GIRASOLE AGAIN.
One day Mrs. Willoughby and Minnie were out driving. Hawbury was
riding by the carriage on the side next Minnie, when suddenly their
attention was arrested by a gentleman on horseback who was approaching
them at an easy pace, and staring hard at them. Minnie's hand suddenly
grasped her sister's arm very tightly, while her color came and went
rapidly.
"Oh dear!" sighed Mrs. Willoughby.
"Oh, what _shall_ I do?" said Minnie, in a hasty whisper. "Can't we
pretend not to see him?"
"Nonsense, you little goose," was the reply. "How can you think of
such rudeness?"
By this time the gentleman had reached them, and Mrs. Willoughby
stopped the carriage, and spoke to him in a tone of gracious suavity,
in which there was a sufficient recognition of his claims upon her
attention, mingled with a slight hauteur that was intended to act as a
check upon his Italian demonstrativeness.
For it was no other than the Count Girasole, and his eyes glowed with
excitement and delight, and his hat was off and as far away from his
head as possible, and a thousand emotions contended together for
expression upon his swarthy and handsome countenance. As soon as he
could speak he poured forth a torrent of exclamations with amazing
volubility, in the midst of which his keen black eyes scrutinized very
closely the faces of the ladies, and finally turned an interrogative
glance upon Hawbury, who sat on his horse regarding the new-comer with
a certain mild surprise not unmingled with superciliousness. Hawbury's
chin was in the air, his eyes rested languidly upon the stranger, and
his left hand toyed with his left whisker. He really meant no offense
whatever. He knew absolutely nothing about the stranger, and had not
the slightest intention of giving offense. It was simply a way he had.
It was merely the normal attitude of the English swell before he is
introduced. As it was, that first glance which Girasole threw at the
English lord inspired him with the bitterest hate, which was destined
to produce important results afterward.
Mrs. Willoughby was too good-natured and too wise to slight the Count
in any way. After introducing the two gentlemen she spoke a few more
civil words, and then bowed him away. But Girasole did not at all take
the hint. On the contrary, as the carriage started, he turned his
horse and rode along with it on the side next Mrs. Willoughby. Hawbury
elevated his eyebrows, and stared for an instant, and then went on
talking with Minnie. And now Minnie showed much more animation than
usual. She was much agitated and excited by this sudden appearance of
one whom she hoped to have got rid of, and talked rapidly, and laughed
nervously, and was so terrified at the idea that Girasole was near
that she was afraid to look at him, but directed all her attention to
Hawbury. It was a slight, and Girasole showed that he felt it; but
Minnie could not help it. After a time Girasole mastered his feelings,
and began an animated conversation with Mrs. Willoughby in very broken
English. Girasole's excitement at Minnie's slight made him somewhat
incoherent, his idioms were Italian rather than English, and his
pronunciation was very bad; he also had a fashion of using an Italian
word when he did not know the right English one, and so the
consequence was that Mrs. Willoughby understood not much more than
one-quarter of his remarks.
Mrs. Willoughby did not altogether enjoy this state of things, and so
she determined to put an end to it by shortening her drive. She
therefore watched for an opportunity to do this so as not to make it
seem too marked, and finally reached a place which was suitable. Here
the carriage was turned, when, just as it was half-way round, they
noticed a horseman approaching. It was Scone Dacres, who had been
following them all the time, and who had not expected that the
carriage would turn. He was therefore taken completely by surprise,
and was close to them before he could collect his thoughts so as to do
any thing. To evade them was impossible, and so he rode on. As he
approached, the ladies saw his face. It was a face that one would
remember afterward. There was on it a profound sadness and dejection,
while at the same time the prevailing expression was one of sternness.
The ladies both bowed. Scone Dacres raised his hat, and disclosed his
broad, massive brow. He did not look at Minnie. His gaze was fixed on
Mrs. Willoughby. Her veil was down, and he seemed trying to read her
face behind it. As he passed he threw a quick, vivid glance at
Girasole. It was not a pleasant glance by any means, and was full of
quick, fierce, and insolent scrutiny--a "Who-the-devil-are-you?"
glance. It was for but an instant, however, and then he glanced at
Mrs. Willoughby again, and then he had passed.
The ladies soon reached their home, and at once retired to Mrs.
Willoughby's room. There Minnie flung herself upon the sofa, and Mrs.
Willoughby sat down, with a perplexed face.
"What in the world _are_ we to do?" said she.
"I'm sure _I_ don't know," said Minnie. "I _knew_ it was going to be
so. I said that he would find me again."
"He is _so_ annoying."
"Yes, but, Kitty dear, we can't be rude to him, you know, for he saved
my life. But it's horrid, and I really begin to feel quite desperate."
"I certainly will not let him see you. I have made up my mind to
that."
"And oh! how he _will_ be coming and calling, and tease, tease,
teasing. Oh dear! I do wonder what Lord Hawbury thought. He looked
_so_ amazed. And then--oh, Kitty dear, it was so awfully funny!--did
you notice that other man?"
Mrs. Willoughby nodded her head.
"Did you notice how awfully black he looked? He wouldn't look at me at
all. _I_ know why."
Mrs. Willoughby said nothing.
"He's awfully jealous. Oh, _I_ know it. I saw it in his face. He was
as black as a thunder-cloud. Oh dear! And it's all about me. Oh, Kitty
darling, what _shall_ I do? There will be something dreadful, I know.
And how shocking to have it about me. And then the newspapers. They'll
all have it. And the reporters. Oh dear! Kitty, why _don't_ you say
something?"
"Why, Minnie dearest, I really don't know what to say."
"But, darling, you must say something. And then that Scone Dacres. I'm
more afraid of him than any body. Oh, I know he's going to _kill_ some
one. He is so big. Oh, if _you_ had only been on his back, Kitty
darling, and had him run down a steep mountain-side, you'd be as
awfully afraid of him as I am. Oh, how I _wish_ Lord Hawbury would
drive them off, or somebody do something to save me."
"Would you rather that Lord Hawbury would stay, or would you like him
to go too?"
"Oh dear! I don't care. If he would only go quietly and nicely, I
should like to have him go too, and never, never see a man again
except dear papa. And I think it's a shame. And I don't see why I
should be so persecuted. And I'm tired of staying here. And I don't
want to stay here any more. And, Kitty darling, why shouldn't we all
go to Rome?"
"To Rome?"
"Yes."
"Would you prefer Rome?" asked Mrs. Willoughby, thoughtfully.
"Well, yes--for several reasons. In the first place, I must go
somewhere, and I'd rather go there than any where else. Then, you
know, that dear, delightful holy-week will soon be here, and I'm dying
to be in Rome."
"I think it would be better for all of us," said Mrs. Willoughby,
thoughtfully--"for all of us, if we were in Rome."
"Of course it would, Kitty sweetest, and especially me. Now if I am in
Rome, I can pop into a convent whenever I choose."
"A convent!" exclaimed Mrs. Willoughby, in surprise.
"Oh yes--it's going to come to that. They're all so horrid, you know.
Besides, it's getting worse. I got a letter yesterday from Captain
Kirby, written to me in England. He didn't know I was here. He has
just arrived at London, and was leaving for our place on what he
called the wings of the wind. I expect him here at almost any time.
Isn't it dreadful, Kitty dearest, to have so many? As fast as one goes
another comes, and then they all come together; and do you know,
darling, it really makes one feel quite dizzy. I'm sure _I_ don't know
what to do. And that's why I'm thinking of a convent, you know."
"But you're not a Catholic."
"Oh yes, I am, you know. Papa's an Anglo-Catholic, and I don't see the
difference. Besides, they're all the time going over to Rome; and why
shouldn't I? I'll be a novice--that is, you know, I'll only go for a
time, and not take the vows. The more I think of it, the more I see
that it's the only thing there is for me to do."
"Well, Minnie, I really think so too, and not only for you, but for
all of us. There's Ethel, too; poor dear girl, her health is very
miserable, you know. I think a change would do her good."
"Of course it would; I've been talking to her about it. But she won't
hear of leaving Naples. I _wish_ she wouldn't be so awfully sad."
"Oh yes; it will certainly be the best thing for dear Ethel, and for
you and me and all of us. Then we must be in Rome in holy-week. I
wouldn't miss that for any thing."
"And then, too, you know, Kitty darling, there's another thing," said
Minnie, very confidentially, "and it's very important. In Rome, you
know, all the gentlemen are clergymen--only, you know, the clergymen
of the Roman Church can't marry; and so, you know, of course, they can
never propose, no matter if they were to save one's life over and over
again. And oh! what a relief that would be to find one's self among
those dear, darling, delightful priests, and no chance of having one's
life saved and having an instant proposal following! It would be _so_
charming."
Mrs. Willoughby smiled.
"Well, Minnie dearest," said she, "I really think that we had better
decide to go to Rome, and I don't see any difficulty in the way."
"The only difficulty that I can see," said Minnie, "is that I
shouldn't like to hurt their feelings, you know."
"Their feelings!" repeated her sister, in a doleful voice.
"Yes; but then, you see, some one's feelings _must_ be hurt
eventually, so that lessens one's responsibility, you know; doesn't
it, Kitty darling?"
While saying this Minnie had risen and gone to the window, with the
intention of taking her seat by it. No sooner had she reached the
place, however, than she started back, with a low exclamation, and,
standing on one side, looked cautiously forth.
"Come here," she said, in a whisper.
Mrs. Willoughby went over, and Minnie directed her attention to some
one outside. It was a gentleman on horseback, who was passing at a
slow pace. His head was bent on his breast. Suddenly, as he passed, he
raised his head and threw over the house a quick, searching glance.
They could see without being seen. They marked the profound sadness
that was over his face, and saw the deep disappointment with which his
head fell.
"Scone Dacres!" said Minnie, as he passed on. "How _aw_fully sad he
is!"
Mrs. Willoughby said nothing.
"But, after all, I don't believe it's _me_."
"Why not?"
"Because he didn't look at me a bit when he passed to-day. He looked
at you, though."
"Nonsense!"
"Yes, and his face had an _aw_fully hungry look. I know what makes him
sad."
"What?"
"He's in love with you."
Mrs. Willoughby stared at Minnie for a moment. Then a short laugh
burst from her.
"Child!" she exclaimed, "you have no idea of any thing in the world
but falling in love. You will find out some day that there are other
feelings than that."
"But, Kitty dear," said Minnie, "didn't you notice something very
peculiar about him?"
"What?"
"I noticed it. I had a good look at him. I saw that he fixed his eyes
on you with--oh! _such_ a queer look. And he was awfully sad too. He
looked as if he would like to seize you and lift you on his horse and
carry you off, just like young Lochinvar."
"Me!" said Mrs. Willoughby, with a strange intonation.
"Yes, you--oh yes; really now."
"Oh, you little goose, you always think of people rushing after one
and carrying one off."
"Well, I'm sure I've had reason to. So many people have always been
running after me, and snatching me up as if I were a parcel, and
carrying me every where in all sorts of places. And I think it's too
bad, and I really wish they'd stop it. But, Kitty dear--"
"What?"
"About this Scone Dacres. Don't you really think there's something
very peculiarly sad, and very delightfully interesting and pathetic,
and all that sort of thing, in his poor dear old face?"
"I think Scone Dacres has suffered a great deal," said Mrs.
Willoughby, in a thoughtful tone. "But come now. Let us go to Ethel.
She's lonely."
Soon after they joined the other ladies, and talked over the project
of going to Rome. Lady Dalrymple offered no objection; indeed, so far
as she had any choice, she preferred it. She was quite willing at all
times to do whatever the rest proposed, and also was not without some
curiosity as to the proceedings during holy-week. Ethel offered no
objections either. She had fallen into a state of profound melancholy,
from which nothing now could rouse her, and so she listened listlessly
to the discussion about the subject. Mrs. Willoughby and Minnie had
the most to say on this point, and offered the chief reasons for
going; and thus it was finally decided to take their departure, and to
start as soon as possible.
Meanwhile Girasole had his own thoughts and experiences. He had
already, some time before, been conscious that his attentions were not
wanted, but it was only on the part of the other ladies that he
noticed any repugnance to himself. On Minnie's part he had not seen
any. In spite of their graciousness and their desire not to hurt his
feelings, they had not been able to avoid showing that, while they
felt grateful for his heroism in the rescue of Minnie, they could not
think of giving her to him. They had manoeuvred well enough to get rid
of him, but Girasole had also manoeuvred on his part to find them
again. He had fallen off from them at first when he saw that they were
determined on effecting this; but after allowing a sufficient time to
elapse, he had no difficulty in tracking them, and finding them at
Naples, as we have seen.
But here he made one or two discoveries.
One was that Minnie already had an accepted lover in the person of
Lord Hawbury. The lofty superciliousness of the British nobleman
seemed to Girasole to be the natural result of his position, and it
seemed the attitude of the successful lover toward the rejected
suitor.
The other discovery was that Minnie herself was more pleased with the
attentions of the English lord than with his own. This was now
evident, and he could not help perceiving that his difficulties were
far more formidable from the presence of such a rival.
But Girasole was not easily daunted. In the first place, he had
unbounded confidence in his own fascinations; in the second place, he
believed that he had a claim on Minnie that no other could equal, in
the fact that he had saved her life; in the third place, apart from
the question of love, he believed her to be a prize of no common
value, whose English gold would be welcome indeed to his Italian need
and greed; while, finally, the bitter hate with which Lord Hawbury had
inspired him gave an additional zest to the pursuit, and made him
follow after Minnie with fresh ardor.
Once or twice after this he called upon them. On the first occasion
only Lady Dalrymple was visible. On the second, none of the ladies
were at home. He was baffled, but not discouraged. Returning from his
call, he met Minnie and Mrs. Willoughby. Hawbury was with them, riding
beside Minnie. The ladies bowed, and Girasole, as before, coolly
turned his horse and rode by the carriage, talking with Mrs.
Willoughby, and trying to throw at Minnie what he intended to be
impassioned glances. But Minnie would not look at him. Of course she
was frightened as usual, and grew excited, and, as before, talked with
unusual animation to Hawbury. Thus she overdid it altogether, and more
than ever confirmed Girasole in the opinion that she and Hawbury were
affianced.
Two days after this Girasole called again.
A bitter disappointment was in store for him.
They were not there--they had gone.
Eagerly he inquired where.
"To Rome," was the reply.
[Illustration: "'TO ROME!' HE MUTTERED, BETWEEN HIS SET TEETH."]
"To Rome!" he muttered, between his set teeth; and mounting his horse
hurriedly, he rode away.
He was not one to be daunted. He had set a certain task before
himself, and could not easily be turned aside. He thought bitterly of
the ingratitude with which he had been treated. He brought before his
mind the "stony British stare," the supercilious smile, and the
impertinent and insulting expression of Hawbury's face as he sat on
his saddle, with his chin up, stroking his whiskers, and surveyed him
for the first time. All these things combined to stimulate the hate as
well as the love of Girasole. He felt that he himself was not one who
could be lightly dismissed, and determined that they should learn
this.