The sun beat down fiercely as Marcantonio and Madame de Charleroi drove
up to the house at half-past ten o'clock. They had travelled all night,
but the beautiful Diana was not the less fair for being a little tired,
and as she descended from the carriage and went up the short steps to
the door, Leonora could not help admiring the perfect smoothness and
completeness of her appearance. Donna Diana did things in a stately
fashion, and it would have been a hard journey indeed that could ruffle
her lace or disturb the smooth coiling of her hair. Leonora herself was
apt to arrive a little dusty from a night in a train, and not altogether
serene, and she knew it; so that the absolutely finished completeness of
Madame de Charleroi struck her as enviable and much to be admired.
The two women kissed each other affectionately on either cheek, and then
Marcantonio came running up and bent over his wife's hand, and, when
Donna Diana was not looking, he just brushed Leonora's cheek in a rather
guilty fashion. Presently Leonora led Diana away to show her the rooms
destined for her, and to fuss a little over all the arrangements, as
women love to do when another woman is come to stay with them.
Marcantonio was busy for a few minutes, asking questions of the coachman
and the men-servants concerning the health of every individual in the
establishment, and then he also retired to his room, and the perspiring
grooms and servants raged furiously together with the luggage and
bundles for a while; and then the front door was closed again, and all
was cool and quiet.
Leonora left her husband and her sister-in-law to their toilet, and came
down stairs through the darkened halls to the drawing-room. She was
wondering whether Batiscombe would appear at his usual hour. Strange to
say they had not spoken of it on the previous evening,--probably because
they feared lest the mention of the subject should lead to some
discussion about the singular intimacy into which they had fallen, and
which neither wished to endanger. It would be just like Batiscombe to
come, she thought; it would be just like him to show himself at once as
her friend, and to establish the custom of coming every day.
She was not mistaken; at eleven o'clock the bell rang, and he was shown
in.
"I was quite sure you would come," she said, holding out her hand.
"Of course," said he. "I hope they have arrived safely?"
"Quite, thanks. They are making themselves beautiful at this moment,
though I think they must have done it on the way,--they arrived looking
as fresh as possible, all smiles and lavender and sunshine. I am so
glad they are come, you cannot think!"
"Yes, I should think you must be," assented Julius with less enthusiasm.
At that moment Marcantonio was shaving himself in the cool seclusion of
his dressing-room. He was going over in his mind the past and the
future, reflecting upon the absurd things he had said to Diana about
Batiscombe in the train, and wondering what he could do to make her stay
pleasant. Batiscombe must certainly be asked to the house, he thought,
if only to show his sister that he, Marcantonio, had no objection to her
meeting the man. It had been so thoroughly absurd to take up her speech
about the possibility of her having married him, and to build on it the
supposition that she had ever loved him. Bah! the fancy of a girl for
the romantic! Batiscombe was now a perfectly serious man--decidedly so.
Besides, Marcantonio began to dread very much the eternal trio between
his wife, his sister, and himself, from morning till night. If only he
had thought in time to ask some other man, it would have been such a
charming square party. His wife was always more brilliant and
good-tempered when there were outsiders present,--probably a peculiarity
of all women, he thought, excepting Diana. Supposing that Leonora took
it into her head to be dull or bored while Diana was there, how dreadful
it would be! It was clearly necessary that Diana should have a
favourable idea of the Carantoni household; that had been the whole
object in bringing her down. And if Leonora did not seem in good
spirits, Diana was sure to think he was not making his wife happy. The
idea grew in his mind; he was terribly afraid of what his sister might
think, seeing how she had opposed the match from the first. Really it
was absolutely necessary to ask some one to the house while she stayed.
But whom could he ask at such short notice? There was nobody but
Batiscombe within reach.
Marcantonio had finished shaving one side of his face, and took a fresh
razor for the other. There was a pause in his thoughts while he tested
the edge and applied more soap to his cheek. As he went to work again,
the original train of ideas continued.
Well! Batiscombe. Why not? He was a very amiable man, and Leonora liked
him. She would certainly not object. As for Diana, it was probable that
he would keep away from her most of the time. He would scarcely press
his company on her. Monsieur Batiscombe had tact, although he was a
crazy foreigner who went round the world in boats and wrote books. Bah!
it was so convenient! Just the very person--he knew everything, had seen
most things, and could talk like a mill-wheel. All those ridiculous
prejudices about Diana were absurd, and were an insult to her.
Batiscombe should be asked to stay a week.
Having successfully finished his shaving operations, Marcantonio sat
down to write a note to Julius while the thing was in his mind.
Otherwise, he reflected, he might forget to do it, and Batiscombe could
not be obtained until to-morrow. He wrote an invitation and signed it.
Then he reflected that it would be as well to speak to Leonora before
sending it. She did not know anything about that old story that had
happened when she was a little girl, and perhaps not even in Rome. It
was a mere formality, but it would be more courteous to ask her, before
sending the invitation. He would not ask Diana, however. She had herself
said, the night before, that she had no objection to meeting the man.
Very well, she should meet him very soon. He hurriedly finished dressing
and went down-stairs to find Leonora. Entering the drawing-room he found
her talking quietly with the very man he was thinking about.
"Mon Dieu! what a chance!" he exclaimed, cordially shaking Julius by the
hand. "Imagine! I was just writing you a note, when you were in the
house yourself!"
"Really?" ejaculated Batiscombe, in some astonishment. "How can I serve
you--since I am here in the flesh?"
"By remaining!" answered Marcantonio cheerfully. "I was in the act of
writing a very pressing invitation to you to stay a week with us, and
thus to make up the most agreeable party of four in the world. Madame
unites herself with me in the request, I am sure," added Carantoni,
turning to his wife, who looked rather pale.
"Mais certainement--we shall be charmed," said Leonora, utterly
astonished and confused by the suddenness of the situation.
She had herself thought how delightful such an arrangement would
be--more than once. But coming so suddenly, from her husband, without
her suggestion, it frightened her and did not seem quite natural. Her
voice did not sound very cordial as she spoke, but it was sufficient,
and her husband, being full of his idea, noticed nothing.
"You are very kind. It will really give me very great pleasure," said
Julius, controlling his voice wonderfully.
For he, too, was taken off his guard. Marcantonio was delighted. It was
such a wonderful piece of luck, he said, that Monsieur Batiscombe should
have called at that hour.
"But come with me, if madame permits," said he, "and I will show you
your room. You can send for your things in the afternoon."
Leonora was only too glad to be left alone for a moment, and the two men
went away, Marcantonio rubbing his hands at the success of his
arrangements for a pleasant week. With Batiscombe in the house the time
could not fail to pass pleasantly, he thought.
There are some men who seem to be pursued by an evil destiny that
continually forces them to do the wrong thing out of pure goodness of
heart. From an innocent desire to make his household pleasant for his
sister, and to amuse the wife of his heart, he had asked the man of all
others whom the one desired to avoid, and the other ought to have been
kept from, simply because he wanted somebody and the man happened to be
on the spot. And the whole thing had originated in a laudable desire to
see pleasant relations established between his wife and his sister, the
two persons in the whole world whom he most loved. Poor Marcantonio! He
was under an unlucky star.
Presently Batiscombe returned alone to the drawing-room, his host
remaining to give some orders about the luncheon. He looked curiously at
Leonora as he sat down opposite to her.
"This is very charming," he said, smiling. "It is so kind of you."
"I had nothing to do with it," said Leonora, avoiding his glance. "But
of course I am very glad. I was dreadfully afraid of being left alone
with my sister-in-law, and of course you will help me to make it
pleasant for her. Really, it is just like my husband,--he is so good."
"It would have been very miserable to have our good time cut short,"
said Julius reflectively, "and I suppose they would have thought it odd
if I went on calling every day at the same hour." Leonora blushed very
slightly.
"Yes," she said, "I suppose so. People have such ideas about the
appearances. You know I should not mind in the least if it were only my
husband; you might stay from morning till night, and we should all
enjoy it. But I am so afraid of Madame de Charleroi,--she is so
tremendously correct, you know."
From which piece of conversation it will be seen that Julius and Leonora
had grown intimate of late, and regarded things from a practical point
of view.
All this time Madame de Charleroi was in ignorance of the amiable
arrangement concluded by her brother, and was looking forward with
almost as much dislike as he had done to the family trio in which she
was to play a part during the week.
She understood Leonora to a certain extent. She had at least a very
strong presentiment that there would be trouble between her brother and
his wife; not an open disagreement nor anything dramatic, but the sort
of small worry and discord that begins slowly and surely, and finally
embitters the whole lives of people who are not suited to each other.
She had agreed to come down to Sorrento in order to "make friends" with
Leonora, as her brother had expressed it, and in her wisdom and
knowledge of the world she knew very well what a difficult task she had
undertaken, and how small was her chance of success. She foresaw that
she must be continually left alone with Leonora, for she understood her
brother well enough to suppose he would adopt that method of fostering
the friendship he desired. Poor dear Marcantonio had so very little
tact! Consequently Diana wished very much that some other person had
been asked to stay at the same time. Meanwhile she lay down for an hour
upon a sofa in her sitting-room, and thought the matter over.
Marcantonio, however, bethought him that in spite of Diana's expressed
willingness to meet Batiscombe, it might surprise her to find herself
suddenly living under the same roof with him. He therefore determined to
inform her of the fact before they all met at the midday breakfast. He
supposed she was busy with her toilet, and so he would not go himself;
he would send his wife. That was a good idea--it would be at once a
chance of throwing the two together. To this end he returned to the
drawing-room, where Leonora and Batiscombe were still talking, and with
an apology to the latter, he drew his wife aside for a moment.
"I think, my angel," he whispered, "that it would be better to tell
Diana that monsieur is here for a week. She is dressing at this moment.
Would you be so amiable as to go to her and say in the course of the
conversation that I have invited Monsieur Batiscombe? It would be very
good of you, my dear."
Leonora was not in the humour to refuse her husband anything. Everything
was bright and happy to her, now that she saw a means of defence
provided for her against the stately Diana, whom she feared. She had
recovered from her astonishment at the sudden invitation to Julius, and
she saw in it a kind intention on her husband's part, for which she was
grateful.
"Of course, mon ami," she answered, "I will do everything you like.
Only amuse Monsieur Batiscombe for a moment, and I will run to Diana,
and tell her what you wish."
"A thousand thanks!" exclaimed Marcantonio, and he turned to the task of
amusing Mr. Batiscombe, more delighted than ever.
Leonora knocked rather timidly at the door of Diana's sitting-room.
"It is I," she said, through the door; "may I come in?"
"Oh, I am so glad to see you!" exclaimed Diana, rising swiftly from her
couch, with a bright smile. She took Leonora's hand and led her to a
chair, and arranged the curtains a little, so as to make more light, and
then sat down by her side.
"You must be dreadfully tired," said Leonora, "and I ought not to
disturb you. I just wanted to see if you had everything you wanted."
"But everything--everything, I assure you," answered Diana. "I am so
very comfortable, and the view over the sea is exquisite, really de
toute beauté."
They made a wonderful contrast, as they sat side by side. Donna Diana's
perfect features were more mature than Leonora's, her bearing was more
noble, and her look more quiet and self-possessed. She wore a loose
peignoir of white, with lace and white silk ribbons, such as none but
perfect blondes can wear. But nothing could dim the dazzling whiteness
of her skin, or detract from her marvellous beauty. She was calm, and
statue-like, and it was only now and then that a glance from her deep
grey eyes betrayed the warm and sympathising heart within. A grand,
regal woman, fit to wear a crown or to have been the priestess of an
ancient people. She had it all from her mother, who had been like her,
though in a smaller mould, and had died, still young and beautiful, when
Diana and her brother were little children. It was impossible to imagine
her for a moment deprived of her perfect grace, and ease, and quiet.
Leonora was altogether more earthly. She moved well, but often
impetuously. Her extraordinary vitality, when not reduced by reaction to
a state of unnatural apathy, was forever seeking an outlet. She loved
the light and the stir of society life, while she amused herself with
reflecting on its emptiness. She was instinct with strength, and motion,
and elasticity. Her skin was always fresh, whether in heat or cold, but
from the enthusiasm with which she did things, she sometimes lost the
smoothness and correctness--as she would have called it--of her
appearance. And yet even at such times she had a strange charm and
fascination of her own. As she often said, she was far less beautiful
than Diana, but much more alive,--though with a life that might perhaps
be less strong and enduring than Diana's. Diana was a queen--Leonora a
brilliant and irresponsible princess.
They talked a little together, and Leonora found it easy to lead the
conversation to the plans she was making for the amusement of her
sister-in-law.
"By the bye," said she, "I ought to tell you. Mr. Julius Batiscombe is
staying here this week. I suppose you know him?"
Leonora had no idea of anything having existed in former times in the
way of sentiment between Diana and Julius. She was sent to convey a
piece of information, and she did it as well as she could, not even
looking at Diana as she spoke. Had she suspected anything she would have
watched her, and she could have seen the least possible trembling of the
eyelids, and the lightest imaginable shade of annoyance on her guest's
fair face.
"Oh yes," she said calmly, "I know him. I have known him a long time. So
he is staying with you?"
"Yes. He is so very agreeable, and Marcantonio wished it. He has been in
Sorrento some time, and he took us to Castellamare to see that ironclad
launched. He is so very clever."
"Because he took you in his boat?" laughed Diana. "Yes, my dear, a man
is clever indeed who can get such charming company."
Leonora was pleased with the little speech,--it sounded kindly, and as
Diana spoke she laid her hand softly on Leonora's.
"How cold your hands are," said Diana. And indeed they were chilled
through, though it was a very hot day in July. "'Cold hands, warm
heart,' you know, as the proverb says."
Leonora blushed a little. It seemed so odd to be talking about Julius
Batiscombe to a stranger that it frightened her a little, and she was
conscious that her heart beat faster. Nevertheless she wondered vaguely
why she felt the blood rise to her cheek. He was only her friend, and
the remark about the heart could have nothing to do with him.
But Diana supposed she changed colour because she was thinking of
Marcantonio. It was natural for a young bride to blush at the mention of
her heart, of course, and altogether charming. She patted the cold
little hand sympathetically and talked of something else. It is so easy
to misunderstand a blush. But Leonora felt as though she were being
patronised, which is the thing people of her stamp most bitterly resent
of all others; and accordingly there sprang up in her breast a little
breeze of opposition, which might by and by blow a gale.
When the party met in the drawing-room before the midday breakfast,
everything seemed arranged for the best, and Marcantonio rubbed his
hands with delight, and made numerous hospitable gestures as he walked
round the three lambs of his fold. Batiscombe rose and bowed low to
Madame de Charleroi. She nodded pleasantly as to an old acquaintance,
and gave him her hand. He turned a little pale under the sunburnt bronze
of his face.
"I am glad to see you," said she. "I thought you had probably been
shipwrecked in that boat of yours. It was in all the papers, you know."
"The sea would not be so ill-bred as to swallow me up before I had had
the honour of making my homage to you, madame," said Batiscombe with a
bow and a smile.
It is so easy to say pretty things in French, and as every one does it
no one ever knows the genuine from the spurious. Diana was well used to
Batiscombe's ways, and she laughed a little. But somehow Leonora did not
like the speech. The English part of her revolted against a generality
of gallant language, though her Russian blood made it quite possible for
her to accept such things as genuine when addressed to herself.
Breakfast was announced.
"Mon Dieu," exclaimed Marcantonio, smiling at everybody, "it is the most
charming quartette imaginable. But there arises a terrible question of
precedence. I must evidently give my arm to my wife or to my sister. It
is very grave. Mesdames, I pray you, select."
"Of course," said Leonora, "Diana is the guest. It is to her that you
must give your arm; and Monsieur Batiscombe must console himself as he
can."
Everybody smiled politely, as people do over the inanities of a very
cheerful and hospitable host.
"Thank you," said Batiscombe in English, as he and Leonora followed the
other couple into the breakfast-room at a little distance.
It became the duty of Batiscombe and the two ladies to make Marcantonio
believe that they were all enjoying themselves and each other
immensely; their duty it was--the sacred and unavoidable duty of society
towards its entertainers. Batiscombe found the situation very
unpleasant. Diana wished the week well over, and bore her part with the
unfaltering serenity and cheerfulness that well-bred sovereigns exhibit
when they are obliged to do some of the thousand disagreeable things
that make up most of their lives. Leonora was beginning to be quite sure
she could never like Diana. How could she like a woman who assumed airs
of superiority? Diana was not in the least like the young ladies whom
she knew in Rome, and whom, she promised herself, she would rule with a
rod of iron now that she was married. And Marcantonio smiled and said
all the pleasantest things he could imagine; and they were many, for
pleasantness was his strong point. Batiscombe seconded him to the best
of his ability, and every now and then reflected for an instant on the
extraordinary position in which he found himself.
Indeed, he had cause to wonder at the strangeness of fate. There he sat,
eating his breakfast between the woman who had dominated him all his
life, and the woman who fascinated him in the present, with ample
opportunity to compare them with each other, and a determination not to
do it. It seemed as though Diana's coming had roused his instincts of
contrariety, as it had in Leonora, though for quite different reasons.
Diana knew well enough, he thought, that she ruled him and could bring
him to her feet in a moment. Why, then, if she did not want him
herself, did she come and disturb his peace and happiness? She need not
have prevented him from enjoying the society of a charming woman, but
she undoubtedly would. He knew well enough that her presence must be a
check on the daily and hourly intercourse with Leonora which he just now
most desired. She would not believe in the friendship which had seemed
so real to Leonora and so possible to himself. She would watch him with
those grey eyes of hers that knew him so well, and when she had an
opportunity, she would give him a wholesome lecture on the error of his
ways. He knew Diana well, and she knew him better.
He was forced to confess that she was more beautiful, more stately, and
more perfect now, at eight and twenty, than she had been ten years ago
at eighteen; that, if she lifted her finger to him now, he would be more
entirely her servant and slave than ever before; and that in the bottom
of his heart he wished she would do so, as he wished no other thing in
the world. At the same time he knew perfectly well that she would not,
and he thought it was not fair of her to disturb an innocent friendship
which had, by force of circumstances, assumed a peculiar aspect. She
excited in him all the obstinacy which attends weakness--and Julius was
a weak man where women were concerned. And whether he would or not, he
made up his mind not to relinquish his daily enjoyment of talking to
Leonora for all the Dianas in the world,--if it were only to please his
own vanity.
The repast was somehow or other a success so far as Marcantonio was
concerned. He felt that everything was proceeding as it should, that all
his little plans had turned out well, and that he was a happy husband
and a happy brother. He was in complete ignorance of Julius Batiscombe's
daily visits to his wife during his absence. She had meant to tell him,
honestly, how pleasant it had all been, and how much she had enjoyed it;
but, somehow, the invitation to Batiscombe to stay in the house had made
her put it off. Marcantonio was so odd about some things, and he was
sure to want so many explanations; she could tell him just as well after
Diana and Batiscombe were gone; and then, of course, it could not matter
so much. She knew that Julius would never refer to all those days unless
she herself did. If only that terrible Diana did not see or find out!
How dreadful it would be to have her say anything to Marcantonio!