"C. G."
The Miss Spaldings were met at the station at Florence by their
uncle, the American Minister, by their cousin, the American Secretary
of Legation, and by three or four other dear friends and relations,
who were there to welcome the newcomers to sunny Italy. Mr. Glascock,
therefore, who ten minutes since had been, and had felt himself to
be, quite indispensable to their comfort, suddenly became as though
he were nothing and nobody. Who is there that has not felt these
sudden disruptions to the intimacies and friendships of a long
journey? He bowed to them, and they to him, and then they were
whirled away in their grandeur. He put himself into a small, open
hackney-carriage, and had himself driven to the York Hotel, feeling
himself to be deserted and desolate. The two Miss Spaldings were
the daughters of a very respectable lawyer at Boston, whereas Mr.
Glascock was heir to a peerage, to an enormous fortune, and to one of
the finest places in England. But he thought nothing of this at the
time. As he went he was meditating which young woman was the most
attractive, Nora Rowley or Caroline Spalding. He had no doubt but
that Nora was the prettier, the pleasanter in manner, the better
dressed, the more engaging in all that concerned the outer woman;
but he thought that he had never met any lady who talked better than
Caroline Spalding. And what was Nora Rowley's beauty to him? Had she
not told him that she was the property of some one else; or, for the
matter of that, what was Miss Spalding to him? They had parted, and
he was going on to Naples in two days. He had said some half-defined
word as to calling at the American Embassy, but it had not been taken
up by either of the ladies. He had not pressed it, and so they had
parted without an understanding as to a future meeting.
The double journey, from Turin to Bologna and from Bologna to
Florence, is very long, and forms ample time for a considerable
intimacy. There had, too, been a long day's journeying together
before that; and with no women is a speedy intimacy so possible, or
indeed so profitable, as with Americans. They fear nothing,--neither
you nor themselves; and talk with as much freedom as though they
were men. It may, perhaps, be assumed to be true as a rule that
women's society is always more agreeable to men than that of other
men,--except for the lack of ease. It undoubtedly is so when the
women be young and pretty. There is a feeling, however, among pretty
women in Europe that such freedom is dangerous, and it is withheld.
There is such danger, and more or less of such withholding is
expedient: but the American woman does not recognise the danger; and,
if she withhold the grace of her countenance and the pearls of her
speech, it is because she is not desirous of the society which is
proffered to her. These two American sisters had not withholden their
pearls from Mr. Glascock. He was much their senior in age; he was
gentle in his manners, and they probably recognised him to be a safe
companion. They had no idea who he was, and had not heard his name
when they parted from him. But it was not probable that they should
have been with him so long, and that they should leave him without
further thought of him, without curiosity or a desire to know more
of him. They had seen "C. G." in large letters on his dressing-bag,
and that was all they had learned as to his identity. He had known
their names well, and had once called Olivia by hers, in the
hurry of speaking to her sister. He had apologised, and there had
been a little laugh, and a discussion about the use of Christian
names,--such as is very conducive to intimacy between gentlemen and
ladies. When you can talk to a young lady about her own Christian
name, you are almost entitled for the nonce to use it.
Mr. Glascock went to his hotel, and was very moody and desolate. His
name was very soon known there, and he received the honours due to
his rank and station. "I should like to travel in America," he said
to himself, "if I could be sure that no one would find out who I
was." He had received letters at Turin, stating that his father was
better, and, therefore, he intended to remain two days at Florence.
The weather was still very hot, and Florence in the middle of
September is much preferable to Naples.
That night, when the two Miss Spaldings were alone together, they
discussed their fellow-traveller thoroughly. Something, of course,
had been said about him to their uncle the minister, to their aunt
the minister's wife, and to their cousin the secretary of legation.
But travellers will always observe that the dear new friends they
have made on their journey are not interesting to the dear old
friends whom they meet afterwards. There may be some touch of
jealousy in this; and then, though you, the traveller, are fully
aware that there has been something special in the case which has
made this new friendship more peculiar than others that have sprung
up in similar circumstances, fathers and brothers and wives and
sisters do not see it in that light. They suspect, perhaps, that
the new friend was a bagman, or an opera dancer, and think that the
affair need not be made of importance. The American Minister had
cast his eye on Mr. Glascock during that momentary parting, and had
not thought much of Mr. Glascock. "He was certainly a gentleman,"
Caroline had said. "There are a great many English gentlemen," the
minister had replied.
"I thought you would have asked him to call," Olivia said to her
sister. "He did offer."
"I know he did. I heard it."
"Why didn't you tell him he might come?"
"Because we are not in Boston, Livy. It might be the most horrible
thing in the world to do here in Florence; and it may make a
difference, because Uncle Jonas is minister."
"Why should that make a difference? Do you mean that one isn't to see
one's own friends? That must be nonsense."
"But he isn't a friend, Livy."
"It seems to me as if I'd known him for ever. That soft, monotonous
voice, which never became excited and never disagreeable, is as
familiar to me as though I had lived with it all my life."
"I thought him very pleasant."
"Indeed you did, Carry. And he thought you pleasant too. Doesn't it
seem odd? You were mending his glove for him this very afternoon,
just as if he were your brother."
"Why shouldn't I mend his glove?"
"Why not, indeed? He was entitled to have everything mended after
getting us such a good dinner at Bologna. By-the-bye, you never paid
him."
"Yes, I did,--when you were not by."
"I wonder who he is! C. G.! That fine man in the brown coat was his
servant, you know. I thought at first that C. G. must have been
cracked, and that the tall man was his keeper."
"I never knew any one less like a madman."
"No;--but the man was so queer. He did nothing, you know. We hardly
saw him, if you remember, at Turin. All he did was to tie the shawls
at Bologna. What can any man want with another man about with him
like that, unless he is cracked either in body or mind?"
"You'd better ask C. G. yourself."
"I shall never see C. G. again, I suppose. I should like to see him
again. I guess you would too, Carry. Eh?"
"Of course, I should;--why not?"
"I never knew a man so imperturbable, and who had yet so much to say
for himself. I wonder what he is! Perhaps he's on business, and that
man was a kind of a clerk."
"He had livery buttons on," said Carry.
"And does that make a difference?"
"I don't think they put clerks into livery, even in England."
"Nor yet mad doctors," said Olivia. "Well, I like him very much; and
the only thing against him is that he should have a man, six feet
high, going about with him doing nothing."
"You'll make me angry, Livy, if you talk in that way. It's
uncharitable."
"In what way?"
"About a mad doctor."
"It's my belief," said Olivia, "that he's an English swell, a lord,
or a duke;--and it's my belief, too, that he's in love with you."
"It's my belief, Livy, that you're a regular ass;"--and so the
conversation was ended on that occasion.
On the next day, about noon, the American Minister, as a part of the
duty which he owed to his country, read in a publication of that day,
issued for the purpose, the names of the new arrivals at Florence.
First and foremost was that of the Honourable Charles Glascock, with
his suite, at the York Hotel, en route to join his father, Lord
Peterborough, at Naples. Having read the news first to himself, the
minister read it out loud in the presence of his nieces.
"That's our friend C. G.," said Livy.
"I should think not," said the minister, who had his own ideas about
an English lord.
"I'm sure it is, because of the tall man with the buttons," said
Olivia.
"It's very unlikely," said the secretary of legation. "Lord
Peterborough is a man of immense wealth, very old, indeed. They say
he is dying at Naples. This man is his eldest son."
"Is that any reason why he shouldn't have been civil to us?" asked
Olivia.
"I don't think he is the sort of man likely to sit up in the
banquette; and he would have posted over the Alps. Moreover, he had
his suite with him."
"His suite was Buttons," said Olivia. "Only fancy, Carry, we've been
waited on for two days by a lord as is to be, and didn't know it! And
you have mended the tips of his lordship's glove!" But Carry said
nothing at all.
Late on that same evening, they met Mr. Glascock close to the Duomo,
under the shade of the Campanile. He had come out as they had done,
to see by moonlight that loveliest of all works made by man's hands.
They were with the minister, but Mr. Glascock came up and shook hands
with them.
"I would introduce you to my uncle, Mr. Spalding," said
Olivia,--"only,--as it happens,--we have never yet heard your name."
"My name is Mr. Glascock," said he, smiling. Then the introduction
was made; and the American Minister took off his hat, and was very
affable.
"Only think, Carry," said Olivia, when they were alone that evening,
"if you were to become the wife of an English lord!"