AT ROME.
During her journeying and during her sojourn at Rome Ayala did enjoy
much; but even these joys did not come to her without causing some
trouble of spirit. At Glenbogie everybody had known that she was a
dependent niece, and that as such she was in truth nobody. On that
morning when she had ordered Augusta to go upstairs the two visitors
had stared with amazement,--who would not have stared at all had
they heard Ayala ordered in the same way. But it came about that in
Rome Ayala was almost of more importance than the Tringles. It was
absolutely true that Lady Tringle and Augusta and Gertrude were asked
here and there because of Ayala; and the worst of it was that the
fact was at last suspected by the Tringles themselves. Sometimes they
would not always be asked. One of the Tringle girls would only be
named. But Ayala was never forgotten. Once or twice an effort was
made by some grand lady, whose taste was perhaps more conspicuous
than her good-nature, to get Ayala without burdening herself with any
of the Tringles. When this became clear to the mind of Augusta,--of
Augusta, engaged as she was to the Honourable Septimus Traffick,
Member of Parliament,--Augusta's feelings were--such as may better
be understood than described! "Don't let her go, mamma," she said to
Lady Tringle one morning.
"But the Marchesa has made such a point of it."
"Bother the Marchesa! Who is the Marchesa? I believe it is all
Ayala's doing because she expects to meet that Mr. Hamel. It is
dreadful to see the way she goes on."
"Mr. Hamel was a very intimate friend of her father's."
"I don't believe a bit of it."
"He certainly used to be at his house. I remember seeing him."
"I daresay; but that doesn't justify Ayala in running after him as
she does. I believe that all this about the Marchesa is because of
Mr. Hamel." This was better than believing that Ayala was to be asked
to sing, and that Ayala was to be fêted and admired and danced with,
simply because Ayala was Ayala, and that they, the Tringles, in spite
of Glenbogie, Merle Park, and Queen's Gate, were not wanted at all.
But when Aunt Emmeline signified to Ayala that on that particular
morning she had better not go to the Marchesa's picnic, Ayala simply
said that she had promised;--and Ayala went.
At this time no gentleman of the family was with them. Sir Thomas
had gone, and Tom Tringle had not come. Then, just at Christmas, the
Honourable Septimus Traffick came for a short visit,--a very short
visit, no more than four or five days, because Supply and Demand were
requiring all his services in preparation for the coming Session
of Parliament. But for five halcyon days he was prepared to devote
himself to the glories of Rome under the guidance of Augusta. He
did not of course sleep at the Palazzo Ruperti, where it delighted
Lady Tringle to inform her friends in Rome that she had a suite of
apartments "au première," but he ate there and drank there and almost
lived there; so that it became absolutely necessary to inform the
world of Rome that it was Augusta's destiny to become in course of
time the Honourable Mrs. Traffick, otherwise the close intimacy
would hardly have been discreet,--unless it had been thought, as the
ill-natured Marchesa had hinted, that Mr. Traffick was Lady Tringle's
elder brother. Augusta, however, was by no means ashamed of her
lover. Perhaps she felt that when it was known that she was about
to be the bride of so great a man then doors would be open for her
at any rate as wide as for her cousin. At this moment she was very
important to herself. She was about to convey no less a sum than
£120,000 to Mr. Traffick, who, in truth, as younger son of Lord
Boardotrade, was himself not well endowed. Considering her own
position and her future husband's rank and standing, she did not
know how a young woman could well be more important. She was very
important at any rate to Mr. Traffick. She was sure of that. When,
therefore, she learned that Ayala had been asked to a grand ball at
the Marchesa's, that Mr. Traffick was also to be among the guests,
and that none of the Tringles had been invited,--then her anger
became hot.
She must have been very stupid when she took it into her head to be
jealous of Mr. Traffick's attention to her cousin; stupid, at any
rate, when she thought that her cousin was laying out feminine lures
for Mr. Traffick. Poor Ayala! We shall see much of her in these
pages, and it may be well to declare of her at once that her ideas
at this moment about men,--or rather about a possible man,--were
confined altogether to the abstract. She had floating in her young
mind some fancies as to the beauty of love. That there should be a
hero must of course be necessary. But in her day-dreams this hero was
almost celestial,--or, at least, æthereal. It was a concentration
of poetic perfection to which there was not as yet any appanage of
apparel, of features, or of wealth. It was a something out of heaven
which should think it well to spend his whole time in adoring her
and making her more blessed than had ever yet been a woman upon the
earth. Then her first approach to a mundane feeling had been her
acknowledgment to herself that Isadore Hamel would do as a lover for
Lucy. Isadore Hamel was certainly very handsome,--was possessed of
infinite good gifts; but even he would by no means have come up to
her requirements for her own hero. That hero must have wings tinged
with azure, whereas Hamel had a not much more ætherealised than
ordinary coat and waistcoat. She knew that heroes with azure wings
were not existent save in the imagination, and, as she desired a real
lover for Lucy, Hamel would do. But for herself her imagination was
too valuable then to allow her to put her foot upon earth. Such as
she was, must not Augusta have been very stupid to have thought that
Ayala should become fond of her Mr. Traffick!
Her cousin Tom had come to her, and had been to her as a Newfoundland
dog is when he jumps all over you just when he has come out of a
horsepond. She would have liked Tom had he kept his dog-like gambols
at a proper distance. But when he would cover her with muddy water
he was abominable. But this Augusta had not understood. With Mr.
Traffick there would be no dog-like gambols; and, as he was not harsh
to her, Ayala liked him. She had liked her uncle. Such men were, to
her thinking, more like dogs than lovers. She sang when Mr. Traffick
asked her, and made a picture for him, and went with him to the
Coliseum, and laughed at him about Supply and Demand. She was very
pretty, and perhaps Mr. Traffick did like to look at her.
"I really think you were too free with Mr. Traffick last night,"
Augusta said to her one morning.
"Free! How free?"
"You were--laughing at him."
"Oh, he likes that," said Ayala. "All that time we were up at the top
of St. Peter's I was quizzing him about his speeches. He lets me say
just what I please."
This was wormwood. In the first place there had been a word or two
between the lovers about that going up of St. Peter's, and Augusta
had refused to join them. She had wished Septimus to remain down with
her,--which would have been tantamount to preventing any of the party
from going up; but Septimus had persisted on ascending. Then Augusta
had been left for a long hour alone with her mother. Gertrude had no
doubt gone up, but Gertrude had lagged during the ascent. Ayala had
skipped up the interminable stairs and Mr. Traffick had trotted after
her with admiring breathless industry. This itself, with the thoughts
of the good time which Septimus might be having at the top, was very
bad. But now to be told that she, Ayala, should laugh at him; and
that he, Septimus, should like it! "I suppose he takes you to be a
child," said Augusta; "but if you are a child you ought to conduct
yourself."
"I suppose he does perceive the difference," said Ayala.
She had not in the least known what the words might convey,--had
probably meant nothing. But to Augusta it was apparent that Ayala
had declared that her lover, her Septimus, had preferred her extreme
youth to the more mature charms of his own true love,--or had,
perhaps, preferred Ayala's raillery to Augusta's serious demeanour.
"You are the most impertinent person I ever knew in my life," said
Augusta, rising from her chair and walking slowly out of the room.
Ayala stared after her, not above half comprehending the cause of the
anger.
Then came the very serious affair of the ball. The Marchesa had asked
that her dear little friend Ayala Dormer might be allowed to come
over to a little dance which her own girls were going to have. Her
own girls were so fond of Ayala! There would be no trouble. There
was a carriage which would be going somewhere else, and she would be
fetched and taken home. Ayala at once declared that she intended to
go, and her Aunt Emmeline did not refuse her sanction. Augusta was
shocked, declaring that the little dance was to be one of the great
balls of the season, and pronouncing the whole to be a falsehood; but
the affair was arranged before she could stop it.
But Mr. Traffick's affair in the matter came more within her range.
"Septimus," she said, "I would rather you would not go to that
woman's party." Septimus had been asked only on the day before the
party,--as soon, indeed, as his arrival had become known to the
Marchesa.
"Why, my own one?"
"She has not treated mamma well,--nor yet me."
"Ayala is going." He had no right to call her Ayala. So Augusta
thought.
"My cousin is behaving badly in the matter, and mamma ought not to
allow her to go. Who knows anything about the Marchesa Baldoni?"
"Both he and she are of the very best families in Rome," said Mr.
Traffick, who knew everything about it.
"At any rate they are behaving very badly to us, and I will take it
as a favour that you do not go. Asking Ayala, and then asking you, as
good as from the same house, is too marked. You ought not to go."
Perhaps Mr. Traffick had on some former occasion felt some little
interference with his freedom of action. Perhaps he liked the
acquaintance of the Marchesa. Perhaps he liked Ayala Dormer. Be that
as it might, he would not yield. "Dear Augusta, it is right that I
should go there, if it be only for half-an-hour." This he said in a
tone of voice with which Augusta was already acquainted, which she
did not love, and which, when she heard it, would make her think of
her £120,000. When he had spoken he left her, and she began to think
of her £120,000.
They both went, Ayala and Mr. Traffick,--and Mr. Traffick, instead
of staying half-an-hour, brought Ayala back at three o'clock in the
morning. Though Mr. Traffick was nearly as old as Uncle Tringle, yet
he could dance. Ayala had been astonished to find how well he could
dance, and thought that she might please her cousin Augusta by
praising the juvenility of her lover at luncheon the next day. She
had not appeared at breakfast, but had been full of the ball at
lunch. "Oh, dear, yes, I dare say there were two hundred people
there."
"That is what she calls a little dance," said Augusta, with scorn.
"I suppose that is the Italian way of talking about it," said Ayala.
"Italian way! I hate Italian ways."
"Mr. Traffick liked it very much. I'm sure he'll tell you so. I had
no idea he would care to dance."
Augusta only shook herself and turned up her nose. Lady Tringle
thought it necessary to say something in defence of her daughter's
choice. "Why should not Mr. Traffick dance like any other gentleman?"
"Oh, I don't know. I thought that a man who makes so many speeches
in Parliament would think of something else. I was very glad he did,
for he danced three times with me. He can waltz as lightly as--" As
though he were young, she was going to say, but then she stopped
herself.
"He is the best dancer I ever danced with," said Augusta.
"But you almost never do dance," said Ayala.
"I suppose I may know about it as well as another," said Augusta,
angrily.
The next day was the last of Mr. Traffick's sojourn in Rome, and on
that day he and Augusta so quarrelled that, for a certain number of
hours, it was almost supposed in the family that the match would be
broken off. On the afternoon of the day after the dance Mr. Traffick
was walking with Ayala on the Pincian, while Augusta was absolutely
remaining behind with her mother. For a quarter-of-an-hour,--the
whole day, as it seemed to Augusta,--there was a full two hundred
yards between them. It was not that the engaged girl could not bear
the severance, but that she could not endure the attention paid to
Ayala. On the next morning "she had it out," as some people say, with
her lover. "If I am to be treated in this way you had better tell me
so at once," she said.
"I know no better way of treating you," said Mr. Traffick.
"Dancing with that chit all night, turning her head, and then walking
with her all the next day! I will not put up with such conduct."
Mr. Traffick valued £120,000 very highly, as do most men, and would
have done much to keep it; but he believed that the best way of
making sure of it would be by showing himself to be the master. "My
own one," he said, "you are really making an ass of yourself."
"Very well! Then I will write to papa, and let him know that it must
be all over."
For three hours there was terrible trouble in the apartments in the
Palazzo Ruperti, during which Mr. Traffick was enjoying himself by
walking up and down the Forum, and calculating how many Romans could
have congregated themselves in the space which is supposed to have
seen so much of the world's doings. During this time Augusta was
very frequently in hysterics; but, whether in hysterics or out of
them, she would not allow Ayala to come near her. She gave it to be
understood that Ayala had interfered fatally, foully, damnably, with
all her happiness. She demanded, from fit to fit, that telegrams
should be sent over to bring her father to Italy for her protection.
She would rave about Septimus, and then swear that, under no
consideration whatever, would she ever see him again. At the end
of three hours she was told that Septimus was in the drawing-room.
Lady Tringle had sent half-a-dozen messengers after him, and at last
he was found looking up at the Arch of Titus. "Bid him go," said
Augusta. "I never want to behold him again." But within two minutes
she was in his arms, and before dinner she was able to take a stroll
with him on the Pincian.
He left, like a thriving lover, high in the good graces of his
beloved; but the anger which had fallen on Ayala had not been
removed. Then came a rumour that the Marchesa, who was half English,
had called Ayala Cinderella, and the name had added fuel to the fire
of Augusta's wrath. There was much said about it between Lady Tringle
and her daughter, the aunt really feeling that more blame was being
attributed to Ayala than she deserved. "Perhaps she gives herself
airs," said Lady Tringle, "but really it is no more."
"She is a viper," said Augusta.
Gertrude rather took Ayala's part, telling her mother, in private,
that the accusation about Mr. Traffick was absurd. "The truth is,"
said Gertrude, "that Ayala thinks herself very clever and very
beautiful, and Augusta will not stand it." Gertrude acknowledged
that Ayala was upsetting and ungrateful. Poor Lady Tringle, in her
husband's absence, did not know what to do about her niece.
Altogether, they were uncomfortable after Mr. Traffick went and
before Tom Tringle had come. On no consideration whatsoever would
Augusta speak to her cousin. She declared that Ayala was a viper, and
would give no other reason. In all such quarrelings the matter most
distressing is that the evil cannot be hidden. Everybody at Rome who
knew the Tringles, or who knew Ayala, was aware that Augusta Tringle
would not speak to her cousin. When Ayala was asked she would shake
her locks, and open her eyes, and declare that she knew nothing about
it. In truth she knew very little about it. She remembered that
passage-at-arms about the going upstairs at Glenbogie, but she could
hardly understand that for so small an affront, and one so distant,
Augusta would now refuse to speak to her. That Augusta had always
been angry with her, and since Mr. Traffick's arrival more angry than
ever, she had felt; but that Augusta was jealous in respect to her
lover had never yet at all come home to Ayala. That she should have
wanted to captivate Mr. Traffick,--she with her high ideas of some
transcendental, more than human, hero!
But she had to put up with it, and to think of it. She had sense
enough to know that she was no more than a stranger in her aunt's
family, and that she must go if she made herself unpleasant to them.
She was aware that hitherto she had not succeeded with her residence
among them. Perhaps she might have to go. Some things she would
bear, and in them she would endeavour to amend her conduct. In other
matters she would hold her own, and go, if necessary. Though her
young imagination was still full of her unsubstantial hero,--though
she still had her castles in the air altogether incapable of
terrestrial foundation,--still there was a common sense about her
which told her that she must give and take. She would endeavour to
submit herself to her aunt. She would be kind,--as she had always
been kind,--to Gertrude. She would in all matters obey her uncle. Her
misfortune with the Newfoundland dog had almost dwindled out of her
mind. To Augusta she could not submit herself. But then Augusta,
as soon as the next session of Parliament should be over, would be
married out of the way. And, on her own part, she did think that her
aunt was inclined to take her part in the quarrel with Augusta.
Thus matters were going on in Rome when there came up another and a
worse cause for trouble.