Elmore was not destitute of the national sense of humor; but he read
this letter not only without amusement in its English, but with intense
bitterness and renewed alarm. It appeared to him that the willingness
of the ladies to put the affair in his hands had not strongly manifested
itself till it had quite passed their own control, and had become a most
embarrassing difficulty,--when, in fact, it was no longer a merit in
them to confide it to him. In the resentment of that moment, his
suspicions even accused his wife of desiring, from idle curiosity and
sentiment, the accidental meeting which had resulted in this fresh
aggression.
"Why did you show me this letter?" he asked harshly.
"Mrs. Elmore told me to do so," Lily answered.
"Did _you_ wish me to see it?"
"I don't suppose I _wished_ you to see it: I thought you ought to see
it."
Elmore felt himself relenting a little. "What do you want done about
it?" he asked more gently.
"That is what I wished you to tell me," replied the girl.
"I can't tell you what you wish me to do, but I can tell you this, Miss
Mayhew: this man's behavior is totally irregular. He would not think of
writing to an Italian or German girl in this way. If he desired
to--to--pay attention to her, he would write to her father."
"Yes, that's what Mrs. Elmore said. She said she supposed he must think
it was the American way."
"Mrs. Elmore," began her husband; but he arrested himself there, and
said, "Very well. I want to know what I am to do. I want your full and
explicit authority before I act. We will dismiss the fact of
irregularity. We will suppose that it is fit and becoming for a
gentleman who has twice met a young lady by accident--or once by
accident, and once by his own insistence--to write to her. Do you wish
to continue the correspondence?"
"No."
Elmore looked into the eyes which dwelt full upon him, and, though they
were clear as the windows of heaven, he hesitated. "I must do what you
_say_, no matter what you mean, you know?"
"I mean what I say."
"Perhaps," he suggested, "you would prefer to return him this letter
with a few lines on your card."
"No. I should like him to know that I have shown it to you. I should
think it a liberty for an American to write to me in that way after such
a short acquaintance, and I don't see why I should tolerate it from a
foreigner, though I suppose their customs _are_ different."
"Then you wish me to write to him?"
"Yes."
"And make an end of the matter, once for all?"
"Yes--"
"Very well, then." Elmore sat down at once, and wrote:--
SIR,--Miss Mayhew has handed me your note of yesterday, and begs me
to express her very great surprise that you should have ventured to
address her. She desires me also to add that you will consider at
an end whatever acquaintance you suppose yourself to have formed
with her.
Your obedient servant,
OWEN ELMORE.
He handed the note to Lily. "Yes, that will do," she said, in a low,
steady voice. She drew a deep breath, and, laying the letter softly
down, went out of the room into Mrs. Elmore's.
Elmore had not had time to kindle his sealing-wax when his wife appeared
swiftly upon the scene.
"I want to see what you have written, Owen," she said.
"Don't talk to me, Celia," he replied, thrusting the wax into the
candle-light. "You have put this affair entirely in my hands, and Lily
approves of what I have written. I am sick of the thing, and I don't
want any more talk about it."
"I _must_ see it," said Mrs. Elmore, with finality, and possessed
herself of the note. She ran it through, and then flung it on the table
and dropped into a chair, while the tears started to her eyes. "What a
cold, cutting, merciless letter!" she cried.
"I hope he will think so," said Elmore, gathering it up from the table,
and sealing it securely in its envelope.
"You're not going to _send_ it!" exclaimed his wife.
"Yes, I am."
"I didn't suppose you could be so heartless."
"Very well, then, I _won't_ send it," said Elmore. "I put the affair in
_your_ hands. What are you going to do about it?"
"Nonsense!"
"On the contrary, I'm perfectly serious. I don't see why you shouldn't
manage the business. The gentleman is an acquaintance of yours. _I_
don't know him." Elmore rose and put his hands in his pockets. "What do
you intend to do? Do you like this clandestine sort of thing to go on? I
dare say the fellow only wishes to amuse himself by a flirtation with a
pretty American. But the question is whether you wish him to do so. I'm
willing to lay his conduct to a misunderstanding of our customs, and to
suppose that he thinks this is the way Americans do. I take the matter
at its best: he speaks to Lily on the train without an introduction; he
joins you in your walk without invitation; he writes to her without
leave, and proposes to get up a correspondence. It is all perfectly
right and proper, and will appear so to Lily's friends when they hear of
it. But I'm curious to know how you're going to manage the sequel. Do
you wish the affair to go on, and how long do you wish it to go on?"
"You know very well that I don't wish it to go on."
"Then you wish it broken off?"
"Of course I do."
"How?"
"I think there is such a thing as acting kindly and considerately. I
don't see anything in Captain Ehrhardt's conduct that calls for _savage_
treatment," said Mrs. Elmore.
"You would like to have him stopped, but stopped gradually. Well, I
don't wish to be savage, either, and I will act upon any suggestion of
yours. I want Lily's people to feel that we managed not only wisely but
humanely in checking a man who was resolved to force his acquaintance
upon her."
Mrs. Elmore thought a long while. Then she said: "Why, of course, Owen,
you're right about it. There _is_ no other way. There couldn't be any
kindness in checking him gradually. But I wish," she added sorrowfully,
"that he had not been such a _complete_ goose; and then we could have
done something with him."
"I am obliged to him for the perfection which you regret, my dear. If he
had been less complete, he would have been much harder to manage."
"Well," said Mrs. Elmore, rising, "I shall always say that he meant
well. But send the letter."
Her husband did not wait for a second bidding. He carried it himself to
the general post-office that there might be no mistake and no delay
about it; and a man who believed that he had a feeling and tender heart
experienced a barbarous joy in the infliction of this pitiless snub. I
do not say that it would not have been different if he had trusted at
all in the sincerity of Captain Ehrhardt's passion; but he was glad to
discredit it. A misgiving to the other effect would have complicated the
matter. But now he was perfectly free to disembarrass himself of a
trouble which had so seriously threatened his peace. He was responsible
to Miss Mayhew's family, and Mrs. Elmore herself could not say, then or
afterward, that there was any other way open to him. I will not contend
that his motives were wholly unselfish. No doubt a sense of personal
annoyance, of offended decorum, of wounded respectability, qualified the
zeal for Miss Mayhew's good which prompted him. He was still a young
and inexperienced man, confronted with a strange perplexity: he did the
best he could, and I suppose it was the best that could be done. At any
rate, he had no regrets, and he went cheerfully about the work of
interesting Miss Mayhew in the monuments and memories of the city.
Since the decisive blow had been struck, the ladies seemed to share his
relief. The pursuit of Captain Ehrhardt, while it flattered, might well
have alarmed, and the loss of a not unpleasant excitement was made good
by a sense of perfect security. Whatever repining Miss Mayhew indulged
was secret, or confided solely to Mrs. Elmore. To Elmore himself she
appeared in better spirits than at first, or at least in a more equable
frame of mind. To be sure, he did not notice very particularly. He took
her to the places and told her the things that she ought to be
interested in, and he conceived a better opinion of her mind from the
quick intelligence with which she entered into his own feelings in
regard to them, though he never could see any evidence of the over-study
for which she had been taken from school. He made her, like Mrs. Elmore,
the partner of his historical researches; he read his notes to both of
them now; and when his wife was prevented from accompanying him, he went
with Lily alone to visit the scenes of such events as his researches
concerned, and to fill his mind with the local color which he believed
would give life and character to his studies of the past. They also went
often to the theatre; and, though Lily could not understand the plays,
she professed to be entertained, and she had a grateful appreciation of
all his efforts in her behalf that amply repaid him. He grew fond of her
society; he took a childish pleasure in having people in the streets
turn and glance at the handsome girl by his side, of whose beauty and
stylishness he became aware through the admiration looked over the
shoulders of the Austrians, and openly spoken by the Italian populace.
It did not occur to him that she might not enjoy the growth of their
acquaintance in equal degree, that she fatigued herself with the
appreciation of the memorable and the beautiful, and that she found
these long rambles rather dull. He was a man of little conversation;
and, unless Mrs. Elmore was of the company, Miss Mayhew pursued his
pleasures for the most part in silence. One evening, at the end of the
week, his wife asked, "Why do you always take Lily through the Piazza on
the side farthest from where the officers sit? Are you afraid of her
meeting Captain Ehrhardt?"
"Oh, no! I consider the Ehrhardt business settled. But you know the
Italians never walk on the officers' side."
"You are not an Italian. What do you gain by flattering them up? I
should think you might suppose a young girl had some curiosity."
"I do; and I do everything I can to gratify her curiosity. I went to San
Pietro di Castello to-day, to show her where the Brides of Venice were
stolen."
"The oldest and dirtiest part of the city! What _could_ the child care
for the Brides of Venice? Now be reasonable, Owen!"
"It's a romantic story. I thought girls liked such things,--about
getting married."
"And that's the reason you took her yesterday to show her the Bucentaur
that the doges wedded the Adriatic in! Well, what was your idea in going
with her to the Cemetery of San Michele?"
"I thought she would be interested. I had never been there before
myself, and I thought it would be a good opportunity to verify a passage
I was at work on. We always show people the cemetery at home."
"That was considerate. And why did you go to Canarregio on Wednesday?"
"I wished her to see the statue of Sior Antonio Rioba; you know it was
the Venetian Pasquino in the Revolution of '48--"
"Charming!"
"And the Campo di Giustizia, where the executions used to take place."
"Delightful!"
"And--and--the house of Tintoretto," faltered Elmore.
"Delicious! She cares so much for Tintoretto! And you've been with her
to the Jewish burying-ground at the Lido, and the Spanish synagogue in
the Ghetto, and the fish-market at the Rialto, and you've shown her the
house of Othello and the house of Desdemona, and the prisons in the
ducal palace; and three nights you've taken us to the Piazza as soon as
the Austrian band stopped playing, and all the interesting promenading
was over, and those stuffy old Italians began to come to the caffès.
Well, I can tell you that's no way to amuse a young girl. We must do
something for her, or she will die. She has come here from a country
where girls have always had the best time in the world, and where the
times are livelier now than they ever were, with all this excitement of
the war going on; and here she is dropped down in the midst of this
absolute deadness: no calls, no picnics, no parties, no dances--nothing!
We must do something for her."
"Shall we give her a ball?" asked Elmore, looking round the pretty
little apartment.
"There's nothing going on among the Italians. But you might get us
invited to the German Casino."
"I dare say. But I will not do that."
"Then we could go to the Luogotenenza, to the receptions. Mr. Hoskins
could call with us, and they would send us cards."
"That would make us simply odious to the Venetians, and our house would
be thronged with officers. What I've seen of them doesn't make me
particularly anxious for the honor of their further acquaintance."
"Well, I don't ask you to do any of these things," said Mrs. Elmore, who
had, in fact, mentioned them with the intention of insisting upon an
abated claim. "But I think you _might_ go and dine at one of the
hotels--at the Danieli--instead of that Italian restaurant; and then
Lily could see somebody at the table d'hôte, and not simply _perish_ of
despair."
"I--I didn't suppose it was so bad as that," said Elmore.
"Why, of course, she hasn't said anything,--she's far too well-bred for
that; but I can tell from my own feelings how she must suffer. I have
you, Owen," she said tenderly, "but Lily has _nobody_. She has gone
through this Ehrhardt business so well that I think we ought to do all
we can to divert her mind."
"Well, now, Celia, you see the difficulty of our position,--the nature
of the responsibility we have assumed. How are we possibly, here in
Venice, to divert the mind of a young lady fresh from the parties and
picnics of Patmos?"
"We can go and dine at the Danieli," replied Mrs. Elmore.
"Very well, let us go, then. But she will learn no Italian there. She
will hear nothing but English from the travellers and bad French from
the waiters; while at our restaurant--"
"Pshaw!" cried Mrs. Elmore, "what does Lily care for Italian? I'm sure
_I_ never want to hear another word of it."
At this desperate admission, Elmore quite gave way; he went to the
Danieli the next morning, and arranged to begin dining there that day.
There is no denying that Miss Mayhew showed an enthusiasm in prospect of
the change that even the sight of the pillar to which Foscarini was
hanged head downwards for treason to the Republic had not evoked. She
made herself look very pretty, and she was visibly an impression at the
table d'hôte when she sat down there. Elmore had found places opposite
an elderly lady and quite a young gentleman, of English speech, but of
not very English effect otherwise, who bowed to Lily in acknowledgment
of some former meeting. The old lady said, "So you've reached Venice at
last? I'm very pleased, for your sake," as if at some point of the
progress thither she had been privy to anxieties of Lily about arriving
at her destination; and, in fact, they had been in the same hotels at
Marseilles and Genoa. The young gentleman said nothing, but he looked at
Lily throughout the dinner, and seemed to take his eyes from her only
when she glanced at him; then he dropped his gaze to his neglected plate
and blushed. When they left the table, he made haste to join the Elmores
in the reading-room, where he contrived, with creditable skill, to get
Lily apart from them for the examination of an illustrated newspaper, at
which neither of them looked; they remained chatting and laughing over
it in entire irrelevancy till the elderly lady rose and said, "Herbert,
Herbert! I am ready to go now," upon which he did not seem at all so,
but went submissively.
"Who are those people, Lily?" asked Mrs. Elmore, as they walked towards
Florian's for their after-dinner coffee. The Austrian band was playing
in the centre of the Piazza, and the tall, blond German officers
promenaded back and forth with dark Hungarian women, who looked each
like a princess of her race. The lights glittered upon them, and on the
brilliant groups spread fan-wise out into the Piazza before the caffès;
the scene seemed to shake and waver in the splendor, like something
painted.
"Oh, their name is Andersen, or something like that; and they're from
Helgoland, or some such place. I saw them first in Paris, but we didn't
speak till we got to Marseilles. That's his aunt; they're English
subjects, someway; and he's got an appointment in the civil service--I
think he called it--in India, and he doesn't want to go; and I told him
he ought to go to America. That's what I tell all these Europeans."
"It's the best advice for them," said Mrs. Elmore.
"They don't seem in any great haste to act upon it," laughed Miss
Mayhew. "Who was the red-faced young man that seemed to know you, and
stared so?"
"That's an English artist who is staying here. He has a curious
name,--Rose-Black; and he is the most impudent and pushing man in the
world. I wouldn't introduce him, because I saw he was just dying for
it."
Miss Mayhew laughed, as she laughed at everything, not because she was
amused, but because she was happy; this childlike gayety of heart was
great part of her charm.
Elmore had quieted his scruples as a good Venetian by coming inside of
the caffè while the band played, instead of sitting outside with the bad
patriots; but he put the ladies next the window, and so they were not
altogether sacrificed to his sympathy with the _dimostrazione_.