"WE SHALL BE SO POOR."
Mr. Glascock at that moment was not only in Florence, but was
occupying rooms in the very hotel in which the Rowleys were staying.
Lady Rowley, when she heard that he was engaged to marry an American
lady, became suddenly very sick at heart,--sick with a sickness
that almost went beyond her heart. She felt ill, and was glad to be
alone. The rumour might be untrue. Such rumours generally are untrue.
But then, as Lady Rowley knew very well, they generally have some
foundation in truth. Mr. Glascock, if he were not actually engaged
to the American girl, had probably been flirting with her;--and, if
so, where was that picture which Lady Rowley had been painting for
herself of a love-lorn swain to be brought back to the pleasures and
occupations of the world only by the girl of whom he was enamoured?
But still she would not quite give up the project. Mr. Glascock,
if he was in Italy, would no doubt see by the newspapers that Sir
Marmaduke and his family were in Florence,--and would probably come
to them. Then, if Nora would only behave herself, the American girl
might still be conquered.
During two or three days after this nothing was seen or heard of
Mr. Glascock. Had Lady Rowley thought of mentioning the name to the
waiter at the hotel, she would have learned that he was living in the
next passage; but it did not occur to her to seek information in that
fashion. Nor did she ask direct questions in other quarters about
Mr. Glascock himself. She did, however, make inquiry about Americans
living in Florence,--especially about the American Minister,--and,
before a week had passed overhead, had been introduced to the
Spaldings. Mrs. Spalding was very civil, and invited Lady Rowley and
all the girls and Sir Marmaduke to come to her on her "Fridays." She
received her friends every Friday, and would continue to do so till
the middle of June. She had nieces who would, she said, be so happy
to make the acquaintance of the Miss Rowleys.
By this time the picture galleries, the churches, and the palaces in
Florence had nearly all been visited. Poor Lady Rowley had dragged
herself wearily from sight to sight, hoping always to meet with
Mr. Glascock, ignorant of the fact that residents in a town do not
pass their mornings habitually in looking after pictures. During
this time inquiries were being made through the police, respecting
Trevelyan; and Sir Marmaduke had obtained information that an English
gentleman, with a little boy, had gone on to Siena, and had located
himself there. There seemed to be but little doubt that this was
Trevelyan,--though nothing had been learned with certainty as to the
gentleman's name. It had been decided that Sir Marmaduke, with his
courier and Mrs. Trevelyan, should go on to Siena, and endeavour
to come upon the fugitive, and they had taken their departure on a
certain morning. On that same day Lady Rowley was walking with Nora
and one of the other girls through the hall of the hotel, when they
were met in full face--by Mr. Glascock! Lady Rowley and Lucy were in
front, and they, of course, did not know the man. Nora had seen him
at once, and in her confusion hardly knew how to bear herself. Mr.
Glascock was passing by her without recognising her,--had passed her
mother and sister, and had so far gone on, that Nora had determined
to make no sign, when he chanced to look up and see who it was that
was so close to him. "Miss Rowley," he said, "who thought of meeting
you in Florence!" Lady Rowley, of course, turned round, and there was
an introduction. Poor Nora, though she knew nothing of her mother's
schemes, was confused and ill at ease. Mr. Glascock was very civil,
but at the same time rather cold. Lady Rowley was all smiles and
courtesy. She had, she said, heard his name from her daughters, and
was very happy to make his acquaintance. Lucy looked on somewhat
astonished to find that the lover whom her sister had been blamed for
rejecting, and who was spoken of with so many encomiums, was so old a
man. Mr. Glascock asked after Mrs. Trevelyan; and Lady Rowley, in a
low, melancholy whisper, told him that they were now all in Florence,
in the hope of meeting Mr. Trevelyan. "You have heard the sad story,
I know, Mr. Glascock,--and therefore I do not mind telling you." Mr.
Glascock acknowledged that he did know the story, and informed her
that he had seen Mr. Trevelyan in Florence within the last ten days.
This was so interesting, that, at Lady Rowley's request, he went with
them up to their rooms, and in this way the acquaintance was made. It
turned out that Mr. Glascock had spoken to Mr. Trevelyan, and that
Trevelyan had told him that he meant for the present to take up his
residence in some small Italian town. "And how was he looking, Mr.
Glascock?"
"Very ill, Lady Rowley;--very ill, indeed."
"Do not tell her so, Mr. Glascock. She has gone now with her father
to Siena. We think that he is there, with the boy,--or, at least,
that he may be heard of there. And you;--you are living here?" Mr.
Glascock said that he was living between Naples and Florence,--going
occasionally to Naples, a place that he hated, to see his father,
and coming back at intervals to the capital. Nora sat by, and hardly
spoke a word. She was nicely dressed, with an exquisite little
bonnet, which had been bought as they came through Paris; and Lady
Rowley, with natural pride, felt that if he was ever in love with her
child, that love must come back upon him now. American girls, she had
been told, were hard, and dry, and sharp, and angular. She had seen
some at the Mandarins, with whom she thought it must be impossible
that any Englishman should be in love. There never, surely, had
been an American girl like her Nora. "Are you fond of pictures, Mr.
Glascock?" she asked. Mr. Glascock was not very fond of pictures,
and thought that he was rather tired of them. What was he fond of?
Of sitting at home and doing nothing. That was his reply, at least;
and a very unsatisfactory reply it was, as Lady Rowley could hardly
propose that they should come and sit and do nothing with him. Could
he have been lured into churches or galleries, Nora might have been
once more thrown into his company. Then Lady Rowley took courage,
and asked him whether he knew the Spaldings. They were going to Mrs.
Spalding's that very evening,--she and her daughters. Mr. Glascock
replied that he did know the Spaldings, and that he also should be at
their house. Lady Rowley thought that she discovered something like a
blush about his cheekbones and brow, as he made his answer. Then he
left them, giving his hand to Nora as he went;--but there was nothing
in his manner to justify the slightest hope.
"I don't think he is nice at all," said Lucy.
"Don't be so foolish, Lucy," said Lady Rowley angrily.
"I think he is very nice," said Nora. "He was only talking nonsense
when he said that he liked to sit still and do nothing. He is not at
all an idle man;--at least I am told so."
"But he is as old as Methuselah," said Lucy.
"He is between thirty and forty," said Lady Rowley. "Of course we
know that from the peerage." Lady Rowley, however, was wrong. Had she
consulted the peerage, she would have seen that Mr. Glascock was over
forty.
Nora, as soon as she was alone and could think about it all, felt
quite sure that Mr. Glascock would never make her another offer. This
ought not to have caused her any sorrow, as she was very well aware
that she would not accept him, should he do so. Yet, perhaps, there
was a moment of some feeling akin to disappointment. Of course she
would not have accepted him. How could she? Her faith was so plighted
to Hugh Stanbury that she would be a by-word among women for ever,
were she to be so false. And as she told herself, she had not the
slightest feeling of affection for Mr. Glascock. It was quite out of
the question, and a matter simply for speculation. Nevertheless it
would have been a very grand thing to be Lady Peterborough, and she
almost regretted that she had a heart in her bosom.
She had become fully aware during that interview that her mother
still entertained hopes, and almost suspected that Lady Rowley had
known something of Mr. Glascock's residence in Florence. She had
seen that her mother had met Mr. Glascock almost as though some such
meeting had been expected, and had spoken to him almost as though she
had expected to have to speak to him. Would it not be better that she
should at once make her mother understand that all this could be of
no avail? If she were to declare plainly that nothing could bring
about such a marriage, would not her mother desist? She almost made
up her mind to do so; but as her mother said nothing to her before
they started for Mr. Spalding's house, neither did she say anything
to her mother. She did not wish to have angry words if they could be
avoided, and she felt that there might be anger and unpleasant words
were she to insist upon her devotion to Hugh Stanbury while this rich
prize was in sight. If her mother should speak to her, then, indeed,
she would declare her own settled purpose; but she would do nothing
to accelerate the evil hour.
There were but few people in Mrs. Spalding's drawing-room when they
were announced, and Mr. Glascock was not among them. Miss Wallachia
Petrie was there, and in the confusion of the introduction was
presumed by Lady Rowley to be one of the nieces introduced. She had
been distinctly told that Mr. Glascock was to marry the eldest, and
this lady was certainly older than the other two. In this way Lady
Rowley decided that Miss Wallachia Petrie was her daughter's hated
rival, and she certainly was much surprised at the gentleman's taste.
But there is nothing,--nothing in the way of an absurd matrimonial
engagement,--into which a man will not allow himself to be entrapped
by pique. Nora would have a great deal to answer for, Lady Rowley
thought, if the unfortunate man should be driven by her cruelty to
marry such a woman as this one now before her.
It happened that Lady Rowley soon found herself seated by Miss
Petrie, and she at once commenced her questionings. She intended to
be very discreet, but the subject was too near her heart to allow her
to be altogether silent. "I believe you know Mr. Glascock?" she said.
"Yes," said Wallachia, "I do know him." Now the peculiar nasal twang
which our cousins over the water have learned to use, and which
has grown out of a certain national instinct which coerces them to
express themselves with self-assertion;--let the reader go into his
closet and talk through his nose for awhile with steady attention
to the effect which his own voice will have, and he will find that
this theory is correct;--this intonation, which is so peculiar among
intelligent Americans, had been adopted con amore, and, as it were,
taken to her bosom by Miss Petrie. Her ears had taught themselves
to feel that there could be no vitality in speech without it, and
that all utterance unsustained by such tone was effeminate, vapid,
useless, unpersuasive, unmusical,--and English. It was a complaint
frequently made by her against her friends Caroline and Olivia that
they debased their voices, and taught themselves the puling British
mode of speech. "I do know the gentleman," said Wallachia;--and Lady
Rowley shuddered. Could it be that such a woman as this was to reign
over Monkhams, and become the future Lady Peterborough?
"He told me that he is acquainted with the family," said Lady Rowley.
"He is staying at our hotel, and my daughter knew him very well when
he was living in London."
"I dare say. I believe that in London the titled aristocrats do hang
pretty much together." It had never occurred to poor Lady Rowley,
since the day in which her husband had been made a knight, at the
advice of the Colonial Minister, in order that the inhabitants of
some island might be gratified by the opportunity of using the
title, that she and her children had thereby become aristocrats.
Were her daughter Nora to marry Mr. Glascock, Nora would become an
aristocrat,--or would, rather, be ennobled,--all which Lady Rowley
understood perfectly.
"I don't know that London society is very exclusive in that respect,"
said Lady Rowley.
"I guess you are pretty particular," said Miss Petrie, "and it seems
to me you don't have much regard to intellect or erudition,--but fix
things up straight according to birth and money."
"I hope we are not quite so bad as that," said Lady Rowley. "I do not
know London well myself, as I have passed my life in very distant
places."
"The distant places are, in my estimation, the best. The further the
mind is removed from the contamination incidental to the centres of
long-established luxury, the more chance it has of developing itself
according to the intention of the Creator, when he bestowed his gifts
of intellect upon us." Lady Rowley, when she heard this eloquence,
could hardly believe that such a man as Mr. Glascock should really be
intent upon marrying such a lady as this who was sitting next to her.
In the meantime, Nora and the real rival were together, and they also
were talking of Mr. Glascock. Caroline Spalding had said that Mr.
Glascock had spoken to her of Nora Rowley, and Nora acknowledged that
there had been some acquaintance between them in London. "Almost more
than that, I should have thought," said Miss Spalding, "if one might
judge by his manner of speaking of you."
[Illustration: The rivals.]
"He is a little given to be enthusiastic," said Nora, laughing.
"The least so of all mankind, I should have said. You must know he is
very intimate in this house. It begun in this way;--Olivia and I were
travelling together, and there was--a difficulty, as we say in our
country when three or four gentlemen shoot each other. Then there
came up Mr. Glascock and another gentleman. By-the-bye, the other
gentleman was your brother-in-law."
"Poor Mr. Trevelyan!"
"He is very ill;--is he not?"
"We think so. My sister is with us, you know. That is to say, she is
at Siena to-day."
"I have heard about him, and it is so sad. Mr. Glascock knows him. As
I said, they were travelling together, when Mr. Glascock came to our
assistance. Since that, we have seen him very frequently. I don't
think he is enthusiastic,--except when he talks of you."
"I ought to be very proud," said Nora.
"I think you ought,--as Mr. Glascock is a man whose good opinion is
certainly worth having. Here he is. Mr. Glascock, I hope your ears
are tingling. They ought to do so, because we are saying all manner
of fine things about you."
"I could not be well spoken of by two on whose good word I should set
a higher value," said he.
"And whose do you value the most?" said Caroline.
"I must first know whose eulogium will run the highest."
Then Nora answered him. "Mr. Glascock, other people may praise
you louder than I can do, but no one will ever do so with more
sincerity." There was a pretty earnestness about her as she spoke,
which Lady Rowley ought to have heard. Mr. Glascock bowed, and Miss
Spalding smiled, and Nora blushed.
"If you are not overwhelmed now," said Miss Spalding, "you must be so
used to flattery, that it has no longer any effect upon you. You must
be like a drunkard, to whom wine is as water, and who thinks that
brandy is not strong enough."
"I think I had better go away," said Mr. Glascock, "for fear the
brandy should be watered by degrees." And so he left them.
Nora had become quite aware, without much process of thinking about
it, that her former lover and this American young lady were very
intimate with each other. The tone of the conversation had shewn that
it was so;--and, then, how had it come to pass that Mr. Glascock had
spoken to this American girl about her,--Nora Rowley? It was evident
that he had spoken of her with warmth, and had done so in a manner to
impress his hearer. For a minute or two they sat together in silence
after Mr. Glascock had left them, but neither of them stirred. Then
Caroline Spalding turned suddenly upon Nora, and took her by the
hand. "I must tell you something," said she, "only it must be a
secret for awhile."
"I will not repeat it."
"Thank you, dear. I am engaged to him,--as his wife. He asked me this
very afternoon, and nobody knows it but my aunt. When I had accepted
him, he told me all the story about you. He had very often spoken
of you before, and I had guessed how it must have been. He wears
his heart so open for those whom he loves, that there is nothing
concealed. He had seen you just before he came to me. But perhaps I
am wrong to tell you that now. He ought to have been thinking of you
again at such a time."
"I did not want him to think of me again."
"Of course you did not. Of course I am joking. You might have been
his wife if you wished it. He has told me all that. And he especially
wants us to be friends. Is there anything to prevent it?"
"On my part? Oh, dear, no;--except that you will be such grand folk,
and we shall be so poor."
"We!" said Caroline, laughing. "I am so glad that there is a 'we.'"