‘It was you who knew them, Mr. Eldridge,’ said Lady Caryisfort. ‘Tell me
about them--you can’t think how interested I am. She thinks Lady Granton
neglected her duty, and she means to behave very differently when she is
in the same position. She is delicious! Tell me who she is.’
‘My cousin knows better than I do,’ said Bertie Eldridge, drawing back a
step. ‘She is an old friend and neighbour of his.’
‘If your cousin were my son, I should be frightened of so very dangerous
a neighbour,’ said Lady Caryisfort. It was one of her ways to
distinguish as her possible sons men a few years younger than herself.
‘Even to think her dangerous would be a presumption in me,’ said Bertie
Hardwick. ‘She is the great lady at home. Perhaps, though you laugh, you
may some day see whether she can keep the resolution to behave
differently. She is Miss Courtenay, of Langton-Courtenay, Lady
Caryisfort. You must know her well enough by name.’
‘What!--the Vice-Consul’s niece! I must go and tell Lady Granton,’ said
an _attaché_, who was among Lady Caryisfort’s attendants.
She followed him with her eyes as he went away, with an amused look.
‘Now my little friend will have plenty of partners,’ she said. ‘Oh! you
men, who have not even courage enough to ask a pretty girl to dance
until you have a certificate of her position. But I don’t mean you two.
You had the certificate, I suppose, a long time ago?’
‘Yes. She has grown very pretty,’ said Bertie Eldridge, in a patronising
tone.
‘How kind of you to think so!--how good of you to make her dance! as the
French say. Mr. Hardwick, I suppose she is your father’s squire? Are you
as condescending as your cousin? Give me your arm, please, and introduce
me to the party. I am sure they must be fun. I have heard of Mrs.
Vice-Consul----’
‘I don’t think they are particularly funny,’ said Bertie Hardwick, with
a tone which the lady’s ear was far too quick to lose.
‘Ah!’ she said to herself, ‘a victim!’ and was on the alert at once.
‘It is the younger one who is Miss Courtenay, I suppose?’ she said. ‘The
other is--her cousin. I see now. And I assure you, Mr. Hardwick, though
she is not (I suppose?) an heiress, she is very pretty too.’
Bertie assented with a peculiar smile. It was a great distinction to
Bertie Hardwick to be seen with Lady Caryisfort on his arm, and a very
great compliment to Mrs. Anderson that so great a personage should leave
her seat in order to make her acquaintance. Yet there were drawbacks to
this advantage; for Lady Caryisfort had a way of making her own theories
on most things that fell under her observation; and she did so at once
in respect to the group so suddenly brought under her observation. She
paid Mrs. Anderson a great many compliments upon her two girls.
‘I hear from Mr. Hardwick that I ought to know your niece “at home,” as
the schoolboys say,’ she said. ‘Caryisfort is not more than a dozen
miles from Langton-Courtenay. I certainly did not expect to meet my
young neighbour here.’
‘Her uncle wishes her to travel; she is herself fond of moving about,’
murmured Mrs. Anderson.
‘Oh! to be sure--it is quite natural,’ said Lady Caryisfort; ‘but I
should have thought Lady Granton would have known who her guest
was--and--and all of us. There are so many English people always here,
and it is so hard to tell who is who----’
‘If you will pardon me,’ said Mrs. Anderson, who was not without a sense
of her own dignity, ‘it is just because of the difficulty in telling who
is who that I have brought Kate here. Her guardian does not wish her to
be introduced in England till she is of age; and as I am anxious not to
attract any special attention, such as her position might warrant----’
‘Is her guardian romantic?’ said Lady Caryisfort. ‘Does he want her to
be loved for herself alone, and that sort of thing? For otherwise, do
you know, I should think it was dangerous. A pretty girl is never quite
safe----’
‘Of course,’ said Mrs. Anderson, gravely, ‘there are some risks, which
one is obliged to run--with every girl.’
And she glanced at Bertie Hardwick, who was standing by; and either
Bertie blushed, being an ingenuous young man, or Lady Caryisfort fancied
he did; for she was very busy making her little version of this story,
and every circumstance, as far as she had gone, fitted in.
‘But an heiress is so much more dangerous than any other girl. Suppose
she should fancy some one beneath--some one not quite sufficiently--some
one, in short, whom her guardians would not approve of? Do you know, I
think it is a dreadful responsibility for you.’
Mrs. Anderson smiled; but she gave her adviser a sudden look of fright
and partial irritation.
‘I must take my chance with others,’ she said. ‘We can only hope nothing
will happen.’
‘Nothing happen! When it is girls and boys that are in question
something always happens!’ cried Lady Caryisfort, elevating her
eyebrows. ‘But here come your two girls, looking very happy. Will you
introduce them to me, please? I hope you will not be affronted with me
for an inquisitive old woman,’ she went on, with her most gracious
smile; ‘but I have been watching you for ever so long.’
She was watching them now, closely, scientifically, under her drooped
eyelids. Bertie had brightened so at their approach, there could be no
mistaking that symptom. And the pale girl, the dark girl, the quiet one,
who, now that she had time to examine her, proved almost more
interesting than the beauty--had changed, too, lighting up like a sky at
sunset. The red line had gone from under Ombra’s eyes; there was a
rose-tint on her cheek which came and went; her eyes were dewy, like the
first stars that come out at evening. A pretty, pensive creature, but
bright for the moment, as was the other one--the one who was all made of
colour and light.
‘This is my niece, Lady Caryisfort,’ said Mrs. Anderson, with an effort;
and she added, in a lower tone, ‘This is Ombra, my own child.’
‘Do you call her Ombra? What a pretty name! and how appropriate! Then of
course the other one is sunshine,’ said Lady Caryisfort. ‘I hope I shall
see something of them while I stay here; and, young ladies, I hope, as I
said, that you do not consider me a very impertinent old woman because I
have been watching you.’
Kate laughed out the clearest, youthful laugh.
‘Are you an old woman?’ she said. ‘I should not have guessed it.’
Lady Caryisfort turned towards Kate with growing favour. How subtle is
the effect of wealth and greatness (she thought). Kate spoke out
frankly, in the confidence of her own natural elevation, which placed
her on a level with all these princesses and great ladies; while Ombra,
though she was older and more experienced, hung shyly back, and said
nothing at all. Lady Caryisfort, with her quick eyes, perceived, or
thought she perceived, this difference in a moment, and,
half-unconsciously, inclined towards the one who was of her own caste.
‘Old enough to be your grandmother,’ she said; ‘and I am your neighbour,
besides, at home, so I hope we shall be great friends. I suppose you
have heard of the Caryisforts? No! Why, you must be a little changeling
not to know the people in your own county. You know Bertie Hardwick,
though?’
‘Oh! yes--I have known him all my life,’ said Kate, calmly, looking up
at her.
How different the two girls were! The bright one (Lady Caryisfort
remarked to herself) as calm as a Summer day; the shadowy one all
changing and fluttering, with various emotions. It was easy to see what
that meant.
This conversation, however, had to be broken up abruptly, for already
the stream of partners which Lady Caryisfort had prophesied was pouring
upon the girls. Lady Barker, indeed, had come to the rescue as soon as
the appearance of the two Berties emancipated the cousins. When they did
not absolutely require her help, she proffered it, according to Lady
Caryisfort’s rule; and even Lady Granton herself showed signs of
interest. An heiress is not an everyday occurrence even in the highest
circles; and this was not a common heiress, a mere representative of
money, but the last of an old family, the possessor of fair and solid
English acres, old, noble houses, a name any man might be proud of
uniting to his own; and a beauty besides. This was filling the cup too
high, most people felt--there was no justice in it. Fancy, rich,
well-born, and beautiful too! She had no right to have so much.
‘I cannot think why you did not tell me,’ said Lady Barker, coming to
Mrs. Anderson’s side. She felt she had made rather a mistake with her
Mrs. Vice-Consul; and the recollection of her jokes about Kate’s
possible inheritance made her redden when she thought of them. She had
put herself in the wrong so clearly that even her stupid _attaché_ had
found it out.
‘I had no desire to tell anybody--I am sorry it is known now,’ said Mrs.
Anderson.
Long before this a comfortable place had been found for Kate’s aunt. Her
heiress had raised her out of all that necessity of watching and
struggling for a point of vantage which nobodies are compelled to submit
to when they venture among the great. But it is doubtful whether Mrs.
Anderson was quite happy in her sudden elevation. Her feelings were of a
very mixed and uncertain character. So far as Lady Barker was concerned,
she could not but feel a certain pride--she liked to show the old
friend, who was patronising and kind, that she needed no exercise of
condescension on her part; and she was pleased, as that man no doubt was
pleased, who, having taken the lower room at the feast, was bidden,
‘Friend, go up higher.’ That sensation cannot be otherwise than
pleasant--the little commotion, the flutter of apologies and regrets
with which she was discovered ‘to have been standing all this time;’
the slight discomfiture of the people round, who had taken no notice,
on perceiving after all that she was somebody, and not nobody, as they
thought. All this had been pleasant. But it was not so pleasant to feel
in so marked and distinct a manner that it was all on Kate’s account.
Kate was very well; her aunt was fond of her, and good to her, and would
have been so independent of her heiress-ship. But to find that her own
value, such as it was--and most of us put a certain value on
ourselves--and the beauty and sweetness of her child, who, to her eyes,
was much more lovely than Kate, should all go for nothing, and that an
elevation which was half contemptuous, should be accorded to them solely
on Kate’s account, was humiliating to the good woman. She took advantage
of it, and was even pleased with the practical effect; but it wounded
her pride, notwithstanding, in the tenderest point. Kate, whom she had
scolded and petted into decorum, whom she had made with her own hands,
so to speak, into the semblance she now bore, whose faults and
deficiencies she was so sensible of! Poor Mrs. Anderson, the position of
dignity ‘among all the best people’ was pleasant to her; but the thought
that she had gained it only as Kate’s aunt put prickles in the velvet.
And Ombra, her child, her first of things, was nothing but Kate’s
cousin. ‘But that will soon be set to rights,’ the mother said to
herself, with a smile; and then she added aloud--
‘I am very sorry it is known now. We never intended it. A girl in Kate’s
position has enough to go through at home, without being exposed to--to
fortune-hunters and annoyances here. Had I known these boys were in
Florence, I should not have come. I am very much annoyed. Nothing could
be further from her guardian’s wishes--or my own.’
‘Oh, well, you can’t help it!’ said Lady Barker. ‘It was not your fault.
But you can’t hide an heiress. You might as well try to put brown
holland covers on a lighthouse. By-the-bye, young Eldridge is very well
connected, and very nice--don’t you think?’
‘He is Sir Herbert Eldridge’s son,’ said Mrs. Anderson, stiffly.
‘Yes. Not at all bad looking, and all that. Nobody could consider him,
you know, in the light of a fortune-hunter. But if you take my advice
you will keep all those young Italians at arm’s length. Some of them are
very captivating in their way; and then it sounds romantic, and girls
are pleased. There is that young Buoncompagni, that Miss Courtenay is
dancing with now. He is one of the handsomest young fellows in Florence,
and he has not a sou. Of course he is looking out for some one with
money. Positively you must take great care. Ah! I see it is Mr. Eldridge
your daughter is dancing with. You are old friends, I suppose?’
‘Very old friends,’ said Mrs. Anderson; and she was not sorry when her
questioner was called away. Perhaps, for the moment, she was not much
impressed by Kate’s danger in respect to the young Count Buoncompagni.
Her eyes were fixed upon Ombra, as was natural. In the abstract, a seat
even upon velvet cushions (with prickles in them), against an emblazoned
wall, for hours together, with no one whom you know to speak to, and
only such crumbs of entertainment as are thrown to you when some one
says, ‘A pretty scene, is it not? What a pretty dress! Don’t you think
Lady Caryisfort is charming? And dear Lady Granton, how well she is
looking!’ Even with such brilliant interludes of conversation as the
above, the long vigil of a chaperon is not exhilarating. But when Mrs.
Anderson’s eye followed Ombra she was happy; she was content to sit
against the wall, and gaze, and would not allow to herself that she was
sleepy. ‘Poor dear Kate, too!’ she said to herself, with a compunction,
‘_she_ is as happy as possible.’ Thus nature gave a compensation to
Ombra for being only Miss Courtenay’s cousin--a compensation which, for
the moment, in the warmth of personal happiness, she did not need.