In the villa Bice was suffering the dreariness of suspense, for Clive
did not answer her letter, into which she had poured a heart full of
longing. At first she was positive, in spite of the delay, that it was
only a delay and no more. Once she turned sharply upon Oliver.
"You are certain that you posted the letter?"
"I was particularly careful of it, because I knew it was of consequence
to you," he answered, looking full in her face.
"Then of course there is some good reason for our not hearing, and I
dare say something will come in a day or two."
But nothing did come. The days went on, the girl's heart sank lower and
lower in spite of her resolute words. If Clive bore that appeal in
silence, things must be bad indeed, and perhaps there was but one way
out of them.
Yet she did not yield. Oliver tried all the persuasions he could think
of, and could not be sure that he had gained one step. She avoided him
when she could, but if he forced her to listen to him, listened coldly,
and answered that she must hear from Clive. He began to feel as if the
puppets he was playing with were turning to flesh and blood avengers in
his hands. She was asking for proof, and if she sought for it much more
persistently, what might not start up in its place? He was tormented by
jealousies, not only of Jack, who came up once or twice, and seemed
moody and out of spirits, but of young Moroni, who made no secret of his
devotion. Bice was kinder to him than she had ever been before, and the
poor lad, not knowing that she used him as a defence against another,
had his head pretty well turned. Oliver was man enough of the world to
read her motives, but if he had seen them written in large letters, he
would not have felt easy. He hated the young fellow with his smiles,
his sudden pathetic melancholies, his sweet Italian, which he could not
understand. It seemed to him that they had a hundred interests in
common, from each of which he was shut out. Out on the terrace, late at
night, Giovanni would sit thrumming his guitar, the girls would sing.
Trent had no part to play in it all. Another time he would find Bice
and Kitty sitting on the edge of the water tank, Moroni in a fig tree
below them, tossing the ripe fruit into their laps, old Andrea, half
hidden by leaves, munching away at a little distance. Oliver, when he
came up, seemed to have no place or welcome, except perhaps from Kitty.
He would ask himself angrily, why he lingered? what fascination there
was for him in this proud, wilful girl? Yet, as he asked the question,
he knew quite well that one glance of her beautiful eyes was enough to
bind him to her side. He felt no remorse at the deception he was
practising, or the pain he inflicted; neither pain nor deception seemed
to him worth weighing for a moment against his determination to win her.
What he did feel was annoyance at having to leave again with his work
yet undone. It was necessary that he should return to England, and all
his strong will as yet had failed to bind Bice, as he had never doubted
she would by this time have been bound.
What then? Before he could return, would John Ibbetson have flung over
his love and turned to Beatrice? Would young Moroni have touched the
girl's heart by his foolish youth, his sentimental songs? Would his own
crooked dealings about Clive come to light when he was not present to
turn the truth into a lie? Trent set his teeth savagely as he thought
of these chances which must all be dared, since go he must.
He did his best to provide against them. He threw out hints, which he
knew would make their mark upon Bice's impulsive, generous little soul,
of Phillis Grey's desolate position in the world, and of her love for
the man she was to marry. Moroni was an Italian, and when he was not
present he did not really fear him. As for Clive, he had a long talk
with Bice, in which he avoided pressing his suit, and so managed to
reawaken some of her gratitude. Never had he been nearer winning her
than he was that day. He was kind, sympathetic, wise. He advised her
strongly not again to press upon Clive, or even so much as allude to,
her knowledge of his difficulties. If she did it, he asked her to send
the letter to him, that he might be aware of her writing and act upon
it. But he implored her for the present to leave the matter absolutely
in his hands, since interference might make it very difficult for him to
act; while left alone, he had the strongest hopes of arranging
everything. He led her to suppose that it was for this he was going
home; and he very skilfully managed alike to abstain from hinting at any
reward, and yet to leave upon her mind an impression that he really
considered her to have pledged herself. He let it be fully understood
that he should return, if not before they moved to Rome in November, at
any rate so as to join them there.
And having taken these precautions, which, to his unquiet spirit, seemed
miserably inadequate, he very reluctantly departed.
Bice expected to find his going a great relief. She was disappointed
because an immediate lightness of spirit was not the result. What
else--when she knew he was going to do his utmost for Clive--should make
her listless and languid? Why did all that was going on at the _podere_
seem utterly uninteresting and dry? Giovanni, who used to look daggers
at the English signore, came over full of rejoicing that he was got rid
of, full of plans and ideas for pleasant festivities; but for all the
good that the young fellow got out of his deliverance, Oliver might have
stayed on, for Bice could not be roused to any excitement, and indeed
scarcely gave him a word in answer, though the simple and honest lad
deserved better treatment; and every now and then she hated herself when
she saw the pain which gathered in his eyes.
That was a time of which she could never bear to think in later days;
and yet, poor child, there was a struggle, a contest going on, of which
better people need not have been ashamed. She felt hurt and shamefaced
in her own eyes, but she was loyal to the impulse which, had led her to
Phillis, to the kiss which had passed between them. Jack's manner, or
an intuitive quickness, or newly-awakened perceptions of her own,
somehow made her aware that things were not quite right between them.
As for him, he was at that point which sometimes comes in a man's life,
when a very little thing might turn him either way. He was dazzled and
attracted by the girl's rare beauty, piqued by Phillis's rejection, and
yet something made him seem nearer to Phillis than ever he had been
before. It is possible that with a little effort Bice might have turned
the scale, but she never made it; rather more than once her grave, clear
eyes had looked at him with a sort of reproach.
Miss Cartwright was better, though far from strong. She had grown so
fond of Phillis that they feared the effect upon her of hearing that the
engagement was off; but she listened in silence, scarcely alluding to it
after the first, but, if possible, more tender than ever both to Phillis
and to Jack. It pained her so greatly when Miss Preston said some sharp
words about Jack's conduct, that her friend was startled into silence;
and as she clung to Phillis, and needed her kind and patient nursing, it
fell out that Phillis was at the house as much as ever, and, to all
outward seeming, things went on just as they had gone before.
If this caused a great strain upon the girl, no one was likely to notice
it. Mrs Leyton had found pleasant friends in Florence, and though very
good-natured in all she said to Phillis on the matter of her engagement,
was equally taken up with fifty other things, and content to let all the
fifty and one go their own way so long as they did not clash with her
comfort. Phillis herself had never been taught to consider her own
feelings as paramount, or she might have been tempted to fly. As it
was, she looked forward to Rome with eagerness as a place of escape, and
then heard to her dismay that the doctor had pronounced Florence too
cold for Miss Cartwright to remain the winter, and that she was to
follow them to Rome as soon as she could bear the journey. Surely Jack
at least would return to England! But this he had evidently no
intention of doing.
Mr Thornton's letters took the line of disbelief. He ignored the fact
that the engagement was broken, advising them to get over their small
misunderstandings as quickly as possible, if they wished their friends
to credit them with any grains of good sense. There was a kind of rough
and ready philosophy about his letters under which Jack winced, while he
did his best to keep Phillis from reading them. Jack was greatly
interested in Phillis at this time, although he was hurt and annoyed
with her. The fact was, she was so kind and unassuming that it was
generally taken for granted that she would never fail at a pinch, and
Mr Thornton's indignation at the letters she had written to her aunt
was as great as if his quietest horse had kicked him over. "_She_
object! _She_ be the one to give herself airs! Don't let me hear any
more of this nonsense, Harriet! Write and tell her to hold her tongue
and be thankful." And, indeed, although it was not acknowledged so
roughly even to himself, Ibbetson, too, could not quite get over his
wonder. The young fellow was not conceited enough to believe that any
girl in the world would have him, but Phillis--to whom he had been
accustomed all his life--he was unprepared to hear her say that they
would not be happy together! She had grown to have a more separate
existence since that assertion than she ever had in his eyes before. He
was not sorry to be at liberty, but he was certainly annoyed that she
should also have desired to claim her own.
The Leytons were to go slowly to Rome, by Perugia and Assisi, but early
November arrived before they started, and two or three days before
setting off, Phillis surprised them by asking Miss Preston to drive with
her to Villa Carlina. She wanted to wish them good-bye, she said, and
though some one suggested they would soon meet at Rome, she persisted.
"And may I not come, too?" said Jack, when he put them into the
carriage.
"Not to-day," Phillis said, smiling; "we are going for a gossip, and you
would be very much in the way. But Cartouche is breaking his heart for
a hunt among the canes, and that is the best thing that you and he can
do this afternoon."
"A dog, indeed!" he said, turning away with some pretended indignation.
And then they began to make their way up towards the villa. It was a
grey and windy day, and every now and then the wind blew a misty rain
full in their faces, and turned all the grey olive trees into a
shivering whiteness of underleaf. The vineyards were stripped and bare.
A poor little kid, which had lost its mother, leapt on a bit of
desolate rock and bleated piteously. Miss Preston blamed the climate of
Italy, as if England were unacquainted with rain or mist. A great deal
of rain had fallen, so that the road between the white walls as they
climbed higher up was washed as if by a torrent, and a number of loose
stones had been brought down. Before they quite reached the gate of the
villa, they came upon a little crowd, in the midst of which stood Bice,
pouring indignant reproaches upon the driver of an ox-cart and upon two
or three men and boys who stood by looking ashamed and downcast. One of
the poor oxen had fallen, and instead of unfastening the cart and
relieving the creature of the yoke which pressed it to the ground, they
had set to work to belabour it about its head, using oaths and curses
plentifully at the same time. Unluckily for them, the young padrona was
within hearing, and as it was well-known among the _contadini_ that
nothing made her so angry as ill-usage of the animals, there was great
dismay in their hearts.
"_Cara signorina_!" one of them began humbly, but she stopped him at
once with flashing eyes.
"I go to the _podere_ myself this very day, and see that you do no more
work there," she exclaimed vehemently. "You can go back at once, for
little 'Tista shall take these poor beasts. If you have no shame as men
for your cruelty, at least you shall find another farm for yourselves."
Phillis could almost have smiled at the abashed looks of the men before
the young indignant princess, whose sway no one seemed to dispute. The
girl herself showed no discomposure at being found in this character.
She gave her orders to 'Tista, directed that time should be given to the
trembling creature to recover itself, and then, still pale with anger,
came towards the carriage.
"When they are cruel like that, I hate the Italians," she said, without
any other explanation, as she put out her hand.
"There should be a society formed," Miss Preston suggested eagerly.
"Let me put down your names, and I will see about it to-morrow. A
society for the protection of animals--the idea is admirable."
"Oh, societies! There may be one for anything I know," said the girl
wearily. "There is no law behind it, that is the drawback. Are you
come to spend the day? That is kind of you."
But Phillis explained it was only an hour they had come to spend. "And
when we have seen Mrs Masters, will you let Kitty show Miss Preston the
great cellars where you store your wine? she does not feel quite
satisfied about the vintage yet."
It was not difficult for Miss Grey to find some further excuse for
getting Bice alone. She had not seen the upper storey of the house,
where there were great bare-looking bedrooms and sitting-rooms, a
studio, laundries, all sorts of places. The girl's room had a wonderful
carved marble bas-relief over the fireplace, and a charming ceiling,
bright and fantastic, but otherwise all the furniture was old and the
greater part shabby. Phillis glanced at it with little attention; there
was something she wanted to say, and she was not quick at turning a
conversation to a desired point. It was Bice who unconsciously led to
it. "When we are in Rome," she had said, and then she looked quickly at
Phillis--"But then you will be married?" she said in a low voice.
Phillis thought she was prepared, and yet at the words the colour rushed
up to the roots of her hair.
"That is at an end," she said very hurriedly. "We are not going to
marry. It was settled before anyone had thought enough about it, and
thinking has made us change our minds. Forget that you ever heard that
it was to be."
How fast her heart beat! How stiffly the syllables seemed to issue from
her mouth. And yet she had meant to tell her quietly and calmly, to use
quite different words. There was a silence in which the wind drove the
loose branch of some creeper against the window, and in which Bice
looked at Phillis.
She looked and smiled. Strange to say, at this moment she was the most
composed of the two, and Phillis was deeply mortified that it should be
so. But all that Bice said was--
"That is a pity. But I don't suppose I shall be able to forget."
"It is not a pity if it saves either of us from unhappiness," said
Phillis, with much earnestness.
"Oh, I hope you will never be unhappy. It is so very miserable," Bice
said, dropping her hands with a little gesture of despair.
Her change of expression seemed to put them again into their right
positions. Phillis, who had been annoyed at her own agitation and at
the incredulous manner of the other girl, felt her pity, her sympathy
growing up again as warm as ever. If Bice and Jack loved each other, as
was surely the case, then she would not shrink. She smiled in her turn,
but looked steadily out of the window.
"There are many sorts of unhappiness," she said gently. "Some come so
quietly that we have time to prepare and almost change their nature.
And others are like sharp and sudden storms which seem to sweep us away,
but are soon over, and then the skies are as smiling again as ever."
"They are all hateful, whether they are of one sort or another," said
Bice in the same tone. "I never believed the books which said they were
anything else, and I think you have been reading those books."
"No," said Phillis firmly, "I don't believe they are all hateful. And
it is something different from books which you and I shall have to teach
us that."
"What?"
"Never mind, you will tell me one of these days. Now shall we go down,
and will you order the little carriage?"
As they went out, two or three bronzed men were standing outside the
door. Andrea had come up his steps and was haranguing them, but when
they saw Beatrice they started forward and poured out a torrent of
words. Phillis could not understand the rapid patois, but there were
tears in their eyes, and they were evidently imploring, entreating.
Bice listened coldly; once or twice she said something at which they
redoubled their protestations. When finally she yielded, one of them,
the chief spokesman, stepped forward, caught her hand, and kissed it
fervently. It was like a scene of another age, Phillis thought, the
young girl and the men watching her as if she had been a queen.
"I think perhaps they will behave better to the oxen for a little
while," Bice said, as they went away in delight.
"How much they care for you!"
"They care for the work, too; it is of great consequence in these bad
times. But they are very faithful and affectionate, poor fellows!"
Miss Preston shook her head. She told Phillis as she drove home that
Bice's weakness in forgiving the _contadini_ had convinced her that no
woman should enter on the prerogative of her rights before the age of
thirty years, when it might be considered that her judgment would be
matured, and Phillis, who was pale and rather silent, did not attempt to
contradict her. Miss Preston having her own views about Jack's conduct
very strongly outlined, glanced at her.
"Nothing can be worse for those two young girls than the sort of
undisciplined life they lead, with a mother absolutely without energy or
character," she said decidedly. "If I had remained here I might have
been of some service to them, if one ever _can_ be of service to wilful
girls. But in these days it is almost hopeless."
"Bice is most lovable," said Phillis eagerly. "I don't think it has
spoilt her one bit. Besides, what can be more simple than their life?"
"Oh, simple, I dare say!" Miss Preston said darkly. "You have had very
little experience of the world, my dear."
"I suppose so," said Phillis smiling. "When people say that, one never
knows what to answer. When does the experience come, I wonder; and what
makes the world? Is it anything very different from what one lives in
every day?"
Miss Preston found it difficult to define, and looked shocked.
"You will know better one day," she said, falling back on a generality.
But Phillis would not be baffled.
"Will it help one to understand, do you think, and not bring new
puzzles?" she asked, still smiling. "It seems to me now, as if every
experience brought something strange instead of making the old clearer."
Miss Preston looked at her helplessly, and then put her head out of
window.
"I never saw such a climate!" she exclaimed angrily. "Raining when we
started, and now quite fine. I am sure I trust we may find more
consistent weather in Rome."