THE TWO LITTLE WOMEN.
“So you have been happy,” said Miss Trelawny. She was in her room at her
hotel, lying upon a sofa, not because of fatigue so much as to please
the two little women who were fluttering about her, and to whom it was a
matter of conventional necessity, that having just “come off a journey,”
a lady ought to be fatigued and should “lie down.” Diana, in her perfect
health and vigour, had thrown off all her tiredness in a night’s rest;
but Mrs. Norton did not think this possible, and was doubtful even
whether it was right.
“Oh, very happy,” said Sophy; “everybody has been kind to us. We have
had the most delightful parties--little dances even: and almost
everybody has a reception one night in the week. And it is so beautiful!
and all the churches and things to go and see; and the alabaster shops:
and Mr. Pandolfini has been so kind.”
“Yes, Diana, it has been very nice indeed,” said her aunt; “everybody is
kind, as Sophy says. So interested in her, seeing that she was
delicate----”
“Oh, auntie, I am not delicate now--my cough is quite, _quite_ gone. I
feel as if I could do anything. Fancy, Diana, Mr. Pandolfini took us all
over the Cathedral and up the Leaning Tower, and to see everything; and
then there was a little impromptu dance at the Winthrops--Americans, you
know--and I danced--I danced with _him alone_ four dances. I was quite
ashamed of myself----”
“Is Mr. Pandolfini _him alone_?” said Diana, laughing; “but what does
all this mean? For I thought Mrs. Hunstanton said there was no society
in Pisa----”
“She must have been in an ill temper that day,” said Sophy; “there never
was such delightful society anywhere, never! Oh, Diana, you will enjoy
it so; everything is _so_ lovely! The Cathedral alone, when you go over
it as you ought, and the Campo Santo, and all the pictures. Mr.
Pandolfini knows them all, every one, and tells you everything. Oh, Mr.
Pandolfini is _so_ kind!”
“Ah, little one, is it so?” said Diana, looking up at her with a smile.
But Mrs. Norton interposed hastily--
“Sophy always thinks everybody is _so_ kind that shows a natural
interest in her. She is so ridiculously humble-minded. But even a virtue
should not be carried too far, should it? We must not say a word against
Mrs. Hunstanton, who has been a very good friend to us; but what she
said about society was quite a mistake. The society is very good. I need
not tell you, my dear Diana, that Sophy is a little goose, and knows
nothing: all society is good to her when people are kind to her; but I
have a little more experience. The Hunstantons themselves, of course we
know what they are--very good friends to us and very nice, and
everything one could desire--but not perhaps, you know, the very _crême
de la crême_.”
“Ah, indeed,” said Diana, with a smile; “and who then are the _crême de
la crême_?”
“Oh, we must not try to prejudice you,” said Mrs. Norton; “you will see
for yourself. Everybody of course will be glad to see _you_, Diana. But
I must say I think it is the greatest testimony to people’s
disinterestedness that they have been so good to us. We are not wealthy,
you know, nor great ladies; but everybody has seen my Sophy’s sweetness,
Diana. That is what goes to my heart. They do all so appreciate
Sophy----”
“Oh, auntie, how can you say so?” cried Sophy, rosy with blushes,
running to her, and clasping her arms round her. “Fancy anybody thinking
of poor little me! They like me because I am _your_ child.”
Diana lay on her sofa and laughed very softly to herself. The mutual
admiration amused, and it did not displease her. Mrs. Hunstanton would
have taken it very differently, but Diana could not but be amused.
“Come,” she said, “it is not kind to leave me in so much lower a place.
I am only to be received, because I am Miss Trelawny; that is hard upon
me. I should like to be liked for myself too.”
“O Diana! you!--as if any one would look at me when _you_ are there!”
cried Sophy, with a blush and flutter, running to kiss her friend; while
Mrs. Norton remonstrated more gravely--
“My dear Diana, you are a person of importance, we all know, in every
way. You are so clever, very different from either Sophy or me: besides
being a great lady, which, of course, opens every door. You must not
grudge us, dear, a little interest that people take in us, because we
are quite unimportant. It is her innocence, you know, that interests
everybody--such a little white dove of a creature--and partly, too,
because you have been such a friend to us, Diana. Everybody knows how
kind you have been.”
This silenced Diana, who had no mind to be commended for her kindness.
She told Sophy where to find certain little boxes of gloves and trifling
ornaments which she had bought in her passage through Paris, and so
turned the course of the conversation. They were much delighted as a
matter of course with their presents, and most eager to get a little
information about the fashions, which Diana, who got her dresses in
Paris, must be so well qualified to give. Then Diana’s maid was called,
and the last gown was brought out, and examined with the greatest
interest, Diana looking on from her sofa, always with a smile. They were
not rich enough to have their dresses from M. Worth; but they were not
at all disposed to wear things that were out of fashion. Why should
they? and both the aunt and the niece were very serious in their
conviction that it was a great advantage to be able to study Diana’s
things, and see exactly what was the newest trimming, and how “a really
good” gown was made. Mrs. Norton was very clever with her needle, and
thought nothing of altering the trimming of a dress when she saw a newer
fashion, or even of changing the cut of the garment itself (if the
stuff would allow). “It is so much more easy when you have a pattern
before your eyes instead of only the plate in a fashion-book,” she said.
Diana’s maid, Morris, had her own opinion about this, and was indignant
that her mistress’s things should be copied; but Diana threw open her
wardrobe with that absurd liberality which shocked Morris as much as it
shocked Mrs. Hunstanton. They did not understand how it was possible
that she could be amused by the sight of those two heads so closely bent
over her best dress, pinching the flutings with their inquisitive
fingers, and examining with such precision the way in which it was
looped up. “What a blessing that your new grey is not made up!” said the
aunt to the niece; “I see exactly how this is done.” “You are so clever,
auntie,” said Sophy, admiringly. “The front width forms a _tablier_,”
said Mrs. Norton, “and the back is in a _pouff_. See! nothing could be
more simple; and yet how handsome it looks! To be sure, yours is not
such handsome silk as Diana’s; but with your light little figure----”
“And, dear auntie, don’t you think your plum-colour could be altered to
look like this, with a new flounce at the bottom? I must not be selfish,
and let you think always of me,” said Sophy. How angry Mrs. Hunstanton
would have been, and how Maria Morris gloomed at the two little ladies!
But Diana, in the background, was amused and pleased on the whole. How
could it be supposed to harm her? And it pleased them; and to see them
fluttering over it, consulting, and putting their little heads on one
side, and examining all the seams, and looking as if something much more
serious than affairs of the State were in hand, was as good as a play.
She had bought a box of gloves for Sophy, and a pretty parasol and
ribbons for Mrs. Norton. The first of these had created a slight
disappointment, she could see, gloves being then cheap in Tuscany. “But
I am sure it was most kind of Diana to think of you at all: and they are
such beautiful gloves,” said Mrs. Norton, in a reassuring tone. Diana
felt a little mortified to find that she had thus brought, as it were,
coals to Newcastle; but even that amused her more or less--for her
little _protégée_ was already more learned than she in the smaller
necessities of the toilet, and where things could be got cheap.
Diana got up from the sofa while they were occupied with her wardrobe,
and betook herself to her letters. Hers was not the usual lady’s budget
of not very necessary correspondences: already the questions, the
references, the applications which weary out the absent who are involved
in the real business of life, and make a holiday almost more troublesome
than a working day, had begun. She had to write to her steward, to her
lawyer, and to more than one of the pensioners on her civil list, who
thought it their duty to make deferential communications to her about
their families, and consult her as to the steps to be taken for placing
Willie in an office or Fanny at school. No one could believe that it was
not personal love which made Diana good to them--a perception of their
own excellences, not general in the world; and this sentiment in her
mind no doubt made all the trouble she took a pleasure to her. This
conviction arose from no protestations of affection on Diana’s part; but
simply from the fact of her beneficence, which otherwise no one could
understand, not even her friends. She replied as best she could to those
applications about Willie and Fanny, approving generally of what was
being done, and sending a little present to make up for the deficiency
in interest which she felt rather guilty about, but which no one
suspected. “How you can be fond of so many commonplace people is a thing
I don’t understand,” said Mrs. Hunstanton, who came in while she was
thus occupied. “I am not fond of them,” said Diana, humbly. Her friend
shook her head with undisguised impatience. She was rather shocked even
by the idea. “You are either the most affectionate person in the world,
or you are the greatest deceiver,” she cried, in her noncomprehension,
stung to warmer energy than usual by the sight of Mrs. Norton and Sophy
in the background, still examining the new _mode_.
“I am either a fool or a humbug: is that what you would say?”
“Not a humbug, perhaps, not a conscious humbug: a cynic, that is what it
is. You despise everybody, therefore you can manage to be good to them.
Look at that now! I would not put up with it for a moment--turning over
all your things--making your very gowns common----”
This is a sort of desecration that goes to a woman’s heart--to bring
down her newest fashion to the common level--to copy in poor materials
the very finest and newest cuts! “I could not away with it!” said Mrs.
Hunstanton, and she meant what she said.
Diana laughed, which was quite exasperating in the circumstances. “They
like it,” she said, “and it does me no harm. I am very glad to see Sophy
looking so well----”
“My dear Diana, Sophy never looked the least ill, except in your anxious
eyes. Well, I don’t intend to say anything more about it; you chose to
do it, and that is enough. Tom is as ridiculous as you are. He insists
that I should take them everywhere, and introduce them to all the people
we know. I allow that they are very good to Reginald--oh, very good.
They actually make his life happier, and of course I am grateful. It is
not that I dislike them or grudge anything I can do; but you, Diana,
you! to waste so much affection upon two little selfish----”
“Unselfish, you mean.”
“It comes to the same thing,” said Mrs. Hunstanton, in her fervour. “Oh
yes, they are always giving in, thinking what you will like, and
deferring to each other; and the result is that they have everything
they wish, which, rich as you are and clever as you are, Diana, is more
than could be said for you----”
“I have a great many things I like,” said Diana, quietly; “no one has
more; and I have my own way--you don’t consider the blessedness of that.
Above all things in the world, one likes one’s own way.”
“You have your own way by letting every one have theirs,” said her
friend. “What is Sophy about? Are you going to copy all Diana’s things,
one after the other? But you must allow for the difference of style:
Diana’s things will never suit you.”
“Indeed Sophy is a great deal more sensible than to think she could be
like Diana,” said Mrs. Norton, with dignity; “there _is_ a great
difference of style; and different people like different things,” she
added, oracularly, “some one, some another.” Mrs. Norton felt herself
able to show fight with the backing up of Diana behind her, and even,
with that moral support, felt strong enough slightly to under-value
Diana: a whimsical way, yet a very genuine one, of proving unbounded
faith in her. For the moment indeed she had an easy victory, for Mrs.
Hunstanton was struck dumb by the audacious idea that Sophy’s “style”
should be identified in opposition to Diana’s, and was silent against
her will, finding no words at her command to say. And the others
gathered up their presents, while the little scratch of Diana’s pen was
the only sound clearly audible. Sophy turned over her gloves half
regretfully, half pleased. They were beautiful gloves--some of them
twelve-buttons! which was wonderful--much better than she ever would
have herself bought; but then the Tuscan gloves did very well, and if it
had only occurred to Diana to bring her something more useful! “But how
good of Diana to think of you at all!” Mrs. Norton was whispering in
her ear.
“I don’t hear you talking,” said Diana, “if it’s out of consideration
for me, never mind. You don’t disturb me, and my letters are almost
done.”
“You must go over all the sights,” said Mrs. Hunstanton; “my husband
will give us no peace till you have seen everything. How pleased he will
be to have a new person to take about! He will not spare you a single
picture or a single chapel. He likes to do things thoroughly.”
“But Diana must not do too much,” said Mrs. Norton, “after such a long
journey. She must keep quite quiet for a day or two, and lie on the
sofa. Indeed I should have the blinds down, if she would be guided by
me. She must not try her nerves too much.”
“Have I any nerves?” said Diana, laughing; “to lie on the sofa would
make an end of me. But I don’t think I am good for sight-seeing. It is
quite enough at present to say when one wakes, This is Italy. Fancy
being in Italy! What could one desire more?”
“But, dear Diana, that is nothing!” cried Sophy, great in her superior
knowledge. “Wait till you have seen Pisa properly--oh, only wait a
little! You don’t know--you can’t imagine how nice it is?”
Mrs. Hunstanton cast a look of impatience upon this outburst of
enthusiasm. She had put up with these little women good-humouredly
enough hitherto, and had been rather grateful for their good offices in
respect to Reginald; but Diana’s presence made a change. Their little
ways exasperated her as soon as their protectress and patron appeared on
the scene. They were Diana’s folly--they were the one thing
unaccountable in her, at least the most prominent thing; and as soon as
Mrs. Hunstanton saw that familiar smile of kindness on Diana’s lip, she
became censorious, critical, impatient, as when she was at home.
“There are much finer places in the world than Pisa,” she said. “We need
not raise Diana’s expectations; but still there is something to see, and
Mr. Hunstanton----”
“Oh, but please, Diana, let Mr. Pandolfini go too!” cried Sophy,
irrepressible. “No one knows so well as he does; and he is so clever and
so good-natured. He will take you everywhere. I never understood
anything till he explained it. Oh please, Mrs. Hunstanton, let Mr.
Pandolfini take Diana! He is the best.”
“Sophy!” said her aunt in an undertone, raising a warning finger. “It
is not that she does not appreciate dear Mr. Hunstanton--he is always so
kind; but Mr. Pandolfini being a stranger----”
“Oh, I am not jealous for my husband,” said Mrs. Hunstanton, with a
laugh.
Sophy did not appreciate either the warning or the displeasure. She
babbled on about the sights she had seen, while Diana listened and
admired. She knew a great deal more, and had seen a great deal more than
Diana, not only the Cathedral and the Campo Santo, but an alabaster shop
which Mr. Pandolfini had told her was very good, and not so dear as some
of the others; and where Sophy had bought the dearest little pair of
oxen with a funny waggon, “just like what you see the peasants have,”
she said, with a sense of knowing all about it which was very pleasant.
Diana put up her letters composedly, and let the girl run on. Mrs.
Hunstanton felt that she herself would have been quite incapable of so
much patience, and this made her still more angry in spite of herself.
But she had made up her mind to stay them out, and got rid of them at
last triumphantly, by reminding Sophy that there was choir-practice that
afternoon at the Winthrops, who had “interested themselves very much” in
the English service, and were very musical. This master-stroke left
Mrs. Hunstanton in possession of the field. She breathed a sigh of
relief when they were gone.
“That little Sophy is beyond anything,” she cried. “Why, she patronises
you, Diana, for being foolish enough to send her to Italy when she had
no more need to go----”
“Hush,” said Diana, putting up a hand as if to close her friend’s mouth;
“but tell me, who is this Mr. Pandolfini? Sophy does not seem able to
talk of anything else. Poor child! has she come out here innocently to
meet her fate?”
“Diana, don’t be so ridiculous about that child; you make me so angry.
You do nothing but encourage her in every kind of nonsense----”
“Is love nonsense?--and marrying? I thought you were always preaching
their advantages.”
“Ah, to you! that is a different thing altogether--except that there is
no one half good enough for you. You! Yes, of course we shall all be too
happy to see a Prince Consort.”
“There will never be a Prince Consort,” said Diana; “if you knew what it
is to be free, after being under somebody’s orders all your life!”
“But a good husband does not give you orders; only men in novels, so far
as I can see, call upon their wives to obey them in that melodramatic
way. If Tom were to do it, I cannot say I should be angry: it would be
too comical--I should laugh. Marriage is not slavery, Diana.”
“But if I don’t mean to try it, why should I? there are quantities of
people in the world to marry and be married. It is no sin, is it? but
rather a variety. Now, acknowledge that I am convenient now and then,
from the mere fact that there is only one of me! But it is the whole
duty of woman in Sophy’s case. To marry and to marry well--to get a kind
good man, who will not object to her aunt. So I repeat, Who is Mr.
Pandolfini? To call her by such a big-sounding name would be very droll.
But Italians are kind. Tell me who he is?”
“He is--well, he is not for Sophy, if that is what you mean. The
ridiculous idea! Sophy--a little nobody, a blanche Miss! If you knew the
man, you would laugh----”
“But you don’t laugh----”
“No; because men are such fools! and you never know what absurdity they
may be guilty of when a girl has that little admiring manner, and looks
up to them. Still, the Cavaliere has better taste--he has more sense. He
might die for _you_, Diana; but that little thing----”
“For me!” Diana laughed, but a faint colour came upon her face. “That
means, I suppose, that a tall dark woman seems more in this hero’s way
than a little light one? Let us hope that the law of contraries will
bring them together. I should not like little Sophy to be
disappointed--and her aunt.”
“You are really too absurd about Sophy and her aunt. Is a man to marry
both of them? But he is _my_ friend, and I can’t have him brought down
to such a fate. If that is what you mean, Diana, it must be a stand-up
fight between you and me. I shall not give in if I can help it; and I am
sure he is not such a fool.”
“There is a wavering in your voice which sounds like alarm,” said Diana,
laughing; “but I have no evil intentions in respect to your Mr.
Pandolfini. I shall not stand up and fight. If Sophy cannot do it for
herself, I shall not interfere.”
“Sophy!” said Mrs. Hunstanton, with vast disdain; but nevertheless there
was a slight quaver in her voice.