and he could not bear it to be said of him +that he did not know how to treat a lady--or to manage a wife. +And his own social position was uncertain. Even in England a +dentist is a troublesome creature, whom careful people find +difficult to class. He hovers between the professions and the +trades; he may be only a little lower than the doctors, or he may +be down among the chemists, or even beneath them. The son of the +Italian dentist felt this too. For himself nothing mattered; he +made friends with the people he liked, for he was that glorious +invariable creature, a man. But his wife should visit nowhere +rather than visit wrongly: seclusion was both decent and safe. +The social ideals of North and South had had their brief +contention, and this time the South had won.<br> +It would have been well if he had been as strict over his own +behaviour as he was over hers. But the incongruity never +occurred to him for a moment. His morality was that of the +average Latin, and as he was suddenly placed in the position of a +gentleman, he did not see why he should not behave as such. Of +course, had Lilia been different--had she asserted herself and +got a grip on his character--he might possibly--though not +probably--have been made a better husband as well as a better +man, and at all events he could have adopted the attitude of the +Englishman, whose standard is higher even when his practice is +the same. But had Lilia been different she might not have +married him.<br> +The discovery of his infidelity--which she made by +accident--destroyed such remnants of self-satisfaction as her +life might yet possess. She broke down utterly and sobbed and +cried in Perfetta's arms. Perfetta was kind and even +sympathetic, but cautioned her on no account to speak to Gino, +who would be furious if he was suspected. And Lilia agreed, +partly because she was afraid of him, partly because it was, +after all, the best and most dignified thing to do. She had +given up everything for him--her daughter, her relatives, her +friends, all the little comforts and luxuries of a civilized +life--and even if she had the courage to break away, there was no +one who would receive her now. The Herritons had been almost +malignant in their efforts against her, and all her friends had +one by one fallen off. So it was better to live on humbly, +trying not to feel, endeavouring by a cheerful demeanour to put +things right. "Perhaps," she thought, "if I have a child he will +be different. I know he wants a son."<br> +Lilia had achieved pathos despite herself, for there are some +situations in which vulgarity counts no longer. Not Cordelia nor +Imogen more deserves our tears.<br> +She herself cried frequently, making herself look plain and +old, which distressed her husband. He was particularly kind to +her when he hardly ever saw her, and she accepted his kindness +without resentment, even with gratitude, so docile had she +become. She did not hate him, even as she had never loved him; +with her it was only when she was excited that the semblance of +either passion arose. People said she was headstrong, but really +her weak brain left her cold.<br> +Suffering, however, is more independent of temperament, and +the wisest of women could hardly have suffered more.<br> +As for Gino, he was quite as boyish as ever, and carried his +iniquities like a feather. A favourite speech of his was, "Ah, +one ought to marry! Spiridione is wrong; I must persuade him. +Not till marriage does one realize the pleasures and the +possibilities of life." So saying, he would take down his felt +hat, strike it in the right place as infallibly as a German +strikes his in the wrong place, and leave her.<br> +One evening, when he had gone out thus, Lilia could stand it +no longer. It was September. Sawston would be just filling up +after the summer holidays. People would be running in and out of +each other's houses all along the road. There were bicycle +gymkhanas, and on the 30th Mrs. Herriton would be holding the +annual bazaar in her garden for the C.M.S. It seemed impossible +that such a free, happy life could exist. She walked out on to +the loggia. Moonlight and stars in a soft purple sky. The walls +of Monteriano should be glorious on such a night as this. But +the house faced away from them.<br> +Perfetta was banging in the kitchen, and the stairs down led +past the kitchen door. But the stairs up to the attic--the +stairs no one ever used--opened out of the living-room, and by +unlocking the door at the top one might slip out to the square +terrace above the house, and thus for ten minutes walk in freedom +and peace.<br> +The key was in the pocket of Gino's best suit--the English +check--which he never wore. The stairs creaked and the key-hole +screamed; but Perfetta was growing deaf. The walls were +beautiful, but as they faced west they were in shadow. To see +the light upon them she must walk round the town a little, till +they were caught by the beams of the rising moon. She looked +anxiously at the house, and started.<br> +It was easy walking, for a little path ran all outside the +ramparts. The few people she met wished her a civil good-night, +taking her, in her hatless condition, for a peasant. The walls +trended round towards the moon; and presently she came into its +light, and saw all the rough towers turn into pillars of silver +and black, and the ramparts into cliffs of pearl. She had no +great sense of beauty, but she was sentimental, and she began to +cry; for here, where a great cypress interrupted the monotony of +the girdle of olives, she had sat with Gino one afternoon in +March, her head upon his shoulder, while Caroline was looking at +the view and sketching. Round the corner was the Siena gate, from +which the road to England started, and she could hear the rumble +of the diligence which was going down to catch the night train to +Empoli. The next moment it was upon her, for the highroad came +towards her a little before it began its long zigzag down the +hill.<br> +The driver slackened, and called to her to get in. He did +not know who she was. He hoped she might be coming to the +station.<br> +"Non vengo!" she cried.<br> +He wished her good-night, and turned his horses down the +corner. As the diligence came round she saw that it was +empty.<br> +"Vengo . . ."<br> +Her voice was tremulous, and did not carry. The horses swung +off.<br> +"Vengo! Vengo!"<br> +He had begun to sing, and heard nothing. She ran down the +road screaming to him to stop--that she was coming; while the +distance grew greater and the noise of the diligence increased. +The man's back was black and square against the moon, and if he +would but turn for an instant she would be saved. She tried to +cut off the corner of the zigzag, stumbling over the great clods +of earth, large and hard as rocks, which lay between the eternal +olives. She was too late; for, just before she regained the +road, the thing swept past her, thunderous, ploughing up choking +clouds of moonlit dust.<br> +She did not call any more, for she felt very ill, and +fainted; and when she revived she was lying in the road, with +dust in her eyes, and dust in her mouth, and dust down her ears. +There is something very terrible in dust at night-time.<br> +"What shall I do?" she moaned. "He will be so angry."<br> +And without further effort she slowly climbed back to +captivity, shaking her garments as she went.<br> +Ill luck pursued her to the end. It was one of the nights +when Gino happened to come in. He was in the kitchen, swearing +and smashing plates, while Perfetta, her apron over her head, was +weeping violently. At the sight of Lilia he turned upon her and +poured forth a flood of miscellaneous abuse. He was far more +angry but much less alarming than he had been that day when he +edged after her round the table. And Lilia gained more courage +from her bad conscience than she ever had from her good one, for +as he spoke she was seized with indignation and feared him no +longer, and saw him for a cruel, worthless, hypocritical, +dissolute upstart, and spoke in return.<br> +Perfetta screamed for she told him everything--all she knew +and all she thought. He stood with open mouth, all the anger +gone out of him, feeling ashamed, and an utter fool. He was +fairly and rightfully cornered. When had a husband so given +himself away before? She finished; and he was dumb, for she had +spoken truly. Then, alas! the absurdity of his own position +grew upon him, and he laughed--as he would have laughed at the +same situation on the stage.<br> +"You laugh?" stammered Lilia.<br> +"Ah!" he cried, "who could help it? I, who thought you knew +and saw nothing--I am tricked--I am conquered. I give in. Let +us talk of it no more."<br> +He touched her on the shoulder like a good comrade, half +amused and half penitent, and then, murmuring and smiling to +himself, ran quietly out of the room.<br> +Perfetta burst into congratulations. "What courage you +have!" she cried; "and what good fortune! He is angry no +longer! He has forgiven you!"<br> +Neither Perfetta, nor Gino, nor Lilia herself knew the true +reason of all the misery that followed. To the end he thought +that kindness and a little attention would be enough to set +things straight. His wife was a very ordinary woman, and why +should her ideas differ from his own? No one realized that more +than personalities were engaged; that the struggle was national; +that generations of ancestors, good, bad, or indifferent, forbad +the Latin man to be chivalrous to the northern woman, the +northern woman to forgive the Latin man. All this might have +been foreseen: Mrs. Herriton foresaw it from the first.<br> +Meanwhile Lilia prided herself on her high personal standard, +and Gino simply wondered why she did not come round. He hated +discomfort and yearned for sympathy, but shrank from mentioning +his difficulties in the town in case they were put down to his +own incompetence. Spiridione was told, and replied in a +philosophical but not very helpful letter. His other great +friend, whom he trusted more, was still serving in Eritrea or +some other desolate outpost. And, besides, what was the good of +letters? Friends cannot travel through the post.<br> +Lilia, so similar to her husband in many ways, yearned for +comfort and sympathy too. The night he laughed at her she wildly +took up paper and pen and wrote page after page, analysing his +character, enumerating his iniquities, reporting whole +conversations, tracing all the causes and the growth of her +misery. She was beside herself with passion, and though she +could hardly think or see, she suddenly attained to magnificence +and pathos which a practised stylist might have envied. It was +written like a diary, and not till its conclusion did she realize +for whom it was meant.<br> +"Irma, darling Irma, this letter is for you. I almost forgot +I have a daughter. It will make you unhappy, but I want you to +know everything, and you cannot learn things too soon. God bless +you, my dearest, and save you. God bless your miserable +mother."<br> +Fortunately Mrs. Herriton was in when the letter arrived. +She seized it and opened it in her bedroom. Another moment, and +Irma's placid childhood would have been destroyed for ever.<br> +Lilia received a brief note from Harriet, again forbidding +direct communication between mother and daughter, and concluding +with formal condolences. It nearly drove her mad.<br> +"Gently! gently!" said her husband. They were sitting +together on the loggia when the letter arrived. He often sat +with her now, watching her for hours, puzzled and anxious, but +not contrite.<br> +"It's nothing." She went in and tore it up, and then began +to write--a very short letter, whose gist was "Come and save +me."<br> +It is not good to see your wife crying when she +writes--especially if you are conscious that, on the whole, your +treatment of her has been reasonable and kind. It is not good, +when you accidentally look over her shoulder, to see that she is +writing to a man. Nor should she shake her fist at you when she +leaves the room, under the impression that you are engaged in +lighting a cigar and cannot see her.<br> +Lilia went to the post herself. But in Italy so many things +can be arranged. The postman was a friend of Gino's, and Mr. +Kingcroft never got his letter.<br> +So she gave up hope, became ill, and all through the autumn +lay in bed. Gino was distracted. She knew why; he wanted a +son. He could talk and think of nothing else. His one desire +was to become the father of a man like himself, and it held him +with a grip he only partially understood, for it was the first +great desire, the first great passion of his life. Falling in +love was a mere physical triviality, like warm sun or cool water, +beside this divine hope of immortality: "I continue." He gave +candles to Santa Deodata, for he was always religious at a +crisis, and sometimes he went to her himself and prayed the crude +uncouth demands of the simple. Impetuously he summoned all his +relatives back to bear him company in his time of need, and Lilia +saw strange faces flitting past her in the darkened room.<br> +"My love!" he would say, "my dearest Lilia! Be calm. I have +never loved any one but you."<br> +She, knowing everything, would only smile gently, too broken +by suffering to make sarcastic repartees.<br> +Before the child was born he gave her a kiss, and said, "I +have prayed all night for a boy."<br> +Some strangely tender impulse moved her, and she said +faintly, "You are a boy yourself, Gino."<br> +He answered, "Then we shall be brothers."<br> +He lay outside the room with his head against the door like a +dog. When they came to tell him the glad news they found him +half unconscious, and his face was wet with tears.<br> +As for Lilia, some one said to her, "It is a beautiful boy!" +But she had died in giving birth to him.</p> + +<hr size="0"> +<br> +<br> + + +<h3 align="CENTER">Chapter 5</h3> + +<p>At the time of Lilia's death Philip Herriton was just +twenty-four years of age--indeed the news reached Sawston on his +birthday. He was a tall, weakly-built young man, whose clothes +had to be judiciously padded on the shoulders in order to make +him pass muster. His face was plain rather than not, and there +was a curious mixture in it of good and bad. He had a fine +forehead and a good large nose, and both observation and sympathy +were in his eyes. But below the nose and eyes all was confusion, +and those people who believe that destiny resides in the mouth +and chin shook their heads when they looked at him.<br> +Philip himself, as a boy, had been keenly conscious of these +defects. Sometimes when he had been bullied or hustled about at +school he would retire to his cubicle and examine his features in +a looking-glass, and he would sigh and say, "It is a weak face. +I shall never carve a place for myself in the world." But as +years went on he became either less self-conscious or more +self-satisfied. The world, he found, made a niche for him as it +did for every one. Decision of character might come later--or he +might have it without knowing. At all events he had got a sense +of beauty and a sense of humour, two most desirable gifts. The +sense of beauty developed first. It caused him at the age of +twenty to wear parti-coloured ties and a squashy hat, to be late +for dinner on account of the sunset, and to catch art from +Burne-Jones to Praxiteles. At twenty-two he went to Italy with +some cousins, and there he absorbed into one æsthetic whole +olive-trees, blue sky, frescoes, country inns, saints, peasants, +mosaics, statues, beggars. He came back with the air of a +prophet who would either remodel Sawston or reject it. All the +energies and enthusiasms of a rather friendless life had passed +into the championship of beauty.<br> +In a short time it was over. Nothing had happened either in +Sawston or within himself. He had shocked half-a-dozen people, +squabbled with his sister, and bickered with his mother. He +concluded that nothing could happen, not knowing that human love +and love of truth sometimes conquer where love of beauty +fails.<br> +A little disenchanted, a little tired, but æsthetically +intact, he resumed his placid life, relying more and more on his +second gift, the gift of humour. If he could not reform the +world, he could at all events laugh at it, thus attaining at +least an intellectual superiority. Laughter, he read and +believed, was a sign of good moral health, and he laughed on +contentedly, till Lilia's marriage toppled contentment down for +ever. Italy, the land of beauty, was ruined for him. She had no +power to change men and things who dwelt in her. She, too, could +produce avarice, brutality, stupidity--and, what was worse, +vulgarity. It was on her soil and through her influence that a +silly woman had married a cad. He hated Gino, the betrayer of +his life's ideal, and now that the sordid tragedy had come, it +filled him with pangs, not of sympathy, but of final +disillusion.<br> +The disillusion was convenient for Mrs. Herriton, who saw a +trying little period ahead of her, and was glad to have her +family united.<br> +"Are we to go into mourning, do you think?" She always asked +her children's advice where possible.<br> +Harriet thought that they should. She had been detestable to +Lilia while she lived, but she always felt that the dead deserve +attention and sympathy. "After all she has suffered. That +letter kept me awake for nights. The whole thing is like one of +those horrible modern plays where no one is in 'the right.' But +if we have mourning, it will mean telling Irma."<br> +"Of course we must tell Irma!" said Philip.<br> +"Of course," said his mother. "But I think we can still not +tell her about Lilia's marriage."<br> +"I don't think that. And she must have suspected something +by now."<br> +"So one would have supposed. But she never cared for her +mother, and little girls of nine don't reason clearly. She looks +on it as a long visit. And it is important, most important, that +she should not receive a shock. All a child's life depends on +the ideal it has of its parents. Destroy that and everything +goes--morals, behaviour, everything. Absolute trust in some one +else is the essence of education. That is why I have been so +careful about talking of poor Lilia before her."<br> +"But you forget this wretched baby. Waters and Adamson write +that there is a baby."<br> +"Mrs. Theobald must be told. But she doesn't count. She is +breaking up very quickly. She doesn't even see Mr. Kingcroft +now. He, thank goodness, I hear, has at last consoled himself +with someone else."<br> +"The child must know some time," persisted Philip, who felt a +little displeased, though he could not tell with what.<br> +"The later the better. Every moment she is developing."<br> +"I must say it seems rather hard luck, doesn't it?"<br> +"On Irma? Why?"<br> +"On us, perhaps. We have morals and behaviour also, and I +don't think this continual secrecy improves them."<br> +"There's no need to twist the thing round to that," said +Harriet, rather disturbed.<br> +"Of course there isn't," said her mother. "Let's keep to the +main issue. This baby's quite beside the point. Mrs. Theobald +will do nothing, and it's no concern of ours."<br> +"It will make a difference in the money, surely," said +he.<br> +"No, dear; very little. Poor Charles provided for every kind +of contingency in his will. The money will come to you and +Harriet, as Irma's guardians."<br> +"Good. Does the Italian get anything?"<br> +"He will get all hers. But you know what that is."<br> +"Good. So those are our tactics--to tell no one about the +baby, not even Miss Abbott."<br> +"Most certainly this is the proper course," said Mrs. +Herriton, preferring "course" to "tactics" for Harriet's sake. +"And why ever should we tell Caroline?"<br> +"She was so mixed up in the affair."<br> +"Poor silly creature. The less she hears about it the better +she will be pleased. I have come to be very sorry for Caroline. +She, if any one, has suffered and been penitent. She burst into +tears when I told her a little, only a little, of that terrible +letter. I never saw such genuine remorse. We must forgive her +and forget. Let the dead bury their dead. We will not trouble +her with them."<br> +Philip saw that his mother was scarcely logical. But there +was no advantage in saying so. "Here beginneth the New Life, +then. Do you remember, mother, that was what we said when we saw +Lilia off?"<br> +"Yes, dear; but now it is really a New Life, because we are +all at accord. Then you were still infatuated with Italy. It +may be full of beautiful pictures and churches, but we cannot +judge a country by anything but its men."<br> +"That is quite true," he said sadly. And as the tactics were +now settled, he went out and took an aimless and solitary +walk.<br> +By the time he came back two important things had happened. +Irma had been told of her mother's death, and Miss Abbott, who +had called for a subscription, had been told also.<br> +Irma had wept loudly, had asked a few sensible questions and +a good many silly ones, and had been content with evasive +answers. Fortunately the school prize-giving was at hand, and +that, together with the prospect of new black clothes, kept her +from meditating on the fact that Lilia, who had been absent so +long, would now be absent for ever.<br> +"As for Caroline," said Mrs. Herriton, "I was almost +frightened. She broke down utterly. She cried even when she +left the house. I comforted her as best I could, and I kissed +her. It is something that the breach between her and ourselves +is now entirely healed."<br> +"Did she ask no questions--as to the nature of Lilia's death, +I mean?"<br> +"She did. But she has a mind of extraordinary delicacy. She +saw that I was reticent, and she did not press me. You see, +Philip, I can say to you what I could not say before Harriet. +Her ideas are so crude. Really we do not want it known in +Sawston that there is a baby. All peace and comfort would be +lost if people came inquiring after it."<br> +His mother knew how to manage him. He agreed +enthusiastically. And a few days later, when he chanced to +travel up to London with Miss Abbott, he had all the time the +pleasant thrill of one who is better informed. Their last +journey together had been from Monteriano back across Europe. It +had been a ghastly journey, and Philip, from the force of +association, rather expected something ghastly now.<br> +He was surprised. Miss Abbott, between Sawston and Charing +Cross, revealed qualities which he had never guessed her to +possess. Without being exactly original, she did show a +commendable intelligence, and though at times she was gauche and +even uncourtly, he felt that here was a person whom it might be +well to cultivate.<br> +At first she annoyed him. They were talking, of course, +about Lilia, when she broke the thread of vague commiseration and +said abruptly, "It is all so strange as well as so tragic. And +what I did was as strange as anything."<br> +It was the first reference she had ever made to her +contemptible behaviour. "Never mind," he said. "It's all over +now. Let the dead bury their dead. It's fallen out of our +lives."<br> +"But that's why I can talk about it and tell you everything I +have always wanted to. You thought me stupid and sentimental and +wicked and mad, but you never really knew how much I was to +blame."<br> +"Indeed I never think about it now," said Philip gently. He +knew that her nature was in the main generous and upright: it was +unnecessary for her to reveal her thoughts.<br> +"The first evening we got to Monteriano," she persisted, +"Lilia went out for a walk alone, saw that Italian in a +picturesque position on a wall, and fell in love. He was +shabbily dressed, and she did not even know he was the son of a +dentist. I must tell you I was used to this sort of thing. Once +or twice before I had had to send people about their +business."<br> +"Yes; we counted on you," said Philip, with sudden +sharpness. After all, if she would reveal her thoughts, she must +take the consequences.<br> +"I know you did," she retorted with equal sharpness. "Lilia +saw him several times again, and I knew I ought to interfere. I +called her to my bedroom one night. She was very frightened, for +she knew what it was about and how severe I could be. 'Do you +love this man?' I asked. 'Yes or no?' She said 'Yes.' And I +said, 'Why don't you marry him if you think you'll be happy?' +"<br> +"Really--really," exploded Philip, as exasperated as if the +thing had happened yesterday. "You knew Lilia all your life. +Apart from everything else--as if she could choose what could +make her happy!"<br> +"Had you ever let her choose?" she flashed out. "I'm afraid +that's rude," she added, trying to calm herself.<br> +"Let us rather say unhappily expressed," said Philip, who +always adopted a dry satirical manner when he was puzzled.<br> +"I want to finish. Next morning I found Signor Carella and +said the same to him. He--well, he was willing. That's +all."<br> +"And the telegram?" He looked scornfully out of the +window.<br> +Hitherto her voice had been hard, possibly in +self-accusation, possibly in defiance. Now it became +unmistakably sad. "Ah, the telegram! That was wrong. Lilia +there was more cowardly than I was. We should have told the +truth. It lost me my nerve, at all events. I came to the +station meaning to tell you everything then. But we had started +with a lie, and I got frightened. And at the end, when you left, +I got frightened again and came with you."<br> +"Did you really mean to stop?"<br> +"For a time, at all events."<br> +"Would that have suited a newly married pair?"<br> +"It would have suited them. Lilia needed me. And as for +him--I can't help feeling I might have got influence over +him."<br> +"I am ignorant of these matters," said Philip; "but I should +have thought that would have increased the difficulty of the +situation."<br> +The crisp remark was wasted on her. She looked hopelessly at +the raw over-built country, and said, "Well, I have +explained."<br> +"But pardon me, Miss Abbott; of most of your conduct you have +given a description rather than an explanation."<br> +He had fairly caught her, and expected that she would gape +and collapse. To his surprise she answered with some spirit, "An +explanation may bore you, Mr. Herriton: it drags in other +topics."<br> +"Oh, never mind."<br> +"I hated Sawston, you see."<br> +He was delighted. "So did and do I. That's splendid. Go +on."<br> +"I hated the idleness, the stupidity, the respectability, the +petty unselfishness."<br> +"Petty selfishness," he corrected. Sawston psychology had +long been his specialty.<br> +"Petty unselfishness," she repeated. "I had got an idea that +every one here spent their lives in making little sacrifices for +objects they didn't care for, to please people they didn't love; +that they never learnt to be sincere--and, what's as bad, never +learnt how to enjoy themselves. That's what I thought--what I +thought at Monteriano."<br> +"Why, Miss Abbott," he cried, "you should have told me this +before! Think it still! I agree with lots of it. +Magnificent!"<br> +"Now Lilia," she went on, "though there were things about her +I didn't like, had somehow kept the power of enjoying herself +with sincerity. And Gino, I thought, was splendid, and young, +and strong not only in body, and sincere as the day. If they +wanted to marry, why shouldn't they do so? Why shouldn't she +break with the deadening life where she had got into a groove, +and would go on in it, getting more and more--worse than +unhappy--apathetic till she died? Of course I was wrong. She +only changed one groove for another--a worse groove. And as for +him--well, you know more about him than I do. I can never trust +myself to judge characters again. But I still feel he cannot +have been quite bad when we first met him. Lilia--that I should +dare to say it!--must have been cowardly. He was only a +boy--just going to turn into something fine, I thought--and she +must have mismanaged him. So that is the one time I have gone +against what is proper, and there are the results. You have an +explanation now."<br> +"And much of it has been most interesting, though I don't +understand everything. Did you never think of the disparity of +their social position?"<br> +"We were mad--drunk with rebellion. We had no common-sense. +As soon as you came, you saw and foresaw everything."<br> +"Oh, I don't think that." He was vaguely displeased at being +credited with common-sense. For a moment Miss Abbott had seemed +to him more unconventional than himself.<br> +"I hope you see," she concluded, "why I have troubled you +with this long story. Women--I heard you say the other day--are +never at ease till they tell their faults out loud. Lilia is +dead and her husband gone to the bad--all through me. You see, +Mr. Herriton, it makes me specially unhappy; it's the only time +I've ever gone into what my father calls 'real life'--and look +what I've made of it! All that winter I seemed to be waking up +to beauty and splendour and I don't know what; and when the +spring came, I wanted to fight against the things I +hated--mediocrity and dulness and spitefulness and society. I +actually hated society for a day or two at Monteriano. I didn't +see that all these things are invincible, and that if we go +against them they will break us to pieces. Thank you for +listening to so much nonsense."<br> +"Oh, I quite sympathize with what you say," said Philip +encouragingly; "it isn't nonsense, and a year or two ago I should +have been saying it too. But I feel differently now, and I hope +that you also will change. Society is invincible--to a certain +degree. But your real life is your own, and nothing can touch +it. There is no power on earth that can prevent your criticizing +and despising mediocrity--nothing that can stop you retreating +into splendour and beauty--into the thoughts and beliefs that +make the real life--the real you."<br> +"I have never had that experience yet. Surely I and my life +must be where I live."<br> +Evidently she had the usual feminine incapacity for grasping +philosophy. But she had developed quite a personality, and he +must see more of her. "There is another great consolation +against invincible mediocrity," he said--"the meeting a +fellow-victim. I hope that this is only the first of many +discussions that we shall have together."<br> +She made a suitable reply. The train reached Charing Cross, +and they parted,--he to go to a matinée, she to buy +petticoats for the corpulent poor. Her thoughts wandered as she +bought them: the gulf between herself and Mr. Herriton, which she +had always known to be great, now seemed to her immeasurable.<br> +These events and conversations took place at Christmas-time. +The New Life initiated by them lasted some seven months. Then a +little incident--a mere little vexatious incident--brought it to +its close.<br> +Irma collected picture post-cards, and Mrs. Herriton or +Harriet always glanced first at all that came, lest the child +should get hold of something vulgar. On this occasion the +subject seemed perfectly inoffensive--a lot of ruined factory +chimneys--and Harriet was about to hand it to her niece when her +eye was caught by the words on the margin. She gave a shriek and +flung the card into the grate. Of course no fire was alight in +July, and Irma only had to run and pick it out again.<br> +"How dare you!" screamed her aunt. "You wicked girl! Give +it here!"<br> +Unfortunately Mrs. Herriton was out of the room. Irma, who +was not in awe of Harriet, danced round the table, reading as she +did so, "View of the superb city of Monteriano--from your lital +brother."<br> +Stupid Harriet caught her, boxed her ears, and tore the +post-card into fragments. Irma howled with pain, and began +shouting indignantly, "Who is my little brother? Why have I +never heard of him before? Grandmamma! Grandmamma! Who is my +little brother? Who is my--"<br> +Mrs. Herriton swept into the room, saying, "Come with me, +dear, and I will tell you. Now it is time for you to know."<br> +Irma returned from the interview sobbing, though, as a matter +of fact, she had learnt very little. But that little took hold +of her imagination. She had promised secrecy--she knew not why. +But what harm in talking of the little brother to those who had +heard of him already?<br> +"Aunt Harriet!" she would say. "Uncle Phil! Grandmamma! +What do you suppose my little brother is doing now? Has he begun +to play? Do Italian babies talk sooner than us, or would he be +an English baby born abroad? Oh, I do long to see him, and be +the first to teach him the Ten Commandments and the +Catechism."<br> +The last remark always made Harriet look grave.<br> +"Really," exclaimed Mrs. Herriton, "Irma is getting too +tiresome. She forgot poor Lilia soon enough."<br> +"A living brother is more to her than a dead mother," said +Philip dreamily. "She can knit him socks."<br> +"I stopped that. She is bringing him in everywhere. It is +most vexatious. The other night she asked if she might include +him in the people she mentions specially in her prayers."<br> +"What did you say?"<br> +"Of course I allowed her," she replied coldly. "She has a +right to mention any one she chooses. But I was annoyed with her +this morning, and I fear that I showed it."<br> +"And what happened this morning?"<br> +"She asked if she could pray for her 'new father'--for the +Italian!"<br> +"Did you let her?"<br> +"I got up without saying anything."<br> +"You must have felt just as you did when I wanted to pray for +the devil."<br> +"He is the devil," cried Harriet.<br> +"No, Harriet; he is too vulgar."<br> +"I will thank you not to scoff against religion!" was +Harriet's retort. "Think of that poor baby. Irma is right to +pray for him. What an entrance into life for an English +child!"<br> +"My dear sister, I can reassure you. Firstly, the beastly +baby is Italian. Secondly, it was promptly christened at Santa +Deodata's, and a powerful combination of saints watch over--"<br> +"Don't, dear. And, Harriet, don't be so serious--I mean not +so serious when you are with Irma. She will be worse than ever +if she thinks we have something to hide."<br> +Harriet's conscience could be quite as tiresome as Philip's +unconventionality. Mrs. Herriton soon made it easy for her +daughter to go for six weeks to the Tirol. Then she and Philip +began to grapple with Irma alone.<br> +Just as they had got things a little quiet the beastly baby +sent another picture post-card--a comic one, not particularly +proper. Irma received it while they were out, and all the +trouble began again.<br> +"I cannot think," said Mrs. Herriton, "what his motive is in +sending them."<br> +Two years before, Philip would have said that the motive was +to give pleasure. Now he, like his mother, tried to think of +something sinister and subtle.<br> +"Do you suppose that he guesses the situation--how anxious we +are to hush the scandal up?"<br> +"That is quite possible. He knows that Irma will worry us +about the baby. Perhaps he hopes that we shall adopt it to quiet +her."<br> +"Hopeful indeed."<br> +"At the same time he has the chance of corrupting the child's +morals." She unlocked a drawer, took out the post-card, and +regarded it gravely. "He entreats her to send the baby one," was +her next remark.<br> +"She might do it too!"<br> +"I told her not to; but we must watch her carefully, without, +of course, appearing to be suspicious."<br> +Philip was getting to enjoy his mother's diplomacy. He did +not think of his own morals and behaviour any more.<br> +"Who's to watch her at school, though? She may bubble out +any moment."<br> +"We can but trust to our influence," said Mrs. Herriton.<br> +Irma did bubble out, that very day. She was proof against a +single post-card, not against two. A new little brother is a +valuable sentimental asset to a school-girl, and her school was +then passing through an acute phase of baby-worship. Happy the +girl who had her quiver full of them, who kissed them when she +left home in the morning, who had the right to extricate them +from mail-carts in the interval, who dangled them at tea ere they +retired to rest! That one might sing the unwritten song of +Miriam, blessed above all school-girls, who was allowed to hide +her baby brother in a squashy place, where none but herself could +find him!<br> +How could Irma keep silent when pretentious girls spoke of +baby cousins and baby visitors--she who had a baby brother, who +wrote her post-cards through his dear papa? She had promised not +to tell about him--she knew not why--and she told. And one girl +told another, and one girl told her mother, and the thing was +out.<br> +"Yes, it is all very sad," Mrs. Herriton kept saying. "My +daughter-in-law made a very unhappy marriage, as I dare say you +know. I suppose that the child will be educated in Italy. +Possibly his grandmother may be doing something, but I have not +heard of it. I do not expect that she will have him over. She +disapproves of the father. It is altogether a painful business +for her."<br> +She was careful only to scold Irma for disobedience--that +eighth deadly sin, so convenient to parents and guardians. +Harriet would have plunged into needless explanations and abuse. +The child was ashamed, and talked about the baby less. The end +of the school year was at hand, and she hoped to get another +prize. But she also had put her hand to the wheel.<br> +It was several days before they saw Miss Abbott. Mrs. +Herriton had not come across her much since the kiss of +reconciliation, nor Philip since the journey to London. She had, +indeed, been rather a disappointment to him. Her creditable +display of originality had never been repeated: he feared she was +slipping back. Now she came about the Cottage Hospital--her life +was devoted to dull acts of charity--and though she got money out +of him and out of his mother, she still sat tight in her chair, +looking graver and more wooden than ever.<br> +"I dare say you have heard," said Mrs. Herriton, well knowing +what the matter was.<br> +"Yes, I have. I came to ask you; have any steps been +taken?"<br> +Philip was astonished. The question was impertinent in the +extreme. He had a regard for Miss Abbott, and regretted that she +had been guilty of it.<br> +"About the baby?" asked Mrs. Herriton pleasantly.<br> +"Yes."<br> +"As far as I know, no steps. Mrs. Theobald may have decided +on something, but I have not heard of it."<br> +"I was meaning, had you decided on anything?"<br> +"The child is no relation of ours," said Philip. "It is +therefore scarcely for us to interfere."<br> +His mother glanced at him nervously. "Poor Lilia was almost +a daughter to me once. I know what Miss Abbott means. But now +things have altered. Any initiative would naturally come from +Mrs. Theobald."<br> +"But does not Mrs. Theobald always take any initiative from +you?" asked Miss Abbott.<br> +Mrs. Herriton could not help colouring. "I sometimes have +given her advice in the past. I should not presume to do so +now."<br> +"Then is nothing to be done for the child at all?"<br> +"It is extraordinarily good of you to take this unexpected +interest," said Philip.<br> +"The child came into the world through my negligence," +replied Miss Abbott. "It is natural I should take an interest in +it."<br> +"My dear Caroline," said Mrs. Herriton, "you must not brood +over the thing. Let bygones be bygones. The child should worry +you even less than it worries us. We never even mention it. It +belongs to another world."<br> +Miss Abbott got up without replying and turned to go. Her +extreme gravity made Mrs. Herriton uneasy. "Of course," she +added, "if Mrs. Theobald decides on any plan that seems at all +practicable--I must say I don't see any such--I shall ask if I +may join her in it, for Irma's sake, and share in any possible +expenses."<br> +"Please would you let me know if she decides on anything. I +should like to join as well."<br> +"My dear, how you throw about your money! We would never +allow it."<br> +"And if she decides on nothing, please also let me know. Let +me know in any case."<br> +Mrs. Herriton made a point of kissing her.<br> +"Is the young person mad?" burst out Philip as soon as she +had departed. "Never in my life have I seen such colossal +impertinence. She ought to be well smacked, and sent back to +Sunday-school."<br> +His mother said nothing.<br> +"But don't you see--she is practically threatening us? You +can't put her off with Mrs. Theobald; she knows as well as we do +that she is a nonentity. If we don't do anything she's going to +raise a scandal--that we neglect our relatives, &c., which +is, of course, a lie. Still she'll say it. Oh, dear, sweet, +sober Caroline Abbott has a screw loose! We knew it at +Monteriano. I had my suspicions last year one day in the train; +and here it is again. The young person is mad."<br> +She still said nothing.<br> +"Shall I go round at once and give it her well? I'd really +enjoy it."<br> +In a low, serious voice--such a voice as she had not used to +him for months--Mrs. Herriton said, "Caroline has been extremely +impertinent. Yet there may be something in what she says after +all. Ought the child to grow up in that place--and with that +father?"<br> +Philip started and shuddered. He saw that his mother was not +sincere. Her insincerity to others had amused him, but it was +disheartening when used against himself.<br> +"Let us admit frankly," she continued, "that after all we may +have responsibilities."<br> +"I don't understand you, Mother. You are turning absolutely +round. What are you up to?"<br> +In one moment an impenetrable barrier had been erected +between them. They were no longer in smiling confidence. Mrs. +Herriton was off on tactics of her own--tactics which might be +beyond or beneath him.<br> +His remark offended her. "Up to? I am wondering whether I +ought not to adopt the child. Is that sufficiently plain?"<br> +"And this is the result of half-a-dozen idiocies of Miss +Abbott?"<br> +"It is. I repeat, she has been extremely impertinent. None +the less she is showing me my duty. If I can rescue poor Lilia's +baby from that horrible man, who will bring it up either as +Papist or infidel--who will certainly bring it up to be +vicious--I shall do it."<br> +"You talk like Harriet."<br> +"And why not?" said she, flushing at what she knew to be an +insult. "Say, if you choose, that I talk like Irma. That child +has seen the thing more clearly than any of us. She longs for +her little brother. She shall have him. I don't care if I am +impulsive."<br> +He was sure that she was not impulsive, but did not dare to +say so. Her ability frightened him. All his life he had been +her puppet. She let him worship Italy, and reform Sawston--just +as she had let Harriet be Low Church. She had let him talk as +much as he liked. But when she wanted a thing she always got +it.<br> +And though she was frightening him, she did not inspire him +with reverence. Her life, he saw, was without meaning. To what +purpose was her diplomacy, her insincerity, her continued +repression of vigour? Did they make any one better or happier? +Did they even bring happiness to herself? Harriet with her +gloomy peevish creed, Lilia with her clutches after pleasure, +were after all more divine than this well-ordered, active, +useless machine.<br> +Now that his mother had wounded his vanity he could criticize +her thus. But he could not rebel. To the end of his days he +could probably go on doing what she wanted. He watched with a +cold interest the duel between her and Miss Abbott. Mrs. +Herriton's policy only appeared gradually. It was to prevent +Miss Abbott interfering with the child at all costs, and if +possible to prevent her at a small cost. Pride was the only +solid element in her disposition. She could not bear to seem +less charitable than others.<br> +"I am planning what can be done," she would tell people, "and +that kind Caroline Abbott is helping me. It is no business of +either of us, but we are getting to feel that the baby must not +be left entirely to that horrible man. It would be unfair to +little Irma; after all, he is her half-brother. No, we have come +to nothing definite."<br> +Miss Abbott was equally civil, but not to be appeased by good +intentions. The child's welfare was a sacred duty to her, not a +matter of pride or even of sentiment. By it alone, she felt, +could she undo a little of the evil that she had permitted to +come into the world. To her imagination Monteriano had become a +magic city of vice, beneath whose towers no person could grow up +happy or pure. Sawston, with its semi-detached houses and snobby +schools, its book teas and bazaars, was certainly petty and dull; +at times she found it even contemptible. But it was not a place +of sin, and at Sawston, either with the Herritons or with +herself, the baby should grow up.<br> +As soon as it was inevitable, Mrs. Herriton wrote a letter +for Waters and Adamson to send to Gino--the oddest letter; Philip +saw a copy of it afterwards. Its ostensible purpose was to +complain of the picture postcards. Right at the end, in a few +nonchalant sentences, she offered to adopt the child, provided +that Gino would undertake never to come near it, and would +surrender some of Lilia's money for its education.<br> +"What do you think of it?" she asked her son. "It would not +do to let him know that we are anxious for it."<br> +"Certainly he will never suppose that."<br> +"But what effect will the letter have on him?"<br> +"When he gets it he will do a sum. If it is less expensive +in the long run to part with a little money and to be clear of +the baby, he will part with it. If he would lose, he will adopt +the tone of the loving father."<br> +"Dear, you're shockingly cynical." After a pause she added, +"How would the sum work out?"<br> +"I don't know, I'm sure. But if you wanted to ensure the +baby being posted by return, you should have sent a little sum to +<em>him</em>. Oh, I'm not cynical--at least I only go by what I +know of him. But I am weary of the whole show. Weary of Italy. +Weary, weary, weary. Sawston's a kind, pitiful place, isn't it? +I will go walk in it and seek comfort."<br> +He smiled as he spoke, for the sake of not appearing +serious. When he had left her she began to smile also.<br> +It was to the Abbotts' that he walked. Mr. Abbott offered +him tea, and Caroline, who was keeping up her Italian in the next +room, came in to pour it out. He told them that his mother had +written to Signor Carella, and they both uttered fervent wishes +for her success.<br> +"Very fine of Mrs. Herriton, very fine indeed," said Mr. +Abbott, who, like every one else, knew nothing of his daughter's +exasperating behaviour. "I'm afraid it will mean a lot of +expense. She will get nothing out of Italy without paying."<br> +"There are sure to be incidental expenses," said Philip +cautiously. Then he turned to Miss Abbott and said, "Do you +suppose we shall have difficulty with the man?"<br> +"It depends," she replied, with equal caution.<br> +"From what you saw of him, should you conclude that he would +make an affectionate parent?"<br> +"I don't go by what I saw of him, but by what I know of +him."<br> +"Well, what do you conclude from that?"<br> +"That he is a thoroughly wicked man."<br> +"Yet thoroughly wicked men have loved their children. Look +at Rodrigo Borgia, for example."<br> +"I have also seen examples of that in my district."<br> +With this remark the admirable young woman rose, and returned +to keep up her Italian. She puzzled Philip extremely. He could +understand enthusiasm, but she did not seem the least +enthusiastic. He could understand pure cussedness, but it did +not seem to be that either. Apparently she was deriving neither +amusement nor profit from the struggle. Why, then, had she +undertaken it? Perhaps she was not sincere. Perhaps, on the +whole, that was most likely. She must be professing one thing +and aiming at another. What the other thing could be he did not +stop to consider. Insincerity was becoming his stock explanation +for anything unfamiliar, whether that thing was a kindly action +or a high ideal.<br> +"She fences well," he said to his mother afterwards.<br> +"What had you to fence about?" she said suavely. Her son +might know her tactics, but she refused to admit that he knew. +She still pretended to him that the baby was the one thing she +wanted, and had always wanted, and that Miss Abbott was her +valued ally.<br> +And when, next week, the reply came from Italy, she showed +him no face of triumph. "Read the letters," she said. "We have +failed."<br> +Gino wrote in his own language, but the solicitors had sent a +laborious English translation, where "Preghiatissima Signora" was +rendered as "Most Praiseworthy Madam," and every delicate +compliment and superlative--superlatives are delicate in +Italian--would have felled an ox. For a moment Philip forgot the +matter in the manner; this grotesque memorial of the land he had +loved moved him almost to tears. He knew the originals of these +lumbering phrases; he also had sent "sincere auguries"; he also +had addressed letters--who writes at home?--from the +Caffè Garibaldi. "I didn't know I was still such an ass," +he thought. "Why can't I realize that it's merely tricks of +expression? A bounder's a bounder, whether he lives in Sawston +or Monteriano."<br> +"Isn't it disheartening?" said his mother.<br> +He then read that Gino could not accept the generous offer. +His paternal heart would not permit him to abandon this symbol of +his deplored spouse. As for the picture post-cards, it +displeased him greatly that they had been obnoxious. He would +send no more. Would Mrs. Herriton, with her notorious kindness, +explain this to Irma, and thank her for those which Irma +(courteous Miss!) had sent to him?<br> +"The sum works out against us," said Philip. "Or perhaps he +is putting up the price."<br> +"No," said Mrs. Herriton decidedly. "It is not that. For +some perverse reason he will not part with the child. I must go +and tell poor Caroline. She will be equally distressed."<br> +She returned from the visit in the most extraordinary +condition. Her face was red, she panted for breath, there were +dark circles round her eyes.<br> +"The impudence!" she shouted. "The cursed impudence! Oh, +I'm swearing. I don't care. That beastly woman--how dare she +interfere--I'll--Philip, dear, I'm sorry. It's no good. You +must go."<br> +"Go where? Do sit down. What's happened?" This outburst of +violence from his elegant ladylike mother pained him dreadfully. +He had not known that it was in her.<br> +"She won't accept--won't accept the letter as final. You +must go to Monteriano!"<br> +"I won't!" he shouted back. "I've been and I've failed. +I'll never see the place again. I hate Italy."<br> +"If you don't go, she will."<br> +"Abbott?"<br> +"Yes. Going alone; would start this evening. I offered to +write; she said it was 'too late!' Too late! The child, if you +please--Irma's brother--to live with her, to be brought up by her +and her father at our very gates, to go to school like a +gentleman, she paying. Oh, you're a man! It doesn't matter for +you. You can laugh. But I know what people say; and that woman +goes to Italy this evening."<br> +He seemed to be inspired. "Then let her go! Let her mess +with Italy by herself. She'll come to grief somehow. Italy's +too dangerous, too--"<br> +"Stop that nonsense, Philip. I will not be disgraced by +her. I <em>will</em> have the child. Pay all we've got for it. +I will have it."<br> +"Let her go to Italy!" he cried. "Let her meddle with what +she doesn't understand! Look at this letter! The man who wrote +it will marry her, or murder her, or do for her somehow. He's a +bounder, but he's not an English bounder. He's mysterious and +terrible. He's got a country behind him that's upset people from +the beginning of the world."<br> +"Harriet!" exclaimed his mother. "Harriet shall go too. +Harriet, now, will be invaluable!" And before Philip had stopped +talking nonsense, she had planned the whole thing and was looking +out the trains.</p> + +<hr size="0"> +<br> +<br> + + +<h3 align="CENTER">Chapter 6</h3> + +<p>Italy, Philip had always maintained, is only her true self in +the height of the summer, when the tourists have left her, and +her soul awakes under the beams of a vertical sun. He now had +every opportunity of seeing her at her best, for it was nearly +the middle of August before he went out to meet Harriet in the +Tirol.<br> +He found his sister in a dense cloud five thousand feet above +the sea, chilled to the bone, overfed, bored, and not at all +unwilling to be fetched away.<br> +"It upsets one's plans terribly," she remarked, as she +squeezed out her sponges, "but obviously it is my duty."<br> +"Did mother explain it all to you?" asked Philip.<br> +"Yes, indeed! Mother has written me a really beautiful +letter. She describes how it was that she gradually got to feel +that we must rescue the poor baby from its terrible surroundings, +how she has tried by letter, and it is no good--nothing but +insincere compliments and hypocrisy came back. Then she says, +'There is nothing like personal influence; you and Philip will +succeed where I have failed.' She says, too, that Caroline Abbott +has been wonderful."<br> +Philip assented.<br> +"Caroline feels it as keenly almost as us. That is because +she knows the man. Oh, he must be loathsome! Goodness me! I've +forgotten to pack the ammonia! . . . It has been a terrible +lesson for Caroline, but I fancy it is her turning-point. I +can't help liking to think that out of all this evil good will +come."<br> +Philip saw no prospect of good, nor of beauty either. But +the expedition promised to be highly comic. He was not averse to +it any longer; he was simply indifferent to all in it except the +humours. These would be wonderful. Harriet, worked by her +mother; Mrs. Herriton, worked by Miss Abbott; Gino, worked by a +cheque--what better entertainment could he desire? There was +nothing to distract him this time; his sentimentality had died, +so had his anxiety for the family honour. He might be a puppet's +puppet, but he knew exactly the disposition of the strings.<br> +They travelled for thirteen hours down-hill, whilst the +streams broadened and the mountains shrank, and the vegetation +changed, and the people ceased being ugly and drinking beer, and +began instead to drink wine and to be beautiful. And the train +which had picked them at sunrise out of a waste of glaciers and +hotels was waltzing at sunset round the walls of Verona.<br> +"Absurd nonsense they talk about the heat," said Philip, as +they drove from the station. "Supposing we were here for +pleasure, what could be more pleasurable than this?"<br> +"Did you hear, though, they are remarking on the cold?" said +Harriet nervously. "I should never have thought it cold."<br> +And on the second day the heat struck them, like a hand laid +over the mouth, just as they were walking to see the tomb of +Juliet. From that moment everything went wrong. They fled from +Verona. Harriet's sketch-book was stolen, and the bottle of +ammonia in her trunk burst over her prayer-book, so that purple +patches appeared on all her clothes. Then, as she was going +through Mantua at four in the morning, Philip made her look out +of the window because it was Virgil's birthplace, and a smut flew +in her eye, and Harriet with a smut in her eye was notorious. At +Bologna they stopped twenty-four hours to rest. It was a +<em>festa</em>, and children blew bladder whistles night and +day. "What a religion!" said Harriet. The hotel smelt, two +puppies were asleep on her bed, and her bedroom window looked +into a belfry, which saluted her slumbering form every quarter of +an hour. Philip left his walking-stick, his socks, and the +Baedeker at Bologna; she only left her sponge-bag. Next day they +crossed the Apennines with a train-sick child and a hot lady, who +told them that never, never before had she sweated so profusely. +"Foreigners are a filthy nation," said Harriet. "I don't care if +there are tunnels; open the windows." He obeyed, and she got +another smut in her eye. Nor did Florence improve matters. +Eating, walking, even a cross word would bathe them both in +boiling water. Philip, who was slighter of build, and less +conscientious, suffered less. But Harriet had never been to +Florence, and between the hours of eight and eleven she crawled +like a wounded creature through the streets, and swooned before +various masterpieces of art. It was an irritable couple who took +tickets to Monteriano.<br> +"Singles or returns?" said he.<br> +"A single for me," said Harriet peevishly; "I shall never get +back alive."<br> +"Sweet creature!" said her brother, suddenly breaking down. +"How helpful you will be when we come to Signor Carella!"<br> +"Do you suppose," said Harriet, standing still among a whirl +of porters--"do you suppose I am going to enter that man's +house?"<br> +"Then what have you come for, pray? For ornament?"<br> +"To see that you do your duty."<br> +"Oh, thanks!"<br> +"So mother told me. For goodness sake get the tickets; here +comes that hot woman again! She has the impudence to bow."<br> +"Mother told you, did she?" said Philip wrathfully, as he +went to struggle for tickets at a slit so narrow that they were +handed to him edgeways. Italy was beastly, and Florence station +is the centre of beastly Italy. But he had a strange feeling +that he was to blame for it all; that a little influx into him of +virtue would make the whole land not beastly but amusing. For +there was enchantment, he was sure of that; solid enchantment, +which lay behind the porters and the screaming and the dust. He +could see it in the terrific blue sky beneath which they +travelled, in the whitened plain which gripped life tighter than +a frost, in the exhausted reaches of the Arno, in the ruins of +brown castles which stood quivering upon the hills. He could see +it, though his head ached and his skin was twitching, though he +was here as a puppet, and though his sister knew how he was +here. There was nothing pleasant in that journey to Monteriano +station. But nothing--not even the discomfort--was +commonplace.<br> +"But do people live inside?" asked Harriet. They had +exchanged railway-carriage for the legno, and the legno had +emerged from the withered trees, and had revealed to them their +destination. Philip, to be annoying, answered "No."<br> +"What do they do there?" continued Harriet, with a frown.<br> +"There is a <em>caffè</em>. A prison. A theatre. A +church. Walls. A view."<br> +"Not for me, thank you," said Harriet, after a weighty +pause.<br> +"Nobody asked you, Miss, you see. Now Lilia was asked by +such a nice young gentleman, with curls all over his forehead, +and teeth just as white as father makes them." Then his manner +changed. "But, Harriet, do you see nothing wonderful or +attractive in that place--nothing at all?"<br> +"Nothing at all. It's frightful."<br> +"I know it is. But it's old--awfully old."<br> +"Beauty is the only test," said Harriet. "At least so you +told me when I sketched old buildings--for the sake, I suppose, +of making yourself unpleasant."<br> +"Oh, I'm perfectly right. But at the same time--I don't +know--so many things have happened here--people have lived so +hard and so splendidly--I can't explain."<br> +"I shouldn't think you could. It doesn't seem the best +moment to begin your Italy mania. I thought you were cured of it +by now. Instead, will you kindly tell me what you are going to +do when you arrive. I do beg you will not be taken unawares this +time."<br> +"First, Harriet, I shall settle you at the Stella d'Italia, +in the comfort that befits your sex and disposition. Then I +shall make myself some tea. After tea I shall take a book into +Santa Deodata's, and read there. It is always fresh and +cool."<br> +The martyred Harriet exclaimed, "I'm not clever, Philip. I +don't go in for it, as you know. But I know what's rude. And I +know what's wrong."<br> +"Meaning--?"<br> +"You!" she shouted, bouncing on the cushions of the legno and +startling all the fleas. "What's the good of cleverness if a +man's murdered a woman?"<br> +"Harriet, I am hot. To whom do you refer?"<br> +"He. Her. If you don't look out he'll murder you. I wish +he would."<br> +"Tut tut, tutlet! You'd find a corpse extraordinarily +inconvenient." Then he tried to be less aggravating. "I +heartily dislike the fellow, but we know he didn't murder her. +In that letter, though she said a lot, she never said he was +physically cruel."<br> +"He has murdered her. The things he did--things one can't +even mention--"<br> +"Things which one must mention if one's to talk at all. And +things which one must keep in their proper place. Because he was +unfaithful to his wife, it doesn't follow that in every way he's +absolutely vile." He looked at the city. It seemed to approve +his remark.<br> +"It's the supreme test. The man who is unchivalrous to a +woman--"<br> +"Oh, stow it! Take it to the Back Kitchen. It's no more a +supreme test than anything else. The Italians never were +chivalrous from the first. If you condemn him for that, you'll +condemn the whole lot."<br> +"I condemn the whole lot."<br> +"And the French as well?"<br> +"And the French as well."<br> +"Things aren't so jolly easy," said Philip, more to himself +than to her.<br> +But for Harriet things were easy, though not jolly, and she +turned upon her brother yet again. "What about the baby, pray? +You've said a lot of smart things and whittled away morality and +religion and I don't know what; but what about the baby? You +think me a fool, but I've been noticing you all today, and you +haven't mentioned the baby once. You haven't thought about it, +even. You don't care. Philip! I shall not speak to you. You +are intolerable."<br> +She kept her promise, and never opened her lips all the rest +of the way. But her eyes glowed with anger and resolution. For +she was a straight, brave woman, as well as a peevish one.<br> +Philip acknowledged her reproof to be true. He did not care +about the baby one straw. Nevertheless, he meant to do his duty, +and he was fairly confident of success. If Gino would have sold +his wife for a thousand lire, for how much less would he not sell +his child? It was just a commercial transaction. Why should it +interfere with other things? His eyes were fixed on the towers +again, just as they had been fixed when he drove with Miss +Abbott. But this time his thoughts were pleasanter, for he had +no such grave business on his mind. It was in the spirit of the +cultivated tourist that he approached his destination.<br> +One of the towers, rough as any other, was topped by a +cross--the tower of the Collegiate Church of Santa Deodata. She +was a holy maiden of the Dark Ages, the city's patron saint, and +sweetness and barbarity mingle strangely in her story. So holy +was she that all her life she lay upon her back in the house of +her mother, refusing to eat, refusing to play, refusing to work. +The devil, envious of such sanctity, tempted her in various +ways. He dangled grapes above her, he showed her fascinating +toys, he pushed soft pillows beneath her aching head. When all +proved vain he tripped up the mother and flung her downstairs +before her very eyes. But so holy was the saint that she never +picked her mother up, but lay upon her back through all, and thus +assured her throne in Paradise. She was only fifteen when she +died, which shows how much is within the reach of any +school-girl. Those who think her life was unpractical need only +think of the victories upon Poggibonsi, San Gemignano, Volterra, +Siena itself--all gained through the invocation of her name; they +need only look at the church which rose over her grave. The +grand schemes for a marble façade were never carried out, +and it is brown unfinished stone until this day. But for the +inside Giotto was summoned to decorate the walls of the nave. +Giotto came--that is to say, he did not come, German research +having decisively proved--but at all events the nave is covered +with frescoes, and so are two chapels in the left transept, and +the arch into the choir, and there are scraps in the choir +itself. There the decoration stopped, till in the full spring of +the Renaissance a great painter came to pay a few weeks' visit to +his friend the Lord of Monteriano. In the intervals between the +banquets and the discussions on Latin etymology and the dancing, +he would stroll over to the church, and there in the fifth chapel +to the right he has painted two frescoes of the death and burial +of Santa Deodata. That is why Baedeker gives the place a +star.<br> +Santa Deodata was better company than Harriet, and she kept +Philip in a pleasant dream until the legno drew up at the hotel. +Every one there was asleep, for it was still the hour when only +idiots were moving. There were not even any beggars about. The +cabman put their bags down in the passage--they had left heavy +luggage at the station--and strolled about till he came on the +landlady's room and woke her, and sent her to them.<br> +Then Harriet pronounced the monosyllable "Go!"<br> +"Go where?" asked Philip, bowing to the landlady, who was +swimming down the stairs.<br> +"To the Italian. Go."<br> +"Buona sera, signora padrona. Si ritorna volontieri a +Monteriano!" (Don't be a goose. I'm not going now. You're in +the way, too.) "Vorrei due camere--"<br> +"Go. This instant. Now. I'll stand it no longer. Go!"<br> +"I'm damned if I'll go. I want my tea."<br> +"Swear if you like!" she cried. "Blaspheme! Abuse me! But +understand, I'm in earnest."<br> +"Harriet, don't act. Or act better."<br> +"We've come here to get the baby back, and for nothing else. +I'll not have this levity and slackness, and talk about pictures +and churches. Think of mother; did she send you out for +<em>them?</em>"<br> +"Think of mother and don't straddle across the stairs. Let +the cabman and the landlady come down, and let me go up and +choose rooms."<br> +"I shan't."<br> +"Harriet, are you mad?"<br> +"If you like. But you will not come up till you have seen +the Italian."<br> +"La signorina si sente male," said Philip, "C' è il +sole."<br> +"Poveretta!" cried the landlady and the cabman.<br> +"Leave me alone!" said Harriet, snarling round at them. "I +don't care for the lot of you. I'm English, and neither you'll +come down nor he up till he goes for the baby."<br> +"La prego-piano-piano-c è un' altra signorina che +dorme--"<br> +"We shall probably be arrested for brawling, Harriet. Have +you the very slightest sense of the ludicrous?"<br> +Harriet had not; that was why she could be so powerful. She +had concocted this scene in the carriage, and nothing should +baulk her of it. To the abuse in front and the coaxing behind she +was equally indifferent. How long she would have stood like a +glorified Horatius, keeping the staircase at both ends, was never +to be known. For the young lady, whose sleep they were +disturbing, awoke and opened her bedroom door, and came out on to +the landing. She was Miss Abbott.<br> +Philip's first coherent feeling was one of indignation. To +be run by his mother and hectored by his sister was as much as he +could stand. The intervention of a third female drove him +suddenly beyond politeness. He was about to say exactly what he +thought about the thing from beginning to end. But before he +could do so Harriet also had seen Miss Abbott. She uttered a +shrill cry of joy.<br> +"You, Caroline, here of all people!" And in spite of the +heat she darted up the stairs and imprinted an affectionate kiss +upon her friend.<br> +Philip had an inspiration. "You will have a lot to tell Miss +Abbott, Harriet, and she may have as much to tell you. So I'll +pay my call on Signor Carella, as you suggested, and see how +things stand."<br> +Miss Abbott uttered some noise of greeting or alarm. He did +not reply to it or approach nearer to her. Without even paying +the cabman, he escaped into the street.<br> +"Tear each other's eyes out!" he cried, gesticulating at the +façade of the hotel. "Give it to her, Harriet! Teach her +to leave us alone. Give it to her, Caroline! Teach her to be +grateful to you. Go it, ladies; go it!"<br> +Such people as observed him were interested, but did not +conclude that he was mad. This aftermath of conversation is not +unknown in Italy.<br> +He tried to think how amusing it was; but it would not +do--Miss Abbott's presence affected him too personally. Either +she suspected him of dishonesty, or else she was being dishonest +herself. He preferred to suppose the latter. Perhaps she had +seen Gino, and they had prepared some elaborate mortification for +the Herritons. Perhaps Gino had sold the baby cheap to her for a +joke: it was just the kind of joke that would appeal to him. +Philip still remembered the laughter that had greeted his +fruitless journey, and the uncouth push that had toppled him on +to the bed. And whatever it might mean, Miss Abbott's presence +spoilt the comedy: she would do nothing funny.<br> +During this short meditation he had walked through the city, +and was out on the other side. "Where does Signor Carella live?" +he asked the men at the Dogana.<br> +"I'll show you," said a little girl, springing out of the +ground as Italian children will.<br> +"She will show you," said the Dogana men, nodding +reassuringly. "Follow her always, always, and you will come to +no harm. She is a trustworthy guide. She is my</p> + +<blockquote>daughter."<br> +cousin."<br> +sister."</blockquote> + +<br> +<br> + + +<p>Philip knew these relatives well: they ramify, if need be, +all over the peninsula.<br> +"Do you chance to know whether Signor Carella is in?" he +asked her.<br> +She had just seen him go in. Philip nodded. He was looking +forward to the interview this time: it would be an intellectual +duet with a man of no great intellect. What was Miss Abbott up +to? That was one of the things he was going to discover. While +she had it out with Harriet, he would have it out with Gino. He +followed the Dogana's relative softly, like a diplomatist.<br> +He did not follow her long, for this was the Volterra gate, +and the house was exactly opposite to it. In half a minute they +had scrambled down the mule-track and reached the only +practicable entrance. Philip laughed, partly at the thought of +Lilia in such a building, partly in the confidence of victory. +Meanwhile the Dogana's relative lifted up her voice and gave a +shout.<br> +For an impressive interval there was no reply. Then the +figure of a woman appeared high up on the loggia.<br> +"That is Perfetta," said the girl.<br> +"I want to see Signor Carella," cried Philip.<br> +"Out!"<br> +"Out," echoed the girl complacently.<br> +"Why on earth did you say he was in?" He could have +strangled her for temper. He had been just ripe for an +interview--just the right combination of indignation and +acuteness: blood hot, brain cool. But nothing ever did go right +in Monteriano. "When will he be back?" he called to Perfetta. +It really was too bad.<br> +She did not know. He was away on business. He might be back +this evening, he might not. He had gone to Poggibonsi.<br> +At the sound of this word the little girl put her fingers to +her nose and swept them at the plain. She sang as she did so, +even as her foremothers had sung seven hundred years back--</p> + +<blockquote><em>Poggibonizzi, fatti in là,<br> +Che Monteriano si fa città!</em></blockquote> + +<p>Then she asked Philip for a halfpenny. A German lady, +friendly to the Past, had given her one that very spring.<br> +"I shall have to leave a message," he called.<br> +"Now Perfetta has gone for her basket," said the little +girl. "When she returns she will lower it--so. Then you will +put your card into it. Then she will raise it--thus. By this +means--"<br> +When Perfetta returned, Philip remembered to ask after the +baby. It took longer to find than the basket, and he stood +perspiring in the evening sun, trying to avoid the smell of the +drains and to prevent the little girl from singing against +Poggibonsi. The olive-trees beside him were draped with the +weekly--or more probably the monthly--wash. What a frightful +spotty blouse! He could not think where he had seen it. Then he +remembered that it was Lilia's. She had brought it "to hack +about in" at Sawston, and had taken it to Italy because "in Italy +anything does." He had rebuked her for the sentiment.<br> +"Beautiful as an angel!" bellowed Perfetta, holding out +something which must be Lilia's baby. "But who am I +addressing?"<br> +"Thank you--here is my card." He had written on it a civil +request to Gino for an interview next morning. But before he +placed it in the basket and revealed his identity, he wished to +find something out. "Has a young lady happened to call here +lately--a young English lady?"<br> +Perfetta begged his pardon: she was a little deaf.<br> +"A young lady--pale, large, tall."<br> +She did not quite catch.<br> +"A YOUNG LADY!"<br> +"Perfetta is deaf when she chooses," said the Dogana's +relative. At last Philip admitted the peculiarity and strode +away. He paid off the detestable child at the Volterra gate. +She got two nickel pieces and was not pleased, partly because it +was too much, partly because he did not look pleased when he gave +it to her. He caught her fathers and cousins winking at each +other as he walked past them. Monteriano seemed in one +conspiracy to make him look a fool. He felt tired and anxious +and muddled, and not sure of anything except that his temper was +lost. In this mood he returned to the Stella d'Italia, and +there, as he was ascending the stairs, Miss Abbott popped out of +the dining-room on the first floor and beckoned to him +mysteriously.<br> +"I was going to make myself some tea," he said, with his hand +still on the banisters.<br> +"I should be grateful--"<br> +So he followed her into the dining-room and shut the +door.<br> +"You see," she began, "Harriet knows nothing."<br> +"No more do I. He was out."<br> +"But what's that to do with it?"<br> +He presented her with an unpleasant smile. She fenced well, +as he had noticed before. "He was out. You find me as ignorant +as you have left Harriet."<br> +"What do you mean? Please, please Mr. Herriton, don't be +mysterious: there isn't the time. Any moment Harriet may be +down, and we shan't have decided how to behave to her. Sawston +was different: we had to keep up appearances. But here we must +speak out, and I think I can trust you to do it. Otherwise we'll +never start clear."<br> +"Pray let us start clear," said Philip, pacing up and down +the room. "Permit me to begin by asking you a question. In +which capacity have you come to Monteriano--spy or traitor?"<br> +"Spy!" she answered, without a moment's hesitation. She was +standing by the little Gothic window as she spoke--the hotel had +been a palace once--and with her finger she was following the +curves of the moulding as if they might feel beautiful and +strange. "Spy," she repeated, for Philip was bewildered at +learning her guilt so easily, and could not answer a word. "Your +mother has behaved dishonourably all through. She never wanted +the child; no harm in that; but she is too proud to let it come +to me. She has done all she could to wreck things; she did not +tell you everything; she has told Harriet nothing at all; she has +lied or acted lies everywhere. I cannot trust your mother. So I +have come here alone--all across Europe; no one knows it; my +father thinks I am in Normandy--to spy on Mrs. Herriton. Don't +let's argue!" for he had begun, almost mechanically, to rebuke +her for impertinence. "If you are here to get the child, I will +help you; if you are here to fail, I shall get it instead of +you."<br> +"It is hopeless to expect you to believe me," he stammered. +"But I can assert that we are here to get the child, even if it +costs us all we've got. My mother has fixed no money limit +whatever. I am here to carry out her instructions. I think that +you will approve of them, as you have practically dictated them. +I do not approve of them. They are absurd."<br> +She nodded carelessly. She did not mind what he said. All +she wanted was to get the baby out of Monteriano.<br> +"Harriet also carries out your instructions," he continued. +"She, however, approves of them, and does not know that they +proceed from you. I think, Miss Abbott, you had better take +entire charge of the rescue party. I have asked for an interview +with Signor Carella tomorrow morning. Do you acquiesce?"<br> +She nodded again.<br> +"Might I ask for details of your interview with him? They +might be helpful to me."<br> +He had spoken at random. To his delight she suddenly +collapsed. Her hand fell from the window. Her face was red with +more than the reflection of evening.<br> +"My interview--how do you know of it?"<br> +"From Perfetta, if it interests you."<br> +"Who ever is Perfetta?"<br> +"The woman who must have let you in."<br> +"In where?"<br> +"Into Signor Carella's house."<br> +"Mr. Herriton!" she exclaimed. "How could you believe her? +Do you suppose that I would have entered that man's house, +knowing about him all that I do? I think you have very odd ideas +of what is possible for a lady. I hear you wanted Harriet to +go. Very properly she refused. Eighteen months ago I might have +done such a thing. But I trust I have learnt how to behave by +now."<br> +Philip began to see that there were two Miss Abbotts--the +Miss Abbott who could travel alone to Monteriano, and the Miss +Abbott who could not enter Gino's house when she got there. It +was an amusing discovery. Which of them would respond to his +next move?<br> +"I suppose I misunderstood Perfetta. Where did you have your +interview, then?"<br> +"Not an interview--an accident--I am very sorry--I meant you +to have the chance of seeing him first. Though it is your +fault. You are a day late. You were due here yesterday. So I +came yesterday, and, not finding you, went up to the Rocca--you +know that kitchen-garden where they let you in, and there is a +ladder up to a broken tower, where you can stand and see all the +other towers below you and the plain and all the other +hills?"<br> +"Yes, yes. I know the Rocca; I told you of it."<br> +"So I went up in the evening for the sunset: I had nothing to +do. He was in the garden: it belongs to a friend of his."<br> +"And you talked."<br> +"It was very awkward for me. But I had to talk: he seemed to +make me. You see he thought I was here as a tourist; he thinks so +still. He intended to be civil, and I judged it better to be +civil also."<br> +"And of what did you talk?"<br> +"The weather--there will be rain, he says, by tomorrow +evening--the other towns, England, myself, about you a little, +and he actually mentioned Lilia. He was perfectly disgusting; he +pretended he loved her; he offered to show me her grave--the +grave of the woman he has murdered!"<br> +"My dear Miss Abbott, he is not a murderer. I have just been +driving that into Harriet. And when you know the Italians as +well as I do, you will realize that in all that he said to you he +was perfectly sincere. The Italians are essentially dramatic; +they look on death and love as spectacles. I don't doubt that he +persuaded himself, for the moment, that he had behaved admirably, +both as husband and widower."<br> +"You may be right," said Miss Abbott, impressed for the first +time. "When I tried to pave the way, so to speak--to hint that +he had not behaved as he ought--well, it was no good at all. He +couldn't or wouldn't understand."<br> +There was something very humorous in the idea of Miss Abbott +approaching Gino, on the Rocca, in the spirit of a district +visitor. Philip, whose temper was returning, laughed.<br> +"Harriet would say he has no sense of sin."<br> +"Harriet may be right, I am afraid."<br> +"If so, perhaps he isn't sinful!"<br> +Miss Abbott was not one to encourage levity. "I know what he +has done," she said. "What he says and what he thinks is of very +little importance."<br> +Philip smiled at her crudity. "I should like to hear, +though, what he said about me. Is he preparing a warm +reception?"<br> +"Oh, no, not that. I never told him that you and Harriet +were coming. You could have taken him by surprise if you liked. +He only asked for you, and wished he hadn't been so rude to you +eighteen months ago."<br> +"What a memory the fellow has for little things!" He turned +away as he spoke, for he did not want her to see his face. It +was suffused with pleasure. For an apology, which would have +been intolerable eighteen months ago, was gracious and agreeable +now.<br> +She would not let this pass. "You did not think it a little +thing at the time. You told me he had assaulted you."<br> +"I lost my temper," said Philip lightly. His vanity had been +appeased, and he knew it. This tiny piece of civility had +changed his mood. "Did he really--what exactly did he say?"<br> +"He said he was sorry--pleasantly, as Italians do say such +things. But he never mentioned the baby once."<br> +What did the baby matter when the world was suddenly right +way up? Philip smiled, and was shocked at himself for smiling, +and smiled again. For romance had come back to Italy; there were +no cads in her; she was beautiful, courteous, lovable, as of +old. And Miss Abbott--she, too, was beautiful in her way, for +all her gaucheness and conventionality. She really cared about +life, and tried to live it properly. And Harriet--even Harriet +tried.<br> +This admirable change in Philip proceeds from nothing +admirable, and may therefore provoke the gibes of the cynical. +But angels and other practical people will accept it reverently, +and write it down as good.<br> +"The view from the Rocca (small gratuity) is finest at +sunset," he murmured, more to himself than to her.<br> +"And he never mentioned the baby once," Miss Abbott +repeated. But she had returned to the window, and again her +finger pursued the delicate curves. He watched her in silence, +and was more attracted to her than he had ever been before. She +really was the strangest mixture.<br> +"The view from the Rocca--wasn't it fine?"<br> +"What isn't fine here?" she answered gently, and then added, +"I wish I was Harriet," throwing an extraordinary meaning into +the words.<br> +"Because Harriet--?"<br> +She would not go further, but he believed that she had paid +homage to the complexity of life. For her, at all events, the +expedition was neither easy nor jolly. Beauty, evil, charm, +vulgarity, mystery--she also acknowledged this tangle, in spite +of herself. And her voice thrilled him when she broke silence +with "Mr. Herriton--come here--look at this!"<br> +She removed a pile of plates from the Gothic window, and they +leant out of it. Close opposite, wedged between mean houses, +there rose up one of the great towers. It is your tower: you +stretch a barricade between it and the hotel, and the traffic is +blocked in a moment. Farther up, where the street empties out by +the church, your connections, the Merli and the Capocchi, do +likewise. They command the Piazza, you the Siena gate. No one +can move in either but he shall be instantly slain, either by +bows or by crossbows, or by Greek fire. Beware, however, of the +back bedroom windows. For they are menaced by the tower of the +Aldobrandeschi, and before now arrows have stuck quivering over +the washstand. Guard these windows well, lest there be a +repetition of the events of February 1338, when the hotel was +surprised from the rear, and your dearest friend--you could just +make out that it was he--was thrown at you over the stairs.<br> +"It reaches up to heaven," said Philip, "and down to the +other place." The summit of the tower was radiant in the sun, +while its base was in shadow and pasted over with +advertisements. "Is it to be a symbol of the town?"<br> +She gave no hint that she understood him. But they remained +together at the window because it was a little cooler and so +pleasant. Philip found a certain grace and lightness in his +companion which he had never noticed in England. She was +appallingly narrow, but her consciousness of wider things gave to +her narrowness a pathetic charm. He did not suspect that he was +more graceful too. For our vanity is such that we hold our own +characters immutable, and we are slow to acknowledge that they +have changed, even for the better.<br> +Citizens came out for a little stroll before dinner. Some of +them stood and gazed at the advertisements on the tower.<br> +"Surely that isn't an opera-bill?" said Miss Abbott.<br> +Philip put on his pince-nez. " 'Lucia di Lammermoor. By the +Master Donizetti. Unique representation. This evening.'<br> +"But is there an opera? Right up here?"<br> +"Why, yes. These people know how to live. They would sooner +have a thing bad than not have it at all. That is why they have +got to have so much that is good. However bad the performance is +tonight, it will be alive. Italians don't love music silently, +like the beastly Germans. The audience takes its +share--sometimes more."<br> +"Can't we go?"<br> +He turned on her, but not unkindly. "But we're here to +rescue a child!"<br> +He cursed himself for the remark. All the pleasure and the +light went out of her face, and she became again Miss Abbott of +Sawston--good, oh, most undoubtedly good, but most appallingly +dull. Dull and remorseful: it is a deadly combination, and he +strove against it in vain till he was interrupted by the opening +of the dining-room door.<br> +They started as guiltily as if they had been flirting. Their +interview had taken such an unexpected course. Anger, cynicism, +stubborn morality--all had ended in a feeling of good-will +towards each other and towards the city which had received them. +And now Harriet was here--acrid, indissoluble, large; the same in +Italy as in England--changing her disposition never, and her +atmosphere under protest.<br> +Yet even Harriet was human, and the better for a little tea. +She did not scold Philip for finding Gino out, as she might +reasonably have done. She showered civilities on Miss Abbott, +exclaiming again and again that Caroline's visit was one of the +most fortunate coincidences in the world. Caroline did not +contradict her.<br> +"You see him tomorrow at ten, Philip. Well, don't forget the +blank cheque. Say an hour for the business. No, Italians are so +slow; say two. Twelve o'clock. Lunch. Well--then it's no good +going till the evening train. I can manage the baby as far as +Florence--"<br> +"My dear sister, you can't run on like that. You don't buy a +pair of gloves in two hours, much less a baby."<br> +"Three hours, then, or four; or make him learn English ways. +At Florence we get a nurse--"<br> +"But, Harriet," said Miss Abbott, "what if at first he was to +refuse?"<br> +"I don't know the meaning of the word," said Harriet +impressively. "I've told the landlady that Philip and I only +want our rooms one night, and we shall keep to it."<br> +"I dare say it will be all right. But, as I told you, I +thought the man I met on the Rocca a strange, difficult man."<br> +"He's insolent to ladies, we know. But my brother can be +trusted to bring him to his senses. That woman, Philip, whom you +saw will carry the baby to the hotel. Of course you must tip her +for it. And try, if you can, to get poor Lilia's silver +bangles. They were nice quiet things, and will do for Irma. And +there is an inlaid box I lent her--lent, not gave--to keep her +handkerchiefs in. It's of no real value; but this is our only +chance. Don't ask for it; but if you see it lying about, just +say--"<br> +"No, Harriet; I'll try for the baby, but for nothing else. I +promise to do that tomorrow, and to do it in the way you wish. +But tonight, as we're all tired, we want a change of topic. We +want relaxation. We want to go to the theatre."<br> +"Theatres here? And at such a moment?"<br> +"We should hardly enjoy it, with the great interview +impending," said Miss Abbott, with an anxious glance at +Philip.<br> +He did not betray her, but said, "Don't you think it's better +than sitting in all the evening and getting nervous?"<br> +His sister shook her head. "Mother wouldn't like it. It +would be most unsuitable--almost irreverent. Besides all that, +foreign theatres are notorious. Don't you remember those letters +in the 'Church Family Newspaper'?"<br> +"But this is an opera--'Lucia di Lammermoor'--Sir Walter +Scott--classical, you know."<br> +Harriet's face grew resigned. "Certainly one has so few +opportunities of hearing music. It is sure to be very bad. But +it might be better than sitting idle all the evening. We have no +book, and I lost my crochet at Florence."<br> +"Good. Miss Abbott, you are coming too?"<br> +"It is very kind of you, Mr. Herriton. In some ways I should +enjoy it; but--excuse the suggestion--I don't think we ought to +go to cheap seats."<br> +"Good gracious me!" cried Harriet, "I should never have +thought of that. As likely as not, we should have tried to save +money and sat among the most awful people. One keeps on +forgetting this is Italy."<br> +"Unfortunately I have no evening dress; and if the +seats--"<br> +"Oh, that'll be all right," said Philip, smiling at his +timorous, scrupulous women-kind. "We'll go as we are, and buy +the best we can get. Monteriano is not formal."<br> +So this strenuous day of resolutions, plans, alarms, battles, +victories, defeats, truces, ended at the opera. Miss Abbott and +Harriet were both a little shame-faced. They thought of their +friends at Sawston, who were supposing them to be now tilting +against the powers of evil. What would Mrs. Herriton, or Irma, +or the curates at the Back Kitchen say if they could see the +rescue party at a place of amusement on the very first day of its +mission? Philip, too, marvelled at his wish to go. He began to +see that he was enjoying his time in Monteriano, in spite of the +tiresomeness of his companions and the occasional contrariness of +himself.<br> +He had been to this theatre many years before, on the +occasion of a performance of "La Zia di Carlo." Since then it +had been thoroughly done up, in the tints of the beet-root and +the tomato, and was in many other ways a credit to the little +town. The orchestra had been enlarged, some of the boxes had +terra-cotta draperies, and over each box was now suspended an +enormous tablet, neatly framed, bearing upon it the number of +that box. There was also a drop-scene, representing a pink and +purple landscape, wherein sported many a lady lightly clad, and +two more ladies lay along the top of the proscenium to steady a +large and pallid clock. So rich and so appalling was the effect, +that Philip could scarcely suppress a cry. There is something +majestic in the bad taste of Italy; it is not the bad taste of a +country which knows no better; it has not the nervous vulgarity +of England, or the blinded vulgarity of Germany. It observes +beauty, and chooses to pass it by. But it attains to beauty's +confidence. This tiny theatre of Monteriano spraddled and +swaggered with the best of them, and these ladies with their +clock would have nodded to the young men on the ceiling of the +Sistine.<br> +Philip had tried for a box, but all the best were taken: it +was rather a grand performance, and he had to be content with +stalls. Harriet was fretful and insular. Miss Abbott was +pleasant, and insisted on praising everything: her only regret +was that she had no pretty clothes with her.<br> +"We do all right," said Philip, amused at her unwonted +vanity.<br> +"Yes, I know; but pretty things pack as easily as ugly ones. +We had no need to come to Italy like guys."<br> +This time he did not reply, "But we're here to rescue a +baby." For he saw a charming picture, as charming a picture as +he had seen for years--the hot red theatre; outside the theatre, +towers and dark gates and mediaeval walls; beyond the walls +olive-trees in the starlight and white winding roads and +fireflies and untroubled dust; and here in the middle of it all, +Miss Abbott, wishing she had not come looking like a guy. She +had made the right remark. Most undoubtedly she had made the +right remark. This stiff suburban woman was unbending before the +shrine.<br> +"Don't you like it at all?" he asked her.<br> +"Most awfully." And by this bald interchange they convinced +each other that Romance was here.<br> +Harriet, meanwhile, had been coughing ominously at the +drop-scene, which presently rose on the grounds of Ravenswood, +and the chorus of Scotch retainers burst into cry. The audience +accompanied with tappings and drummings, swaying in the melody +like corn in the wind. Harriet, though she did not care for +music, knew how to listen to it. She uttered an acid +"Shish!"<br> +"Shut it," whispered her brother.<br> +"We must make a stand from the beginning. They're +talking."<br> +"It is tiresome," murmured Miss Abbott; "but perhaps it isn't +for us to interfere."<br> +Harriet shook her head and shished again. The people were +quiet, not because it is wrong to talk during a chorus, but +because it is natural to be civil to a visitor. For a little +time she kept the whole house in order, and could smile at her +brother complacently.<br> +Her success annoyed him. He had grasped the principle of +opera in Italy--it aims not at illusion but at entertainment--and +he did not want this great evening-party to turn into a +prayer-meeting. But soon the boxes began to fill, and Harriet's +power was over. Families greeted each other across the +auditorium. People in the pit hailed their brothers and sons in +the chorus, and told them how well they were singing. When Lucia +appeared by the fountain there was loud applause, and cries of +"Welcome to Monteriano!"<br> +"Ridiculous babies!" said Harriet, settling down in her +stall.<br> +"Why, it is the famous hot lady of the Apennines," cried +Philip; "the one who had never, never before--"<br> +"Ugh! Don't. She will be very vulgar. And I'm sure it's +even worse here than in the tunnel. I wish we'd never--"<br> +Lucia began to sing, and there was a moment's silence. She +was stout and ugly; but her voice was still beautiful, and as she +sang the theatre murmured like a hive of happy bees. All through +the coloratura she was accompanied by sighs, and its top note was +drowned in a shout of universal joy.<br> +So the opera proceeded. The singers drew inspiration from +the audience, and the two great sextettes were rendered not +unworthily. Miss Abbott fell into the spirit of the thing. She, +too, chatted and laughed and applauded and encored, and rejoiced +in the existence of beauty. As for Philip, he forgot himself as +well as his mission. He was not even an enthusiastic visitor. +For he had been in this place always. It was his home.<br> +Harriet, like M. Bovary on a more famous occasion, was trying +to follow the plot. Occasionally she nudged her companions, and +asked them what had become of Walter Scott. She looked round +grimly. The audience sounded drunk, and even Caroline, who never +took a drop, was swaying oddly. Violent waves of excitement, all +arising from very little, went sweeping round the theatre. The +climax was reached in the mad scene. Lucia, clad in white, as +befitted her malady, suddenly gathered up her streaming hair and +bowed her acknowledgment to the audience. Then from the back of +the stage--she feigned not to see it--there advanced a kind of +bamboo clothes-horse, stuck all over with bouquets. It was very +ugly, and most of the flowers in it were false. Lucia knew this, +and so did the audience; and they all knew that the clothes-horse +was a piece of stage property, brought in to make the performance +go year after year. None the less did it unloose the great +deeps. With a scream of amazement and joy she embraced the +animal, pulled out one or two practicable blossoms, pressed them +to her lips, and flung them into her admirers. They flung them +back, with loud melodious cries, and a little boy in one of the +stageboxes snatched up his sister's carnations and offered them. +"Che carino!" exclaimed the singer. She darted at the little boy +and kissed him. Now the noise became tremendous. "Silence! +silence!" shouted many old gentlemen behind. "Let the divine +creature continue!" But the young men in the adjacent box were +imploring Lucia to extend her civility to them. She refused, +with a humorous, expressive gesture. One of them hurled a +bouquet at her. She spurned it with her foot. Then, encouraged +by the roars of the audience, she picked it up and tossed it to +them. Harriet was always unfortunate. The bouquet struck her +full in the chest, and a little billet-doux fell out of it into +her lap.<br> +"Call this classical!" she cried, rising from her seat. +"It's not even respectable! Philip! take me out at once."<br> +"Whose is it?" shouted her brother, holding up the bouquet in +one hand and the billet-doux in the other. "Whose is it?"<br> +The house exploded, and one of the boxes was violently +agitated, as if some one was being hauled to the front. Harriet +moved down the gangway, and compelled Miss Abbott to follow her. +Philip, still laughing and calling "Whose is it?" brought up the +rear. He was drunk with excitement. The heat, the fatigue, and +the enjoyment had mounted into his head.<br> +"To the left!" the people cried. "The innamorato is to the +left."<br> +He deserted his ladies and plunged towards the box. A young +man was flung stomach downwards across the balustrade. Philip +handed him up the bouquet and the note. Then his own hands were +seized affectionately. It all seemed quite natural.<br> +"Why have you not written?" cried the young man. "Why do you +take me by surprise?"<br> +"Oh, I've written," said Philip hilariously. "I left a note +this afternoon."<br> +"Silence! silence!" cried the audience, who were beginning +to have enough. "Let the divine creature continue." Miss Abbott +and Harriet had disappeared.<br> +"No! no!" cried the young man. "You don't escape me now." +For Philip was trying feebly to disengage his hands. Amiable +youths bent out of the box and invited him to enter it.<br> +"Gino's friends are ours--"<br> +"Friends?" cried Gino. "A relative! A brother! Fra +Filippo, who has come all the way from England and never +written."<br> +"I left a message."<br> +The audience began to hiss.<br> +"Come in to us."<br> +"Thank you--ladies--there is not time--"<br> +The next moment he was swinging by his arms. The moment +after he shot over the balustrade into the box. Then the +conductor, seeing that the incident was over, raised his baton. +The house was hushed, and Lucia di Lammermoor resumed her song of +madness and death.<br> +Philip had whispered introductions to the pleasant people who +had pulled him in--tradesmen's sons perhaps they were, or medical +students, or solicitors' clerks, or sons of other dentists. +There is no knowing who is who in Italy. The guest of the +evening was a private soldier. He shared the honour now with +Philip. The two had to stand side by side in the front, and +exchange compliments, whilst Gino presided, courteous, but +delightfully familiar. Philip would have a spasm of horror at +the muddle he had made. But the spasm would pass, and again he +would be enchanted by the kind, cheerful voices, the laughter +that was never vapid, and the light caress of the arm across his +back.<br> +He could not get away till the play was nearly finished, and +Edgardo was singing amongst the tombs of ancestors. His new +friends hoped to see him at the Garibaldi tomorrow evening. He +promised; then he remembered that if they kept to Harriet's plan +he would have left Monteriano. "At ten o'clock, then," he said +to Gino. "I want to speak to you alone. At ten."<br> +"Certainly!" laughed the other.<br> +Miss Abbott was sitting up for him when he got back. +Harriet, it seemed, had gone straight to bed.<br> +"That was he, wasn't it?" she asked.<br> +"Yes, rather."<br> +"I suppose you didn't settle anything?"<br> +"Why, no; how could I? The fact is--well, I got taken by +surprise, but after all, what does it matter? There's no earthly +reason why we shouldn't do the business pleasantly. He's a +perfectly charming person, and so are his friends. I'm his +friend now--his long-lost brother. What's the harm? I tell you, +Miss Abbott, it's one thing for England and another for Italy. +There we plan and get on high moral horses. Here we find what +asses we are, for things go off quite easily, all by themselves. +My hat, what a night! Did you ever see a really purple sky and +really silver stars before? Well, as I was saying, it's absurd +to worry; he's not a porky father. He wants that baby as little +as I do. He's been ragging my dear mother--just as he ragged me +eighteen months ago, and I've forgiven him. Oh, but he has a +sense of humour!"<br> +Miss Abbott, too, had a wonderful evening, nor did she ever +remember such stars or such a sky. Her head, too, was full of +music, and that night when she opened the window her room was +filled with warm, sweet air. She was bathed in beauty within and +without; she could not go to bed for happiness. Had she ever +been so happy before? Yes, once before, and here, a night in +March, the night Gino and Lilia had told her of their love--the +night whose evil she had come now to undo.<br> +She gave a sudden cry of shame. "This time--the same +place--the same thing"--and she began to beat down her happiness, +knowing it to be sinful. She was here to fight against this +place, to rescue a little soul--who was innocent as yet. She was +here to champion morality and purity, and the holy life of an +English home. In the spring she had sinned through ignorance; +she was not ignorant now. "Help me!" she cried, and shut the +window as if there was magic in the encircling air. But the +tunes would not go out of her head, and all night long she was +troubled by torrents of music, and by applause and laughter, and +angry young men who shouted the distich out of Baedeker:--</p> + +<blockquote><em>Poggibonizzi fatti in là,<br> +Che Monteriano si fa città!</em></blockquote> + +<p>Poggibonsi was revealed to her as they sang--a joyless, +straggling place, full of people who pretended. When she woke up +she knew that it had been Sawston.</p> + +<hr size="0"> +<br> +<br> + + +<h3 align="CENTER">Chapter 7</h3> + +<p>At about nine o'clock next morning Perfetta went out on to the +loggia, not to look at the view, but to throw some dirty water at +it. "Scusi tanto!" she wailed, for the water spattered a tall +young lady who had for some time been tapping at the lower +door.<br> +"Is Signor Carella in?" the young lady asked. It was no +business of Perfetta's to be shocked, and the style of the +visitor seemed to demand the reception-room. Accordingly she +opened its shutters, dusted a round patch on one of the horsehair +chairs, and bade the lady do herself the inconvenience of sitting +down. Then she ran into Monteriano and shouted up and down its +streets until such time as her young master should hear her.<br> +The reception-room was sacred to the dead wife. Her shiny +portrait hung upon the wall--similar, doubtless, in all respects +to the one which would be pasted on her tombstone. A little +piece of black drapery had been tacked above the frame to lend a +dignity to woe. But two of the tacks had fallen out, and the +effect was now rakish, as of a drunkard's bonnet. A coon song +lay open on the piano, and of the two tables one supported +Baedeker's "Central Italy," the other Harriet's inlaid box. And +over everything there lay a deposit of heavy white dust, which +was only blown off one moment to thicken on another. It is well +to be remembered with love. It is not so very dreadful to be +forgotten entirely. But if we shall resent anything on earth at +all, we shall resent the consecration of a deserted room.<br> +Miss Abbott did not sit down, partly because the +antimacassars might harbour fleas, partly because she had +suddenly felt faint, and was glad to cling on to the funnel of +the stove. She struggled with herself, for she had need to be +very calm; only if she was very calm might her behaviour be +justified. She had broken faith with Philip and Harriet: she was +going to try for the baby before they did. If she failed she +could scarcely look them in the face again.<br> +"Harriet and her brother," she reasoned, "don't realize what +is before them. She would bluster and be rude; he would be +pleasant and take it as a joke. Both of them--even if they +offered money--would fail. But I begin to understand the man's +nature; he does not love the child, but he will be touchy about +it--and that is quite as bad for us. He's charming, but he's no +fool; he conquered me last year; he conquered Mr. Herriton +yesterday, and if I am not careful he will conquer us all today, +and the baby will grow up in Monteriano. He is terribly strong; +Lilia found that out, but only I remember it now."<br> +This attempt, and this justification of it, were the results +of the long and restless night. Miss Abbott had come to believe +that she alone could do battle with Gino, because she alone +understood him; and she had put this, as nicely as she could, in +a note which she had left for Philip. It distressed her to write +such a note, partly because her education inclined her to +reverence the male, partly because she had got to like Philip a +good deal after their last strange interview. His pettiness +would be dispersed, and as for his "unconventionality," which was +so much gossiped about at Sawston, she began to see that it did +not differ greatly from certain familiar notions of her own. If +only he would forgive her for what she was doing now, there might +perhaps be before them a long and profitable friendship. But she +must succeed. No one would forgive her if she did not succeed. +She prepared to do battle with the powers of evil.<br> +The voice of her adversary was heard at last, singing +fearlessly from his expanded lungs, like a professional. Herein +he differed from Englishmen, who always have a little feeling +against music, and sing only from the throat, apologetically. He +padded upstairs, and looked in at the open door of the +reception-room without seeing her. Her heart leapt and her +throat was dry when he turned away and passed, still singing, +into the room opposite. It is alarming not to be seen.<br> +He had left the door of this room open, and she could see +into it, right across the landing. It was in a shocking mess. +Food, bedclothes, patent-leather boots, dirty plates, and knives +lay strewn over a large table and on the floor. But it was the +mess that comes of life, not of desolation. It was preferable to +the charnel-chamber in which she was standing now, and the light +in it was soft and large, as from some gracious, noble +opening.<br> +He stopped singing, and cried "Where is Perfetta?"<br> +His back was turned, and he was lighting a cigar. He was not +speaking to Miss Abbott. He could not even be expecting her. +The vista of the landing and the two open doors made him both +remote and significant, like an actor on the stage, intimate and +unapproachable at the same time. She could no more call out to +him than if he was Hamlet.<br> +"You know!" he continued, "but you will not tell me. Exactly +like you." He reclined on the table and blew a fat smoke-ring. +"And why won't you tell me the numbers? I have dreamt of a red +hen--that is two hundred and five, and a friend unexpected--he +means eighty-two. But I try for the Terno this week. So tell me +another number."<br> +Miss Abbott did not know of the Tombola. His speech +terrified her. She felt those subtle restrictions which come +upon us in fatigue. Had she slept well she would have greeted +him as soon as she saw him. Now it was impossible. He had got +into another world.<br> +She watched his smoke-ring. The air had carried it slowly +away from him, and brought it out intact upon the landing.<br> +"Two hundred and five--eighty-two. In any case I shall put +them on Bari, not on Florence. I cannot tell you why; I have a +feeling this week for Bari." Again she tried to speak. But the +ring mesmerized her. It had become vast and elliptical, and +floated in at the reception-room door.<br> +"Ah! you don't care if you get the profits. You won't even +say 'Thank you, Gino.' Say it, or I'll drop hot, red-hot ashes on +you. 'Thank you, Gino--'"<br> +The ring had extended its pale blue coils towards her. She +lost self-control. It enveloped her. As if it was a breath from +the pit, she screamed.<br> +There he was, wanting to know what had frightened her, how +she had got here, why she had never spoken. He made her sit +down. He brought her wine, which she refused. She had not one +word to say to him.<br> +"What is it?" he repeated. "What has frightened you?"<br> +He, too, was frightened, and perspiration came starting +through the tan. For it is a serious thing to have been +watched. We all radiate something curiously intimate when we +believe ourselves to be alone.<br> +"Business--" she said at last.<br> +"Business with me?"<br> +"Most important business." She was lying, white and limp, in +the dusty chair.<br> +"Before business you must get well; this is the best +wine."<br> +She refused it feebly. He poured out a glass. She drank +it. As she did so she became self-conscious. However important +the business, it was not proper of her to have called on him, or +to accept his hospitality.<br> +"Perhaps you are engaged," she said. "And as I am not very +well--"<br> +"You are not well enough to go back. And I am not +engaged."<br> +She looked nervously at the other room.<br> +"Ah, now I understand," he exclaimed. "Now I see what +frightened you. But why did you never speak?" And taking her +into the room where he lived, he pointed to--the baby.<br> +She had thought so much about this baby, of its welfare, its +soul, its morals, its probable defects. But, like most unmarried +people, she had only thought of it as a word--just as the healthy +man only thinks of the word death, not of death itself. The real +thing, lying asleep on a dirty rug, disconcerted her. It did not +stand for a principle any longer. It was so much flesh and +blood, so many inches and ounces of life--a glorious, +unquestionable fact, which a man and another woman had given to +the world. You could talk to it; in time it would answer you; in +time it would not answer you unless it chose, but would secrete, +within the compass of its body, thoughts and wonderful passions +of its own. And this was the machine on which she and Mrs. +Herriton and Philip and Harriet had for the last month been +exercising their various ideals--had determined that in time it +should move this way or that way, should accomplish this and not +that. It was to be Low Church, it was to be high-principled, it +was to be tactful, gentlemanly, artistic--excellent things all. +Yet now that she saw this baby, lying asleep on a dirty rug, she +had a great disposition not to dictate one of them, and to exert +no more influence than there may be in a kiss or in the vaguest +of the heartfelt prayers.<br> +But she had practised self-discipline, and her thoughts and +actions were not yet to correspond. To recover her self-esteem +she tried to imagine that she was in her district, and to behave +accordingly.<br> +"What a fine child, Signor Carella. And how nice of you to +talk to it. Though I see that the ungrateful little fellow is +asleep! Seven months? No, eight; of course eight. Still, he is +a remarkably fine child for his age."<br> +Italian is a bad medium for condescension. The patronizing +words came out gracious and sincere, and he smiled with +pleasure.<br> +"You must not stand. Let us sit on the loggia, where it is +cool. I am afraid the room is very untidy," he added, with the +air of a hostess who apologizes for a stray thread on the +drawing-room carpet. Miss Abbott picked her way to the chair. +He sat near her, astride the parapet, with one foot in the loggia +and the other dangling into the view. His face was in profile, +and its beautiful contours drove artfully against the misty green +of the opposing hills. "Posing!" said Miss Abbott to herself. +"A born artist's model."<br> +"Mr. Herriton called yesterday," she began, "but you were +out."<br> +He started an elaborate and graceful explanation. He had +gone for the day to Poggibonsi. Why had the Herritons not +written to him, so that he could have received them properly? +Poggibonsi would have done any day; not but what his business +there was fairly important. What did she suppose that it +was?<br> +Naturally she was not greatly interested. She had not come +from Sawston to guess why he had been to Poggibonsi. She +answered politely that she had no idea, and returned to her +mission.<br> +"But guess!" he persisted, clapping the balustrade between +his hands.<br> +She suggested, with gentle sarcasm, that perhaps he had gone +to Poggibonsi to find something to do.<br> +He intimated that it was not as important as all that. +Something to do--an almost hopeless quest! "E manca questo!" He +rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, to indicate that he had +no money. Then he sighed, and blew another smoke-ring. Miss +Abbott took heart and turned diplomatic.<br> +"This house," she said, "is a large house."<br> +"Exactly," was his gloomy reply. "And when my poor wife +died--" He got up, went in, and walked across the landing to the +reception-room door, which he closed reverently. Then he shut +the door of the living-room with his foot, returned briskly to +his seat, and continued his sentence. "When my poor wife died I +thought of having my relatives to live here. My father wished to +give up his practice at Empoli; my mother and sisters and two +aunts were also willing. But it was impossible. They have their +ways of doing things, and when I was younger I was content with +them. But now I am a man. I have my own ways. Do you +understand?"<br> +"Yes, I do," said Miss Abbott, thinking of her own dear +father, whose tricks and habits, after twenty-five years spent in +their company, were beginning to get on her nerves. She +remembered, though, that she was not here to sympathize with +Gino--at all events, not to show that she sympathized. She also +reminded herself that he was not worthy of sympathy. "It is a +large house," she repeated.<br> +"Immense; and the taxes! But it will be better when--Ah! +but you have never guessed why I went to Poggibonsi--why it was +that I was out when he called."<br> +"I cannot guess, Signor Carella. I am here on business."<br> +"But try."<br> +"I cannot; I hardly know you."<br> +"But we are old friends," he said, "and your approval will be +grateful to me. You gave it me once before. Will you give it +now?"<br> +"I have not come as a friend this time," she answered +stiffly. "I am not likely, Signor Carella, to approve of +anything you do."<br> +"Oh, Signorina!" He laughed, as if he found her piquant and +amusing. "Surely you approve of marriage?"<br> +"Where there is love," said Miss Abbott, looking at him +hard. His face had altered in the last year, but not for the +worse, which was baffling.<br> +"Where there is love," said he, politely echoing the English +view. Then he smiled on her, expecting congratulations.<br> +"Do I understand that you are proposing to marry again?"<br> +He nodded.<br> +"I forbid you, then!"<br> +He looked puzzled, but took it for some foreign banter, and +laughed.<br> +"I forbid you!" repeated Miss Abbott, and all the indignation +of her sex and her nationality went thrilling through the +words.<br> +"But why?" He jumped up, frowning. His voice was squeaky +and petulant, like that of a child who is suddenly forbidden a +toy.<br> +"You have ruined one woman; I forbid you to ruin another. It +is not a year since Lilia died. You pretended to me the other +day that you loved her. It is a lie. You wanted her money. Has +this woman money too?"<br> +"Why, yes!" he said irritably. "A little."<br> +"And I suppose you will say that you love her."<br> +"I shall not say it. It will be untrue. Now my poor +wife--" He stopped, seeing that the comparison would involve him +in difficulties. And indeed he had often found Lilia as +agreeable as any one else.<br> +Miss Abbott was furious at this final insult to her dead +acquaintance. She was glad that after all she could be so angry +with the boy. She glowed and throbbed; her tongue moved nimbly. +At the finish, if the real business of the day had been +completed, she could have swept majestically from the house. But +the baby still remained, asleep on a dirty rug.<br> +Gino was thoughtful, and stood scratching his head. He +respected Miss Abbott. He wished that she would respect him. +"So you do not advise me?" he said dolefully. "But why should it +be a failure?"<br> +Miss Abbott tried to remember that he was really a child +still--a child with the strength and the passions of a +disreputable man. "How can it succeed," she said solemnly, +"where there is no love?"<br> +"But she does love me! I forgot to tell you that."<br> +"Indeed."<br> +"Passionately." He laid his hand upon his own heart.<br> +"Then God help her!"<br> +He stamped impatiently. "Whatever I say displeases you, +Signorina. God help you, for you are most unfair. You say that +I ill-treated my dear wife. It is not so. I have never +ill-treated any one. You complain that there is no love in this +marriage. I prove that there is, and you become still more +angry. What do you want? Do you suppose she will not be +contented? Glad enough she is to get me, and she will do her +duty well."<br> +"Her duty!" cried Miss Abbott, with all the bitterness of +which she was capable.<br> +"Why, of course. She knows why I am marrying her."<br> +"To succeed where Lilia failed! To be your housekeeper, your +slave, you--" The words she would like to have said were too +violent for her.<br> +"To look after the baby, certainly," said he.<br> +"The baby--?" She had forgotten it.<br> +"It is an English marriage," he said proudly. "I do not care +about the money. I am having her for my son. Did you not +understand that?"<br> +"No," said Miss Abbott, utterly bewildered. Then, for a +moment, she saw light. "It is not necessary, Signor Carella. +Since you are tired of the baby--"<br> +Ever after she remembered it to her credit that she saw her +mistake at once. "I don't mean that," she added quickly.<br> +"I know," was his courteous response. "Ah, in a foreign +language (and how perfectly you speak Italian) one is certain to +make slips."<br> +She looked at his face. It was apparently innocent of +satire.<br> +"You meant that we could not always be together yet, he and +I. You are right. What is to be done? I cannot afford a nurse, +and Perfetta is too rough. When he was ill I dare not let her +touch him. When he has to be washed, which happens now and then, +who does it? I. I feed him, or settle what he shall have. I +sleep with him and comfort him when he is unhappy in the night. +No one talks, no one may sing to him but I. Do not be unfair this +time; I like to do these things. But nevertheless (his voice +became pathetic) they take up a great deal of time, and are not +all suitable for a young man."<br> +"Not at all suitable," said Miss Abbott, and closed her eyes +wearily. Each moment her difficulties were increasing. She +wished that she was not so tired, so open to contradictory +impressions. She longed for Harriet's burly obtuseness or for +the soulless diplomacy of Mrs. Herriton.<br> +"A little more wine?" asked Gino kindly.<br> +"Oh, no, thank you! But marriage, Signor Carella, is a very +serious step. Could you not manage more simply? Your relative, +for example--"<br> +"Empoli! I would as soon have him in England!"<br> +"England, then--"<br> +He laughed.<br> +"He has a grandmother there, you know--Mrs. Theobald."<br> +"He has a grandmother here. No, he is troublesome, but I +must have him with me. I will not even have my father and mother +too. For they would separate us," he added.<br> +"How?"<br> +"They would separate our thoughts."<br> +She was silent. This cruel, vicious fellow knew of strange +refinements. The horrible truth, that wicked people are capable +of love, stood naked before her, and her moral being was +abashed. It was her duty to rescue the baby, to save it from +contagion, and she still meant to do her duty. But the +comfortable sense of virtue left her. She was in the presence of +something greater than right or wrong.<br> +Forgetting that this was an interview, he had strolled back +into the room, driven by the instinct she had aroused in him. +"Wake up!" he cried to his baby, as if it was some grown-up +friend. Then he lifted his foot and trod lightly on its +stomach.<br> +Miss Abbott cried, "Oh, take care!" She was unaccustomed to +this method of awakening the young.<br> +"He is not much longer than my boot, is he? Can you believe +that in time his own boots will be as large? And that he +also--"<br> +"But ought you to treat him like that?"<br> +He stood with one foot resting on the little body, suddenly +musing, filled with the desire that his son should be like him, +and should have sons like him, to people the earth. It is the +strongest desire that can come to a man--if it comes to him at +all--stronger even than love or the desire for personal +immortality. All men vaunt it, and declare that it is theirs; +but the hearts of most are set elsewhere. It is the exception +who comprehends that physical and spiritual life may stream out +of him for ever. Miss Abbott, for all her goodness, could not +comprehend it, though such a thing is more within the +comprehension of women. And when Gino pointed first to himself +and then to his baby and said "father-son," she still took it as +a piece of nursery prattle, and smiled mechanically.<br> +The child, the first fruits, woke up and glared at her. Gino +did not greet it, but continued the exposition of his policy.<br> +"This woman will do exactly what I tell her. She is fond of +children. She is clean; she has a pleasant voice. She is not +beautiful; I cannot pretend that to you for a moment. But she is +what I require."<br> +The baby gave a piercing yell.<br> +"Oh, do take care!" begged Miss Abbott. "You are squeezing +it."<br> +"It is nothing. If he cries silently then you may be +frightened. He thinks I am going to wash him, and he is quite +right."<br> +"Wash him!" she cried. "You? Here?" The homely piece of +news seemed to shatter all her plans. She had spent a long +half-hour in elaborate approaches, in high moral attacks; she had +neither frightened her enemy nor made him angry, nor interfered +with the least detail of his domestic life.<br> +"I had gone to the Farmacia," he continued, "and was sitting +there comfortably, when suddenly I remembered that Perfetta had +heated water an hour ago--over there, look, covered with a +cushion. I came away at once, for really he must be washed. You +must excuse me. I can put it off no longer."<br> +"I have wasted your time," she said feebly.<br> +He walked sternly to the loggia and drew from it a large +earthenware bowl. It was dirty inside; he dusted it with a +tablecloth. Then he fetched the hot water, which was in a copper +pot. He poured it out. He added cold. He felt in his pocket +and brought out a piece of soap. Then he took up the baby, and, +holding his cigar between his teeth, began to unwrap it. Miss +Abbott turned to go.<br> +"But why are you going? Excuse me if I wash him while we +talk."<br> +"I have nothing more to say," said Miss Abbott. All she +could do now was to find Philip, confess her miserable defeat, +and bid him go in her stead and prosper better. She cursed her +feebleness; she longed to expose it, without apologies or +tears.<br> +"Oh, but stop a moment!" he cried. "You have not seen him +yet."<br> +"I have seen as much as I want, thank you."<br> +The last wrapping slid off. He held out to her in his two +hands a little kicking image of bronze.<br> +"Take him!"<br> +She would not touch the child.<br> +"I must go at once," she cried; for the tears--the wrong +tears--were hurrying to her eyes.<br> +"Who would have believed his mother was blonde? For he is +brown all over--brown every inch of him. Ah, but how beautiful +he is! And he is mine; mine for ever. Even if he hates me he +will be mine. He cannot help it; he is made out of me; I am his +father."<br> +It was too late to go. She could not tell why, but it was +too late. She turned away her head when Gino lifted his son to +his lips. This was something too remote from the prettiness of +the nursery. The man was majestic; he was a part of Nature; in +no ordinary love scene could he ever be so great. For a +wonderful physical tie binds the parents to the children; and--by +some sad, strange irony--it does not bind us children to our +parents. For if it did, if we could answer their love not with +gratitude but with equal love, life would lose much of its pathos +and much of its squalor, and we might be wonderfully happy. Gino +passionately embracing, Miss Abbott reverently averting her +eyes--both of them had parents whom they did not love so very +much.<br> +"May I help you to wash him?" she asked humbly.<br> +He gave her his son without speaking, and they knelt side by +side, tucking up their sleeves. The child had stopped crying, +and his arms and legs were agitated by some overpowering joy. +Miss Abbott had a woman's pleasure in cleaning anything--more +especially when the thing was human. She understood little +babies from long experience in a district, and Gino soon ceased +to give her directions, and only gave her thanks.<br> +"It is very kind of you," he murmured, "especially in your +beautiful dress. He is nearly clean already. Why, I take the +whole morning! There is so much more of a baby than one +expects. And Perfetta washes him just as she washes clothes. +Then he screams for hours. My wife is to have a light hand. Ah, +how he kicks! Has he splashed you? I am very sorry."<br> +"I am ready for a soft towel now," said Miss Abbott, who was +strangely exalted by the service.<br> +"Certainly! certainly!" He strode in a knowing way to a +cupboard. But he had no idea where the soft towel was. +Generally he dabbed the baby on the first dry thing he +found.<br> +"And if you had any powder."<br> +He struck his forehead despairingly. Apparently the stock of +powder was just exhausted.<br> +She sacrificed her own clean handkerchief. He put a chair +for her on the loggia, which faced westward, and was still +pleasant and cool. There she sat, with twenty miles of view +behind her, and he placed the dripping baby on her knee. It +shone now with health and beauty: it seemed to reflect light, +like a copper vessel. Just such a baby Bellini sets languid on +his mother's lap, or Signorelli flings wriggling on pavements of +marble, or Lorenzo di Credi, more reverent but less divine, lays +carefully among flowers, with his head upon a wisp of golden +straw. For a time Gino contemplated them standing. Then, to get +a better view, he knelt by the side of the chair, with his hands +clasped before him.<br> +So they were when Philip entered, and saw, to all intents and +purposes, the Virgin and Child, with Donor.<br> +"Hullo!" he exclaimed; for he was glad to find things in such +cheerful trim.<br> +She did not greet him, but rose up unsteadily and handed the +baby to his father.<br> +"No, do stop!" whispered Philip. "I got your note. I'm not +offended; you're quite right. I really want you; I could never +have done it alone."<br> +No words came from her, but she raised her hands to her +mouth, like one who is in sudden agony.<br> +"Signorina, do stop a little--after all your kindness."<br> +She burst into tears.<br> +"What is it?" said Philip kindly.<br> +She tried to speak, and then went away weeping bitterly.<br> +The two men stared at each other. By a common impulse they +ran on to the loggia. They were just in time to see Miss Abbott +disappear among the trees.<br> +"What is it?" asked Philip again. There was no answer, and +somehow he did not want an answer. Some strange thing had +happened which he could not presume to understand. He would find +out from Miss Abbott, if ever he found out at all.<br> +"Well, your business," said Gino, after a puzzled sigh.<br> +"Our business--Miss Abbott has told you of that."<br> +"No."<br> +"But surely--"<br> +"She came for business. But she forgot about it; so did +I."<br> +Perfetta, who had a genius for missing people, now returned, +loudly complaining of the size of Monteriano and the intricacies +of its streets. Gino told her to watch the baby. Then he +offered Philip a cigar, and they proceeded to the business.</p> + +<hr size="0"> +<br> +<br> + + +<h3 align="CENTER">Chapter 8</h3> + +<p>"Mad!" screamed Harriet,--"absolutely stark, staring, raving +mad!"<br> +Philip judged it better not to contradict her.<br> +"What's she here for? Answer me that. What's she doing in +Monteriano in August? Why isn't she in Normandy? Answer that. +She won't. I can: she's come to thwart us; she's betrayed +us--got hold of mother's plans. Oh, goodness, my head!"<br> +He was unwise enough to reply, "You mustn't accuse her of +that. Though she is exasperating, she hasn't come here to betray +us."<br> +"Then why has she come here? Answer me that."<br> +He made no answer. But fortunately his sister was too much +agitated to wait for one. "Bursting in on me--crying and looking +a disgusting sight--and says she has been to see the Italian. +Couldn't even talk properly; pretended she had changed her +opinions. What are her opinions to us? I was very calm. I +said: 'Miss Abbott, I think there is a little misapprehension in +this matter. My mother, Mrs. Herriton--' Oh, goodness, my head! +Of course you've failed--don't trouble to answer--I know you've +failed. Where's the baby, pray? Of course you haven't got it. +Dear sweet Caroline won't let you. Oh, yes, and we're to go away +at once and trouble the father no more. Those are her commands. +Commands! COMMANDS!" And Harriet also burst into tears.<br> +Philip governed his temper. His sister was annoying, but +quite reasonable in her indignation. Moreover, Miss Abbott had +behaved even worse than she supposed.<br> +"I've not got the baby, Harriet, but at the same time I +haven't exactly failed. I and Signor Carella are to have another +interview this afternoon, at the Caffè Garibaldi. He is +perfectly reasonable and pleasant. Should you be disposed to +come with me, you would find him quite willing to discuss +things. He is desperately in want of money, and has no prospect +of getting any. I discovered that. At the same time, he has a +certain affection for the child." For Philip's insight, or +perhaps his opportunities, had not been equal to Miss +Abbott's.<br> +Harriet would only sob, and accuse her brother of insulting +her; how could a lady speak to such a horrible man? That, and +nothing else, was enough to stamp Caroline. Oh, poor Lilia!<br> +Philip drummed on the bedroom window-sill. He saw no escape +from the deadlock. For though he spoke cheerfully about his +second interview with Gino, he felt at the bottom of his heart +that it would fail. Gino was too courteous: he would not break +off negotiations by sharp denial; he loved this civil, +half-humorous bargaining. And he loved fooling his opponent, and +did it so nicely that his opponent did not mind being fooled.<br> +"Miss Abbott has behaved extraordinarily," he said at last; +"but at the same time--"<br> +His sister would not hear him. She burst forth again on the +madness, the interference, the intolerable duplicity of +Caroline.<br> +"Harriet, you must listen. My dear, you must stop crying. I +have something quite important to say."<br> +"I shall not stop crying," said she. But in time, finding +that he would not speak to her, she did stop.<br> +"Remember that Miss Abbott has done us no harm. She said +nothing to him about the matter. He assumes that she is working +with us: I gathered that."<br> +"Well, she isn't."<br> +"Yes; but if you're careful she may be. I interpret her +behaviour thus: She went to see him, honestly intending to get +the child away. In the note she left me she says so, and I don't +believe she'd lie."<br> +"I do."<br> +"When she got there, there was some pretty domestic scene +between him and the baby, and she has got swept off in a gush of +sentimentalism. Before very long, if I know anything about +psychology, there will be a reaction. She'll be swept back."<br> +"I don't understand your long words. Say plainly--"<br> +"When she's swept back, she'll be invaluable. For she has +made quite an impression on him. He thinks her so nice with the +baby. You know, she washed it for him."<br> +"Disgusting!"<br> +Harriet's ejaculations were more aggravating than the rest of +her. But Philip was averse to losing his temper. The access of +joy that had come to him yesterday in the theatre promised to be +permanent. He was more anxious than heretofore to be charitable +towards the world.<br> +"If you want to carry off the baby, keep your peace with Miss +Abbott. For if she chooses, she can help you better than I +can."<br> +"There can be no peace between me and her," said Harriet +gloomily.<br> +"Did you--"<br> +"Oh, not all I wanted. She went away before I had finished +speaking--just like those cowardly people!--into the +church."<br> +"Into Santa Deodata's?"<br> +"Yes; I'm sure she needs it. Anything more +unchristian--"<br> +In time Philip went to the church also, leaving his sister a +little calmer and a little disposed to think over his advice. +What had come over Miss Abbott? He had always thought her both +stable and sincere. That conversation he had had with her last +Christmas in the train to Charing Cross--that alone furnished him +with a parallel. For the second time, Monteriano must have +turned her head. He was not angry with her, for he was quite +indifferent to the outcome of their expedition. He was only +extremely interested.<br> +It was now nearly midday, and the streets were clearing. But +the intense heat had broken, and there was a pleasant suggestion +of rain. The Piazza, with its three great attractions--the +Palazzo Pubblico, the Collegiate Church, and the Caffè +Garibaldi: the intellect, the soul, and the body--had never +looked more charming. For a moment Philip stood in its centre, +much inclined to be dreamy, and thinking how wonderful it must +feel to belong to a city, however mean. He was here, however, as +an emissary of civilization and as a student of character, and, +after a sigh, he entered Santa Deodata's to continue his +mission.<br> +There had been a <em>festa</em> two days before, and the +church still smelt of incense and of garlic. The little son of +the sacristan was sweeping the nave, more for amusement than for +cleanliness, sending great clouds of dust over the frescoes and +the scattered worshippers. The sacristan himself had propped a +ladder in the centre of the Deluge--which fills one of the nave +spandrels--and was freeing a column from its wealth of scarlet +calico. Much scarlet calico also lay upon the floor--for the +church can look as fine as any theatre--and the sacristan's +little daughter was trying to fold it up. She was wearing a +tinsel crown. The crown really belonged to St. Augustine. But +it had been cut too big: it fell down over his cheeks like a +collar: you never saw anything so absurd. One of the canons had +unhooked it just before the <em>fiesta</em> began, and had given +it to the sacristan's daughter.<br> +"Please," cried Philip, "is there an English lady here?"<br> +The man's mouth was full of tin-tacks, but he nodded +cheerfully towards a kneeling figure. In the midst of this +confusion Miss Abbott was praying.<br> +He was not much surprised: a spiritual breakdown was quite to +be expected. For though he was growing more charitable towards +mankind, he was still a little jaunty, and too apt to stake out +beforehand the course that will be pursued by the wounded soul. +It did not surprise him, however, that she should greet him +naturally, with none of the sour self-consciousness of a person +who had just risen from her knees. This was indeed the spirit of +Santa Deodata's, where a prayer to God is thought none the worse +of because it comes next to a pleasant word to a neighbour. "I +am sure that I need it," said she; and he, who had expected her +to be ashamed, became confused, and knew not what to reply.<br> +"I've nothing to tell you," she continued. "I have simply +changed straight round. If I had planned the whole thing out, I +could not have treated you worse. I can talk it over now; but +please believe that I have been crying."<br> +"And please believe that I have not come to scold you," said +Philip. "I know what has happened."<br> +"What?" asked Miss Abbott. Instinctively she led the way to +the famous chapel, the fifth chapel on the right, wherein +Giovanni da Empoli has painted the death and burial of the +saint. Here they could sit out of the dust and the noise, and +proceed with a discussion which promised to be important.<br> +"What might have happened to me--he had made you believe that +he loved the child."<br> +"Oh, yes; he has. He will never give it up."<br> +"At present it is still unsettled."<br> +"It will never be settled."<br> +"Perhaps not. Well, as I said, I know what has happened, and +I am not here to scold you. But I must ask you to withdraw from +the thing for the present. Harriet is furious. But she will +calm down when she realizes that you have done us no harm, and +will do none."<br> +"I can do no more," she said. "But I tell you plainly I have +changed sides."<br> +"If you do no more, that is all we want. You promise not to +prejudice our cause by speaking to Signor Carella?"<br> +"Oh, certainly. I don't want to speak to him again; I shan't +ever see him again."<br> +"Quite nice, wasn't he?"<br> +"Quite."<br> +"Well, that's all I wanted to know. I'll go and tell Harriet +of your promise, and I think things'll quiet down now."<br> +But he did not move, for it was an increasing pleasure to him +to be near her, and her charm was at its strongest today. He +thought less of psychology and feminine reaction. The gush of +sentimentalism which had carried her away had only made her more +alluring. He was content to observe her beauty and to profit by +the tenderness and the wisdom that dwelt within her.<br> +"Why aren't you angry with me?" she asked, after a pause.<br> +"Because I understand you--all sides, I think,--Harriet, +Signor Carella, even my mother."<br> +"You do understand wonderfully. You are the only one of us +who has a general view of the muddle."<br> +He smiled with pleasure. It was the first time she had ever +praised him. His eyes rested agreeably on Santa Deodata, who was +dying in full sanctity, upon her back. There was a window open +behind her, revealing just such a view as he had seen that +morning, and on her widowed mother's dresser there stood just +such another copper pot. The saint looked neither at the view +nor at the pot, and at her widowed mother still less. For lo! +she had a vision: the head and shoulders of St. Augustine were +sliding like some miraculous enamel along the rough-cast wall. +It is a gentle saint who is content with half another saint to +see her die. In her death, as in her life, Santa Deodata did not +accomplish much.<br> +"So what are you going to do?" said Miss Abbott.<br> +Philip started, not so much at the words as at the sudden +change in the voice. "Do?" he echoed, rather dismayed. "This +afternoon I have another interview."<br> +"It will come to nothing. Well?"<br> +"Then another. If that fails I shall wire home for +instructions. I dare say we may fail altogether, but we shall +fail honourably."<br> +She had often been decided. But now behind her decision +there was a note of passion. She struck him not as different, +but as more important, and he minded it very much when she +said--<br> +"That's not doing anything! You would be doing something if +you kidnapped the baby, or if you went straight away. But that! +To fail honourably! To come out of the thing as well as you +can! Is that all you are after?"<br> +"Why, yes," he stammered. "Since we talk openly, that is all +I am after just now. What else is there? If I can persuade +Signor Carella to give in, so much the better. If he won't, I +must report the failure to my mother and then go home. Why, Miss +Abbott, you can't expect me to follow you through all these +turns--"<br> +"I don't! But I do expect you to settle what is right and to +follow that. Do you want the child to stop with his father, who +loves him and will bring him up badly, or do you want him to come +to Sawston, where no one loves him, but where he will be brought +up well? There is the question put dispassionately enough even +for you. Settle it. Settle which side you'll fight on. But +don't go talking about an 'honourable failure,' which means +simply not thinking and not acting at all."<br> +"Because I understand the position of Signor Carella and of +you, it's no reason that--"<br> +"None at all. Fight as if you think us wrong. Oh, what's +the use of your fair-mindedness if you never decide for +yourself? Any one gets hold of you and makes you do what they +want. And you see through them and laugh at them--and do it. +It's not enough to see clearly; I'm muddle-headed and stupid, and +not worth a quarter of you, but I have tried to do what seemed +right at the time. And you--your brain and your insight are +splendid. But when you see what's right you're too idle to do +it. You told me once that we shall be judged by our intentions, +not by our accomplishments. I thought it a grand remark. But we +must intend to accomplish--not sit intending on a chair."<br> +"You are wonderful!" he said gravely.<br> +"Oh, you appreciate me!" she burst out again. "I wish you +didn't. You appreciate us all--see good in all of us. And all +the time you are dead--dead--dead. Look, why aren't you angry?" +She came up to him, and then her mood suddenly changed, and she +took hold of both his hands. "You are so splendid, Mr. Herriton, +that I can't bear to see you wasted. I can't bear--she has not +been good to you--your mother."<br> +"Miss Abbott, don't worry over me. Some people are born not +to do things. I'm one of them; I never did anything at school or +at the Bar. I came out to stop Lilia's marriage, and it was too +late. I came out intending to get the baby, and I shall return +an 'honourable failure.' I never expect anything to happen now, +and so I am never disappointed. You would be surprised to know +what my great events are. Going to the theatre yesterday, +talking to you now--I don't suppose I shall ever meet anything +greater. I seem fated to pass through the world without +colliding with it or moving it--and I'm sure I can't tell you +whether the fate's good or evil. I don't die--I don't fall in +love. And if other people die or fall in love they always do it +when I'm just not there. You are quite right; life to me is just +a spectacle, which--thank God, and thank Italy, and thank you--is +now more beautiful and heartening than it has ever been +before."<br> +She said solemnly, "I wish something would happen to you, my +dear friend; I wish something would happen to you."<br> +"But why?" he asked, smiling. "Prove to me why I don't do as +I am."<br> +She also smiled, very gravely. She could not prove it. No +argument existed. Their discourse, splendid as it had been, +resulted in nothing, and their respective opinions and policies +were exactly the same when they left the church as when they had +entered it.<br> +Harriet was rude at lunch. She called Miss Abbott a turncoat +and a coward to her face. Miss Abbott resented neither epithet, +feeling that one was justified and the other not unreasonable. +She tried to avoid even the suspicion of satire in her replies. +But Harriet was sure that she was satirical because she was so +calm. She got more and more violent, and Philip at one time +feared that she would come to blows.<br> +"Look here!" he cried, with something of the old manner, +"it's too hot for this. We've been talking and interviewing each +other all the morning, and I have another interview this +afternoon. I do stipulate for silence. Let each lady retire to +her bedroom with a book."<br> +"I retire to pack," said Harriet. "Please remind Signor +Carella, Philip, that the baby is to be here by half-past eight +this evening."<br> +"Oh, certainly, Harriet. I shall make a point of reminding +him."<br> +"And order a carriage to take us to the evening train."<br> +"And please," said Miss Abbott, "would you order a carriage +for me too?"<br> +"You going?" he exclaimed.<br> +"Of course," she replied, suddenly flushing. "Why not?"<br> +"Why, of course you would be going. Two carriages, then. +Two carriages for the evening train." He looked at his sister +hopelessly. "Harriet, whatever are you up to? We shall never be +ready."<br> +"Order my carriage for the evening train," said Harriet, and +departed.<br> +"Well, I suppose I shall. And I shall also have my interview +with Signor Carella."<br> +Miss Abbott gave a little sigh.<br> +"But why should you mind? Do you suppose that I shall have +the slightest influence over him?"<br> +"No. But--I can't repeat all that I said in the church. You +ought never to see him again. You ought to bundle Harriet into a +carriage, not this evening, but now, and drive her straight +away."<br> +"Perhaps I ought. But it isn't a very big 'ought.' Whatever +Harriet and I do the issue is the same. Why, I can see the +splendour of it--even the humour. Gino sitting up here on the +mountain-top with his cub. We come and ask for it. He welcomes +us. We ask for it again. He is equally pleasant. I'm agreeable +to spend the whole week bargaining with him. But I know that at +the end of it I shall descend empty-handed to the plains. It +might be finer of me to make up my mind. But I'm not a fine +character. And nothing hangs on it."<br> +"Perhaps I am extreme," she said humbly. "I've been trying +to run you, just like your mother. I feel you ought to fight it +out with Harriet. Every little trifle, for some reason, does +seem incalculably important today, and when you say of a thing +that 'nothing hangs on it,' it sounds like blasphemy. There's +never any knowing--(how am I to put it?)--which of our actions, +which of our idlenesses won't have things hanging on it for +ever."<br> +He assented, but her remark had only an æsthetic +value. He was not prepared to take it to his heart. All the +afternoon he rested--worried, but not exactly despondent. The +thing would jog out somehow. Probably Miss Abbott was right. +The baby had better stop where it was loved. And that, probably, +was what the fates had decreed. He felt little interest in the +matter, and he was sure that he had no influence.<br> +It was not surprising, therefore, that the interview at the +Caffè Garibaldi came to nothing. Neither of them took it +very seriously. And before long Gino had discovered how things +lay, and was ragging his companion hopelessly. Philip tried to +look offended, but in the end he had to laugh. "Well, you are +right," he said. "This affair is being managed by the +ladies."<br> +"Ah, the ladies--the ladies!" cried the other, and then he +roared like a millionaire for two cups of black coffee, and +insisted on treating his friend, as a sign that their strife was +over.<br> +"Well, I have done my best," said Philip, dipping a long +slice of sugar into his cup, and watching the brown liquid ascend +into it. "I shall face my mother with a good conscience. Will +you bear me witness that I've done my best?"<br> +"My poor fellow, I will!" He laid a sympathetic hand on +Philip's knee.<br> +"And that I have--" The sugar was now impregnated with +coffee, and he bent forward to swallow it. As he did so his eyes +swept the opposite of the Piazza, and he saw there, watching +them, Harriet. "Mia sorella!" he exclaimed. Gino, much amused, +laid his hand upon the little table, and beat the marble +humorously with his fists. Harriet turned away and began +gloomily to inspect the Palazzo Pubblico.<br> +"Poor Harriet!" said Philip, swallowing the sugar. "One more +wrench and it will all be over for her; we are leaving this +evening."<br> +Gino was sorry for this. "Then you will not be here this +evening as you promised us. All three leaving?"<br> +"All three," said Philip, who had not revealed the secession +of Miss Abbott; "by the night train; at least, that is my +sister's plan. So I'm afraid I shan't be here."<br> +They watched the departing figure of Harriet, and then +entered upon the final civilities. They shook each other warmly +by both hands. Philip was to come again next year, and to write +beforehand. He was to be introduced to Gino's wife, for he was +told of the marriage now. He was to be godfather to his next +baby. As for Gino, he would remember some time that Philip liked +vermouth. He begged him to give his love to Irma. Mrs. +Herriton--should he send her his sympathetic regards? No; +perhaps that would hardly do.<br> +So the two young men parted with a good deal of genuine +affection. For the barrier of language is sometimes a blessed +barrier, which only lets pass what is good. Or--to put the thing +less cynically--we may be better in new clean words, which have +never been tainted by our pettiness or vice. Philip, at all +events, lived more graciously in Italian, the very phrases of +which entice one to be happy and kind. It was horrible to think +of the English of Harriet, whose every word would be as hard, as +distinct, and as unfinished as a lump of coal.<br> +Harriet, however, talked little. She had seen enough to know +that her brother had failed again, and with unwonted dignity she +accepted the situation. She did her packing, she wrote up her +diary, she made a brown paper cover for the new Baedeker. +Philip, finding her so amenable, tried to discuss their future +plans. But she only said that they would sleep in Florence, and +told him to telegraph for rooms. They had supper alone. Miss +Abbott did not come down. The landlady told them that Signor +Carella had called on Miss Abbott to say good-bye, but she, +though in, had not been able to see him. She also told them that +it had begun to rain. Harriet sighed, but indicated to her +brother that he was not responsible.<br> +The carriages came round at a quarter past eight. It was not +raining much, but the night was extraordinarily dark, and one of +the drivers wanted to go slowly to the station. Miss Abbott came +down and said that she was ready, and would start at once.<br> +"Yes, do," said Philip, who was standing in the hall. "Now +that we have quarrelled we scarcely want to travel in procession +all the way down the hill. Well, good-bye; it's all over at +last; another scene in my pageant has shifted."<br> +"Good-bye; it's been a great pleasure to see you. I hope +that won't shift, at all events." She gripped his hand.<br> +"You sound despondent," he said, laughing. "Don't forget +that you return victorious."<br> +"I suppose I do," she replied, more despondently than ever, +and got into the carriage. He concluded that she was thinking of +her reception at Sawston, whither her fame would doubtless +precede her. Whatever would Mrs. Herriton do? She could make +things quite unpleasant when she thought it right. She might +think it right to be silent, but then there was Harriet. Who +would bridle Harriet's tongue? Between the two of them Miss +Abbott was bound to have a bad time. Her reputation, both for +consistency and for moral enthusiasm, would be lost for ever.<br> +"It's hard luck on her," he thought. "She is a good person. +I must do for her anything I can." Their intimacy had been very +rapid, but he too hoped that it would not shift. He believed +that he understood her, and that she, by now, had seen the worst +of him. What if after a long time--if after all--he flushed like +a boy as he looked after her carriage.<br> +He went into the dining-room to look for Harriet. Harriet +was not to be found. Her bedroom, too, was empty. All that was +left of her was the purple prayer-book which lay open on the +bed. Philip took it up aimlessly, and saw--"Blessed be the Lord +my God who teacheth my hands to war and my fingers to fight." He +put the book in his pocket, and began to brood over more +profitable themes.<br> +Santa Deodata gave out half past eight. All the luggage was +on, and still Harriet had not appeared. "Depend upon it," said +the landlady, "she has gone to Signor Carella's to say good-bye +to her little nephew." Philip did not think it likely. They +shouted all over the house and still there was no Harriet. He +began to be uneasy. He was helpless without Miss Abbott; her +grave, kind face had cheered him wonderfully, even when it looked +displeased. Monteriano was sad without her; the rain was +thickening; the scraps of Donizetti floated tunelessly out of the +wineshops, and of the great tower opposite he could only see the +base, fresh papered with the advertisements of quacks.<br> +A man came up the street with a note. Philip read, "Start at +once. Pick me up outside the gate. Pay the bearer. H. H."<br> +"Did the lady give you this note?" he cried.<br> +The man was unintelligible.<br> +"Speak up!" exclaimed Philip. "Who gave it you--and +where?"<br> +Nothing but horrible sighings and bubblings came out of the +man.<br> +"Be patient with him," said the driver, turning round on the +box. "It is the poor idiot." And the landlady came out of the +hotel and echoed "The poor idiot. He cannot speak. He takes +messages for us all."<br> +Philip then saw that the messenger was a ghastly creature, +quite bald, with trickling eyes and grey twitching nose. In +another country he would have been shut up; here he was accepted +as a public institution, and part of Nature's scheme.<br> +"Ugh!" shuddered the Englishman. "Signora padrona, find out +from him; this note is from my sister. What does it mean? Where +did he see her?"<br> +"It is no good," said the landlady. "He understands +everything but he can explain nothing."<br> +"He has visions of the saints," said the man who drove the +cab.<br> +"But my sister--where has she gone? How has she met +him?"<br> +"She has gone for a walk," asserted the landlady. It was a +nasty evening, but she was beginning to understand the English. +"She has gone for a walk--perhaps to wish good-bye to her little +nephew. Preferring to come back another way, she has sent you +this note by the poor idiot and is waiting for you outside the +Siena gate. Many of my guests do this."<br> +There was nothing to do but to obey the message. He shook +hands with the landlady, gave the messenger a nickel piece, and +drove away. After a dozen yards the carriage stopped. The poor +idiot was running and whimpering behind.<br> +"Go on," cried Philip. "I have paid him plenty."<br> +A horrible hand pushed three soldi into his lap. It was part +of the idiot's malady only to receive what was just for his +services. This was the change out of the nickel piece.<br> +"Go on!" shouted Philip, and flung the money into the road. +He was frightened at the episode; the whole of life had become +unreal. It was a relief to be out of the Siena gate. They drew +up for a moment on the terrace. But there was no sign of +Harriet. The driver called to the Dogana men. But they had seen +no English lady pass.<br> +"What am I to do?" he cried; "it is not like the lady to be +late. We shall miss the train."<br> +"Let us drive slowly," said the driver, "and you shall call +her by name as we go."<br> +So they started down into the night, Philip calling +"Harriet! Harriet! Harriet!" And there she was, waiting for +them in the wet, at the first turn of the zigzag.<br> +"Harriet, why don't you answer?"<br> +"I heard you coming," said she, and got quickly in. Not till +then did he see that she carried a bundle.<br> +"What's that?"<br> +"Hush--"<br> +"Whatever is that?"<br> +"Hush--sleeping."<br> +Harriet had succeeded where Miss Abbott and Philip had +failed. It was the baby.<br> +She would not let him talk. The baby, she repeated, was +asleep, and she put up an umbrella to shield it and her from the +rain. He should hear all later, so he had to conjecture the +course of the wonderful interview--an interview between the South +pole and the North. It was quite easy to conjecture: Gino +crumpling up suddenly before the intense conviction of Harriet; +being told, perhaps, to his face that he was a villain; yielding +his only son perhaps for money, perhaps for nothing. "Poor +Gino," he thought. "He's no greater than I am, after all."<br> +Then he thought of Miss Abbott, whose carriage must be +descending the darkness some mile or two below them, and his easy +self-accusation failed. She, too, had conviction; he had felt +its force; he would feel it again when she knew this day's sombre +and unexpected close.<br> +"You have been pretty secret," he said; "you might tell me a +little now. What do we pay for him? All we've got?"<br> +"Hush!" answered Harriet, and dandled the bundle laboriously, +like some bony prophetess--Judith, or Deborah, or Jael. He had +last seen the baby sprawling on the knees of Miss Abbott, shining +and naked, with twenty miles of view behind him, and his father +kneeling by his feet. And that remembrance, together with +Harriet, and the darkness, and the poor idiot, and the silent +rain, filled him with sorrow and with the expectation of sorrow +to come.<br> +Monteriano had long disappeared, and he could see nothing but +the occasional wet stem of an olive, which their lamp illumined +as they passed it. They travelled quickly, for this driver did +not care how fast he went to the station, and would dash down +each incline and scuttle perilously round the curves.<br> +"Look here, Harriet," he said at last, "I feel bad; I want to +see the baby."<br> +"Hush!"<br> +"I don't mind if I do wake him up. I want to see him. I've +as much right in him as you."<br> +Harriet gave in. But it was too dark for him to see the +child's face. "Wait a minute," he whispered, and before she +could stop him he had lit a match under the shelter of her +umbrella. "But he's awake!" he exclaimed. The match went +out.<br> +"Good ickle quiet boysey, then."<br> +Philip winced. "His face, do you know, struck me as all +wrong."<br> +"All wrong?"<br> +"All puckered queerly."<br> +"Of course--with the shadows--you couldn't see him."<br> +"Well, hold him up again." She did so. He lit another +match. It went out quickly, but not before he had seen that the +baby was crying.<br> +"Nonsense," said Harriet sharply. "We should hear him if he +cried."<br> +"No, he's crying hard; I thought so before, and I'm certain +now."<br> +Harriet touched the child's face. It was bathed in tears. +"Oh, the night air, I suppose," she said, "or perhaps the wet of +the rain."<br> +"I say, you haven't hurt it, or held it the wrong way, or +anything; it is too uncanny--crying and no noise. Why didn't you +get Perfetta to carry it to the hotel instead of muddling with +the messenger? It's a marvel he understood about the note."<br> +"Oh, he understands." And he could feel her shudder. "He +tried to carry the baby--"<br> +"But why not Gino or Perfetta?"<br> +"Philip, don't talk. Must I say it again? Don't talk. The +baby wants to sleep." She crooned harshly as they descended, and +now and then she wiped up the tears which welled inexhaustibly +from the little eyes. Philip looked away, winking at times +himself. It was as if they were travelling with the whole +world's sorrow, as if all the mystery, all the persistency of woe +were gathered to a single fount. The roads were now coated with +mud, and the carriage went more quietly but not less swiftly, +sliding by long zigzags into the night. He knew the landmarks +pretty well: here was the crossroad to Poggibonsi; and the last +view of Monteriano, if they had light, would be from here. Soon +they ought to come to that little wood where violets were so +plentiful in spring. He wished the weather had not changed; it +was not cold, but the air was extraordinarily damp. It could not +be good for the child.<br> +"I suppose he breathes, and all that sort of thing?" he +said.<br> +"Of course," said Harriet, in an angry whisper. "You've +started him again. I'm certain he was asleep. I do wish you +wouldn't talk; it makes me so nervous."<br> +"I'm nervous too. I wish he'd scream. It's too uncanny. +Poor Gino! I'm terribly sorry for Gino."<br> +"Are you?"<br> +"Because he's weak--like most of us. He doesn't know what he +wants. He doesn't grip on to life. But I like that man, and I'm +sorry for him."<br> +Naturally enough she made no answer.<br> +"You despise him, Harriet, and you despise me. But you do us +no good by it. We fools want some one to set us on our feet. +Suppose a really decent woman had set up Gino--I believe Caroline +Abbott might have done it--mightn't he have been another +man?"<br> +"Philip," she interrupted, with an attempt at nonchalance, +"do you happen to have those matches handy? We might as well +look at the baby again if you have."<br> +The first match blew out immediately. So did the second. He +suggested that they should stop the carriage and borrow the lamp +from the driver.<br> +"Oh, I don't want all that bother. Try again."<br> +They entered the little wood as he tried to strike the third +match. At last it caught. Harriet poised the umbrella rightly, +and for a full quarter minute they contemplated the face that +trembled in the light of the trembling flame. Then there was a +shout and a crash. They were lying in the mud in darkness. The +carriage had overturned.<br> +Philip was a good deal hurt. He sat up and rocked himself to +and fro, holding his arm. He could just make out the outline of +the carriage above him, and the outlines of the carriage cushions +and of their luggage upon the grey road. The accident had taken +place in the wood, where it was even darker than in the open.<br> +"Are you all right?" he managed to say. Harriet was +screaming, the horse was kicking, the driver was cursing some +other man.<br> +Harriet's screams became coherent. "The baby--the baby--it +slipped--it's gone from my arms--I stole it!"<br> +"God help me!" said Philip. A cold circle came round his +mouth, and, he fainted.<br> +When he recovered it was still the same confusion. The horse +was kicking, the baby had not been found, and Harriet still +screamed like a maniac, "I stole it! I stole it! I stole it! +It slipped out of my arms!"<br> +"Keep still!" he commanded the driver. "Let no one move. We +may tread on it. Keep still."<br> +For a moment they all obeyed him. He began to crawl through +the mud, touching first this, then that, grasping the cushions by +mistake, listening for the faintest whisper that might guide +him. He tried to light a match, holding the box in his teeth and +striking at it with the uninjured hand. At last he succeeded, +and the light fell upon the bundle which he was seeking.<br> +It had rolled off the road into the wood a little way, and +had fallen across a great rut. So tiny it was that had it fallen +lengthways it would have disappeared, and he might never have +found it.<br> +"I stole it! I and the idiot--no one was there." She burst +out laughing.<br> +He sat down and laid it on his knee. Then he tried to +cleanse the face from the mud and the rain and the tears. His +arm, he supposed, was broken, but he could still move it a +little, and for the moment he forgot all pain. He was +listening--not for a cry, but for the tick of a heart or the +slightest tremor of breath.<br> +"Where are you?" called a voice. It was Miss Abbott, against +whose carriage they had collided. She had relit one of the +lamps, and was picking her way towards him.<br> +"Silence!" he called again, and again they obeyed. He shook +the bundle; he breathed into it; he opened his coat and pressed +it against him. Then he listened, and heard nothing but the rain +and the panting horses, and Harriet, who was somewhere chuckling +to herself in the dark.<br> +Miss Abbott approached, and took it gently from him. The +face was already chilly, but thanks to Philip it was no longer +wet. Nor would it again be wetted by any tear.</p> + +<hr size="0"> +<br> +<br> + + +<h3 align="CENTER">Chapter 9</h3> + +<p>The details of Harriet's crime were never known. In her +illness she spoke more of the inlaid box that she lent to +Lilia--lent, not given--than of recent troubles. It was clear +that she had gone prepared for an interview with Gino, and +finding him out, she had yielded to a grotesque temptation. But +how far this was the result of ill-temper, to what extent she had +been fortified by her religion, when and how she had met the poor +idiot--these questions were never answered, nor did they interest +Philip greatly. Detection was certain: they would have been +arrested by the police of Florence or Milan, or at the frontier. +As it was, they had been stopped in a simpler manner a few miles +out of the town.<br> +As yet he could scarcely survey the thing. It was too +great. Round the Italian baby who had died in the mud there +centred deep passions and high hopes. People had been wicked or +wrong in the matter; no one save himself had been trivial. Now +the baby had gone, but there remained this vast apparatus of +pride and pity and love. For the dead, who seemed to take away +so much, really take with them nothing that is ours. The passion +they have aroused lives after them, easy to transmute or to +transfer, but well-nigh impossible to destroy. And Philip knew +that he was still voyaging on the same magnificent, perilous sea, +with the sun or the clouds above him, and the tides below.<br> +The course of the moment--that, at all events, was certain. +He and no one else must take the news to Gino. It was easy to +talk of Harriet's crime--easy also to blame the negligent +Perfetta or Mrs. Herriton at home. Every one had +contributed--even Miss Abbott and Irma. If one chose, one might +consider the catastrophe composite or the work of fate. But +Philip did not so choose. It was his own fault, due to +acknowledged weakness in his own character. Therefore he, and no +one else, must take the news of it to Gino.<br> +Nothing prevented him. Miss Abbott was engaged with Harriet, +and people had sprung out of the darkness and were conducting +them towards some cottage. Philip had only to get into the +uninjured carriage and order the driver to return. He was back +at Monteriano after a two hours' absence. Perfetta was in the +house now, and greeted him cheerfully. Pain, physical and +mental, had made him stupid. It was some time before he realized +that she had never missed the child.<br> +Gino was still out. The woman took him to the +reception-room, just as she had taken Miss Abbott in the morning, +and dusted a circle for him on one of the horsehair chairs. But +it was dark now, so she left the guest a little lamp.<br> +"I will be as quick as I can," she told him. "But there are +many streets in Monteriano; he is sometimes difficult to find. I +could not find him this morning."<br> +"Go first to the Caffè Garibaldi," said Philip, +remembering that this was the hour appointed by his friends of +yesterday.<br> +He occupied the time he was left alone not in thinking--there +was nothing to think about; he simply had to tell a few +facts--but in trying to make a sling for his broken arm. The +trouble was in the elbow-joint, and as long as he kept this +motionless he could go on as usual. But inflammation was +beginning, and the slightest jar gave him agony. The sling was +not fitted before Gino leapt up the stairs, crying--<br> +"So you are back! How glad I am! We are all waiting--"<br> +Philip had seen too much to be nervous. In low, even tones +he told what had happened; and the other, also perfectly calm, +heard him to the end. In the silence Perfetta called up that she +had forgotten the baby's evening milk; she must fetch it. When +she had gone Gino took up the lamp without a word, and they went +into the other room.<br> +"My sister is ill," said Philip, "and Miss Abbott is +guiltless. I should be glad if you did not have to trouble +them."<br> +Gino had stooped down by the way, and was feeling the place +where his son had lain. Now and then he frowned a little and +glanced at Philip.<br> +"It is through me," he continued. "It happened because I was +cowardly and idle. I have come to know what you will do."<br> +Gino had left the rug, and began to pat the table from the +end, as if he was blind. The action was so uncanny that Philip +was driven to intervene.<br> +"Gently, man, gently; he is not here."<br> +He went up and touched him on the shoulder.<br> +He twitched away, and began to pass his hands over things +more rapidly--over the table, the chairs, the entire floor, the +walls as high as he could reach them. Philip had not presumed to +comfort him. But now the tension was too great--he tried.<br> +"Break down, Gino; you must break down. Scream and curse and +give in for a little; you must break down."<br> +There was no reply, and no cessation of the sweeping +hands.<br> +"It is time to be unhappy. Break down or you will be ill +like my sister. You will go--"<br> +The tour of the room was over. He had touched everything in +it except Philip. Now he approached him. He face was that of a +man who has lost his old reason for life and seeks a new one.<br> +"Gino!"<br> +He stopped for a moment; then he came nearer. Philip stood +his ground.<br> +"You are to do what you like with me, Gino. Your son is +dead, Gino. He died in my arms, remember. It does not excuse +me; but he did die in my arms."<br> +The left hand came forward, slowly this time. It hovered +before Philip like an insect. Then it descended and gripped him +by his broken elbow.<br> +Philip struck out with all the strength of his other arm. +Gino fell to the blow without a cry or a word.<br> +"You brute!" exclaimed the Englishman. "Kill me if you +like! But just you leave my broken arm alone."<br> +Then he was seized with remorse, and knelt beside his +adversary and tried to revive him. He managed to raise him up, +and propped his body against his own. He passed his arm round +him. Again he was filled with pity and tenderness. He awaited +the revival without fear, sure that both of them were safe at +last.<br> +Gino recovered suddenly. His lips moved. For one blessed +moment it seemed that he was going to speak. But he scrambled up +in silence, remembering everything, and he made not towards +Philip, but towards the lamp.<br> +"Do what you like; but think first--"<br> +The lamp was tossed across the room, out through the loggia. +It broke against one of the trees below. Philip began to cry out +in the dark.<br> +Gino approached from behind and gave him a sharp pinch. +Philip spun round with a yell. He had only been pinched on the +back, but he knew what was in store for him. He struck out, +exhorting the devil to fight him, to kill him, to do anything but +this. Then he stumbled to the door. It was open. He lost his +head, and, instead of turning down the stairs, he ran across the +landing into the room opposite. There he lay down on the floor +between the stove and the skirting-board.<br> +His senses grew sharper. He could hear Gino coming in on +tiptoe. He even knew what was passing in his mind, how now he +was at fault, now he was hopeful, now he was wondering whether +after all the victim had not escaped down the stairs. There was +a quick swoop above him, and then a low growl like a dog's. Gino +had broken his finger-nails against the stove.<br> +Physical pain is almost too terrible to bear. We can just +bear it when it comes by accident or for our good--as it +generally does in modern life--except at school. But when it is +caused by the malignity of a man, full grown, fashioned like +ourselves, all our control disappears. Philip's one thought was +to get away from that room at whatever sacrifice of nobility or +pride.<br> +Gino was now at the further end of the room, groping by the +little tables. Suddenly the instinct came to him. He crawled +quickly to where Philip lay and had him clean by the elbow.<br> +The whole arm seemed red-hot, and the broken bone grated in +the joint, sending out shoots of the essence of pain. His other +arm was pinioned against the wall, and Gino had trampled in +behind the stove and was kneeling on his legs. For the space of +a minute he yelled and yelled with all the force of his lungs. +Then this solace was denied him. The other hand, moist and +strong, began to close round his throat.<br> +At first he was glad, for here, he thought, was death at +last. But it was only a new torture; perhaps Gino inherited the +skill of his ancestors--and childlike ruffians who flung each +other from the towers. Just as the windpipe closed, the hand +fell off, and Philip was revived by the motion of his arm. And +just as he was about to faint and gain at last one moment of +oblivion, the motion stopped, and he would struggle instead +against the pressure on his throat.<br> +Vivid pictures were dancing through the pain--Lilia dying +some months back in this very house, Miss Abbott bending over the +baby, his mother at home, now reading evening prayers to the +servants. He felt that he was growing weaker; his brain +wandered; the agony did not seem so great. Not all Gino's care +could indefinitely postpone the end. His yells and gurgles +became mechanical--functions of the tortured flesh rather than +true notes of indignation and despair. He was conscious of a +horrid tumbling. Then his arm was pulled a little too roughly, +and everything was quiet at last.<br> +"But your son is dead, Gino. Your son is dead, dear Gino. +Your son is dead."<br> +The room was full of light, and Miss Abbott had Gino by the +shoulders, holding him down in a chair. She was exhausted with +the struggle, and her arms were trembling.<br> +"What is the good of another death? What is the good of more +pain?"<br> +He too began to tremble. Then he turned and looked curiously +at Philip, whose face, covered with dust and foam, was visible by +the stove. Miss Abbott allowed him to get up, though she still +held him firmly. He gave a loud and curious cry--a cry of +interrogation it might be called. Below there was the noise of +Perfetta returning with the baby's milk.<br> +"Go to him," said Miss Abbott, indicating Philip. "Pick him +up. Treat him kindly."<br> +She released him, and he approached Philip slowly. His eyes +were filling with trouble. He bent down, as if he would gently +raise him up.<br> +"Help! help!" moaned Philip. His body had suffered too much +from Gino. It could not bear to be touched by him.<br> +Gino seemed to understand. He stopped, crouched above him. +Miss Abbott herself came forward and lifted her friend in her +arms.<br> +"Oh, the foul devil!" he murmured. "Kill him! Kill him for +me."<br> +Miss Abbott laid him tenderly on the couch and wiped his +face. Then she said gravely to them both, "This thing stops +here."<br> +"Latte! latte!" cried Perfetta, hilariously ascending the +stairs.<br> +"Remember," she continued, "there is to be no revenge. I +will have no more intentional evil. We are not to fight with +each other any more."<br> +"I shall never forgive him," sighed Philip.<br> +"Latte! latte freschissima! bianca come neve!" Perfetta +came in with another lamp and a little jug.<br> +Gino spoke for the first time. "Put the milk on the table," +he said. "It will not be wanted in the other room." The peril +was over at last. A great sob shook the whole body, another +followed, and then he gave a piercing cry of woe, and stumbled +towards Miss Abbott like a child and clung to her.<br> +All through the day Miss Abbott had seemed to Philip like a +goddess, and more than ever did she seem so now. Many people +look younger and more intimate during great emotion. But some +there are who look older, and remote, and he could not think that +there was little difference in years, and none in composition, +between her and the man whose head was laid upon her breast. Her +eyes were open, full of infinite pity and full of majesty, as if +they discerned the boundaries of sorrow, and saw unimaginable +tracts beyond. Such eyes he had seen in great pictures but never +in a mortal. Her hands were folded round the sufferer, stroking +him lightly, for even a goddess can do no more than that. And it +seemed fitting, too, that she should bend her head and touch his +forehead with her lips.<br> +Philip looked away, as he sometimes looked away from the +great pictures where visible forms suddenly become inadequate for +the things they have shown to us. He was happy; he was assured +that there was greatness in the world. There came to him an +earnest desire to be good through the example of this good +woman. He would try henceforward to be worthy of the things she +had revealed. Quietly, without hysterical prayers or banging of +drums, he underwent conversion. He was saved.<br> +"That milk," said she, "need not be wasted. Take it, Signor +Carella, and persuade Mr. Herriton to drink."<br> +Gino obeyed her, and carried the child's milk to Philip. And +Philip obeyed also and drank.<br> +"Is there any left?"<br> +"A little," answered Gino.<br> +"Then finish it." For she was determined to use such +remnants as lie about the world.<br> +"Will you not have some?"<br> +"I do not care for milk; finish it all."<br> +"Philip, have you had enough milk?"<br> +"Yes, thank you, Gino; finish it all."<br> +He drank the milk, and then, either by accident or in some +spasm of pain, broke the jug to pieces. Perfetta exclaimed in +bewilderment. "It does not matter," he told her. "It does not +matter. It will never be wanted any more."</p> + +<hr size="0"> +<br> +<br> + + +<h3 align="CENTER">Chapter 10</h3> + +<p>"He will have to marry her," said Philip. "I heard from him +this morning, just as we left Milan. He finds he has gone too +far to back out. It would be expensive. I don't know how much +he minds--not as much as we suppose, I think. At all events +there's not a word of blame in the letter. I don't believe he +even feels angry. I never was so completely forgiven. Ever +since you stopped him killing me, it has been a vision of perfect +friendship. He nursed me, he lied for me at the inquest, and at +the funeral, though he was crying, you would have thought it was +my son who had died. Certainly I was the only person he had to +be kind to; he was so distressed not to make Harriet's +acquaintance, and that he scarcely saw anything of you. In his +letter he says so again."<br> +"Thank him, please, when you write," said Miss Abbott, "and +give him my kindest regards."<br> +"Indeed I will." He was surprised that she could slide away +from the man so easily. For his own part, he was bound by ties +of almost alarming intimacy. Gino had the southern knack of +friendship. In the intervals of business he would pull out +Philip's life, turn it inside out, remodel it, and advise him how +to use it for the best. The sensation was pleasant, for he was a +kind as well as a skilful operator. But Philip came away feeling +that he had not a secret corner left. In that very letter Gino +had again implored him, as a refuge from domestic difficulties, +"to marry Miss Abbott, even if her dowry is small." And how Miss +Abbott herself, after such tragic intercourse, could resume the +conventions and send calm messages of esteem, was more than he +could understand.<br> +"When will you see him again?" she asked. They were standing +together in the corridor of the train, slowly ascending out of +Italy towards the San Gothard tunnel.<br> +"I hope next spring. Perhaps we shall paint Siena red for a +day or two with some of the new wife's money. It was one of the +arguments for marrying her."<br> +"He has no heart," she said severely. "He does not really +mind about the child at all."<br> +"No; you're wrong. He does. He is unhappy, like the rest of +us. But he doesn't try to keep up appearances as we do. He +knows that the things that have made him happy once will probably +make him happy again--"<br> +"He said he would never be happy again."<br> +"In his passion. Not when he was calm. We English say it +when we are calm--when we do not really believe it any longer. +Gino is not ashamed of inconsistency. It is one of the many +things I like him for."<br> +"Yes; I was wrong. That is so."<br> +"He's much more honest with himself than I am," continued +Philip, "and he is honest without an effort and without pride. +But you, Miss Abbott, what about you? Will you be in Italy next +spring?"<br> +"No."<br> +"I'm sorry. When will you come back, do you think?"<br> +"I think never."<br> +"For whatever reason?" He stared at her as if she were some +monstrosity.<br> +"Because I understand the place. There is no need."<br> +"Understand Italy!" he exclaimed.<br> +"Perfectly."<br> +"Well, I don't. And I don't understand you," he murmured to +himself, as he paced away from her up the corridor. By this time +he loved her very much, and he could not bear to be puzzled. He +had reached love by the spiritual path: her thoughts and her +goodness and her nobility had moved him first, and now her whole +body and all its gestures had become transfigured by them. The +beauties that are called obvious--the beauties of her hair and +her voice and her limbs--he had noticed these last; Gino, who +never traversed any path at all, had commended them +dispassionately to his friend.<br> +Why was he so puzzling? He had known so much about her +once--what she thought, how she felt, the reasons for her +actions. And now he only knew that he loved her, and all the +other knowledge seemed passing from him just as he needed it +most. Why would she never come to Italy again? Why had she +avoided himself and Gino ever since the evening that she had +saved their lives? The train was nearly empty. Harriet +slumbered in a compartment by herself. He must ask her these +questions now, and he returned quickly to her down the +corridor.<br> +She greeted him with a question of her own. "Are your plans +decided?"<br> +"Yes. I can't live at Sawston."<br> +"Have you told Mrs. Herriton?"<br> +"I wrote from Monteriano. I tried to explain things; but she +will never understand me. Her view will be that the affair is +settled--sadly settled since the baby is dead. Still it's over; +our family circle need be vexed no more. She won't even be angry +with you. You see, you have done us no harm in the long run. +Unless, of course, you talk about Harriet and make a scandal. So +that is my plan--London and work. What is yours?"<br> +"Poor Harriet!" said Miss Abbott. "As if I dare judge +Harriet! Or anybody." And without replying to Philip's question +she left him to visit the other invalid.<br> +Philip gazed after her mournfully, and then he looked +mournfully out of the window at the decreasing streams. All the +excitement was over--the inquest, Harriet's short illness, his +own visit to the surgeon. He was convalescent, both in body and +spirit, but convalescence brought no joy. In the looking-glass +at the end of the corridor he saw his face haggard, and his +shoulders pulled forward by the weight of the sling. Life was +greater than he had supposed, but it was even less complete. He +had seen the need for strenuous work and for righteousness. And +now he saw what a very little way those things would go.<br> +"Is Harriet going to be all right?" he asked. Miss Abbott +had come back to him.<br> +"She will soon be her old self," was the reply. For Harriet, +after a short paroxysm of illness and remorse, was quickly +returning to her normal state. She had been "thoroughly upset" +as she phrased it, but she soon ceased to realize that anything +was wrong beyond the death of a poor little child. Already she +spoke of "this unlucky accident," and "the mysterious frustration +of one's attempts to make things better." Miss Abbott had seen +that she was comfortable, and had given her a kind kiss. But she +returned feeling that Harriet, like her mother, considered the +affair as settled.<br> +"I'm clear enough about Harriet's future, and about parts of +my own. But I ask again, What about yours?"<br> +"Sawston and work," said Miss Abbott.<br> +"No."<br> +"Why not?" she asked, smiling.<br> +"You've seen too much. You've seen as much and done more +than I have."<br> +"But it's so different. Of course I shall go to Sawston. +You forget my father; and even if he wasn't there, I've a hundred +ties: my district--I'm neglecting it shamefully--my evening +classes, the St. James'--"<br> +"Silly nonsense!" he exploded, suddenly moved to have the +whole thing out with her. "You're too good--about a thousand +times better than I am. You can't live in that hole; you must go +among people who can hope to understand you. I mind for myself. +I want to see you often--again and again."<br> +"Of course we shall meet whenever you come down; and I hope +that it will mean often."<br> +"It's not enough; it'll only be in the old horrible way, each +with a dozen relatives round us. No, Miss Abbott; it's not good +enough."<br> +"We can write at all events."<br> +"You will write?" he cried, with a flush of pleasure. At +times his hopes seemed so solid.<br> +"I will indeed."<br> +"But I say it's not enough--you can't go back to the old life +if you wanted to. Too much has happened."<br> +"I know that," she said sadly.<br> +"Not only pain and sorrow, but wonderful things: that tower +in the sunlight--do you remember it, and all you said to me? The +theatre, even. And the next day--in the church; and our times +with Gino."<br> +"All the wonderful things are over," she said. "That is just +where it is."<br> +"I don't believe it. At all events not for me. The most +wonderful things may be to come--"<br> +"The wonderful things are over," she repeated, and looked at +him so mournfully that he dare not contradict her. The train was +crawling up the last ascent towards the Campanile of Airolo and +the entrance of the tunnel.<br> +"Miss Abbott," he murmured, speaking quickly, as if their +free intercourse might soon be ended, "what is the matter with +you? I thought I understood you, and I don't. All those two +great first days at Monteriano I read you as clearly as you read +me still. I saw why you had come, and why you changed sides, and +afterwards I saw your wonderful courage and pity. And now you're +frank with me one moment, as you used to be, and the next moment +you shut me up. You see I owe too much to you--my life, and I +don't know what besides. I won't stand it. You've gone too far +to turn mysterious. I'll quote what you said to me: 'Don't be +mysterious; there isn't the time.' I'll quote something else: 'I +and my life must be where I live.' You can't live at +Sawston."<br> +He had moved her at last. She whispered to herself +hurriedly. "It is tempting--" And those three words threw him +into a tumult of joy. What was tempting to her? After all was +the greatest of things possible? Perhaps, after long +estrangement, after much tragedy, the South had brought them +together in the end. That laughter in the theatre, those silver +stars in the purple sky, even the violets of a departed spring, +all had helped, and sorrow had helped also, and so had tenderness +to others.<br> +"It is tempting," she repeated, "not to be mysterious. I've +wanted often to tell you, and then been afraid. I could never +tell any one else, certainly no woman, and I think you're the one +man who might understand and not be disgusted."<br> +"Are you lonely?" he whispered. "Is it anything like +that?"<br> +"Yes." The train seemed to shake him towards her. He was +resolved that though a dozen people were looking, he would yet +take her in his arms. "I'm terribly lonely, or I wouldn't +speak. I think you must know already." Their faces were +crimson, as if the same thought was surging through them +both.<br> +"Perhaps I do." He came close to her. "Perhaps I could +speak instead. But if you will say the word plainly you'll never +be sorry; I will thank you for it all my life."<br> +She said plainly, "That I love him." Then she broke down. +Her body was shaken with sobs, and lest there should be any doubt +she cried between the sobs for Gino! Gino! Gino!<br> +He heard himself remark "Rather! I love him too! When I can +forget how he hurt me that evening. Though whenever we shake +hands--" One of them must have moved a step or two, for when she +spoke again she was already a little way apart.<br> +"You've upset me." She stifled something that was perilously +near hysterics. "I thought I was past all this. You're taking +it wrongly. I'm in love with Gino--don't pass it off--I mean it +crudely--you know what I mean. So laugh at me."<br> +"Laugh at love?" asked Philip.<br> +"Yes. Pull it to pieces. Tell me I'm a fool or worse--that +he's a cad. Say all you said when Lilia fell in love with him. +That's the help I want. I dare tell you this because I like +you--and because you're without passion; you look on life as a +spectacle; you don't enter it; you only find it funny or +beautiful. So I can trust you to cure me. Mr. Herriton, isn't +it funny?" She tried to laugh herself, but became frightened and +had to stop. "He's not a gentleman, nor a Christian, nor good in +any way. He's never flattered me nor honoured me. But because +he's handsome, that's been enough. The son of an Italian +dentist, with a pretty face." She repeated the phrase as if it +was a charm against passion. "Oh, Mr. Herriton, isn't it +funny!" Then, to his relief, she began to cry. "I love him, and +I'm not ashamed of it. I love him, and I'm going to Sawston, and +if I mayn't speak about him to you sometimes, I shall die."<br> +In that terrible discovery Philip managed to think not of +himself but of her. He did not lament. He did not even speak to +her kindly, for he saw that she could not stand it. A flippant +reply was what she asked and needed--something flippant and a +little cynical. And indeed it was the only reply he could trust +himself to make.<br> +"Perhaps it is what the books call 'a passing fancy'?"<br> +She shook her head. Even this question was too pathetic. +For as far as she knew anything about herself, she knew that her +passions, once aroused, were sure. "If I saw him often," she +said, "I might remember what he is like. Or he might grow old. +But I dare not risk it, so nothing can alter me now."<br> +"Well, if the fancy does pass, let me know." After all, he +could say what he wanted.<br> +"Oh, you shall know quick enough--"<br> +"But before you retire to Sawston--are you so mighty +sure?"<br> +"What of?" She had stopped crying. He was treating her +exactly as she had hoped.<br> +"That you and he--" He smiled bitterly at the thought of +them together. Here was the cruel antique malice of the gods, +such as they once sent forth against Pasiphae. Centuries of +aspiration and culture--and the world could not escape it. "I +was going to say--whatever have you got in common?"<br> +"Nothing except the times we have seen each other." Again +her face was crimson. He turned his own face away.<br> +"Which--which times?"<br> +"The time I thought you weak and heedless, and went instead +of you to get the baby. That began it, as far as I know the +beginning. Or it may have begun when you took us to the theatre, +and I saw him mixed up with music and light. But didn't +understand till the morning. Then you opened the door--and I +knew why I had been so happy. Afterwards, in the church, I +prayed for us all; not for anything new, but that we might just +be as we were--he with the child he loved, you and I and Harriet +safe out of the place--and that I might never see him or speak to +him again. I could have pulled through then--the thing was only +coming near, like a wreath of smoke; it hadn't wrapped me +round."<br> +"But through my fault," said Philip solemnly, "he is parted +from the child he loves. And because my life was in danger you +came and saw him and spoke to him again." For the thing was even +greater than she imagined. Nobody but himself would ever see +round it now. And to see round it he was standing at an immense +distance. He could even be glad that she had once held the +beloved in her arms.<br> +"Don't talk of 'faults.' You're my friend for ever, Mr. +Herriton, I think. Only don't be charitable and shift or take +the blame. Get over supposing I'm refined. That's what puzzles +you. Get over that."<br> +As he spoke she seemed to be transfigured, and to have indeed +no part with refinement or unrefinement any longer. Out of this +wreck there was revealed to him something +indestructible--something which she, who had given it, could +never take away.<br> +"I say again, don't be charitable. If he had asked me, I +might have given myself body and soul. That would have been the +end of my rescue party. But all through he took me for a +superior being--a goddess. I who was worshipping every inch of +him, and every word he spoke. And that saved me."<br> +Philip's eyes were fixed on the Campanile of Airolo. But he +saw instead the fair myth of Endymion. This woman was a goddess +to the end. For her no love could be degrading: she stood +outside all degradation. This episode, which she thought so +sordid, and which was so tragic for him, remained supremely +beautiful. To such a height was he lifted, that without regret +he could now have told her that he was her worshipper too. But +what was the use of telling her? For all the wonderful things +had happened.<br> +"Thank you," was all that he permitted himself. "Thank you +for everything."<br> +She looked at him with great friendliness, for he had made +her life endurable. At that moment the train entered the San +Gothard tunnel. They hurried back to the carriage to close the +windows lest the smuts should get into Harriet's eyes.</p> + +<hr> +<br> +<br> + End of the Project Gutenbergn Etext of Where Angels Fear to +Tread +</body> +</html> + + diff --git a/old/waftt10h.zip b/old/waftt10h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b231292 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/waftt10h.zip |