He looked a little bewildered, smiled, and did not reply. Their
carriage was now crawling round the base of the notorious mountain.
The road was built over the debris which had fallen and which still
fell from its sides; and it had scarred the pine woods with devastating
rivers of white stone. But farther up, Miss Raby remembered, on its
gentler eastern slope, it possessed tranquil hollows, and flower-clad
rocks, and a most tremendous view. She had not been quite as facetious
as her companion supposed. The incident, certainly, had been ludicrous.
But she was somehow able to laugh at it without laughing much at the
actors or the stage.
"I had rather he made me a fool than that I thought he was one," she
said, after a long pause.
"Here is the Custom House," said Colonel Leyland, changing the subject.
They had come to the land of _Ach_ and _Ja_. Miss Raby sighed; for she
loved the Latins, as every one must who is not pressed for time. But
Colonel Leyland, a military man, respected Teutonia.
"They still talk Italian for seven miles," she said, comforting herself
like a child.
"German is the coming language," answered Colonel Leyland. "All the
important books on any subject are written in it."
"But all the books on any important subject are written in Italian.
Elizabeth--tell me an important subject."
"Human Nature, ma'am," said the maid, half shy, half impertinent.
"Elizabeth is a novelist, like her mistress," said Colonel Leyland. He
turned away to look at the scenery, for he did not like being entangled
in a mixed conversation. He noted that the farms were more prosperous,
that begging had stopped, that the women were uglier and the men more
rotund, that more nourishing food was being eaten outside the wayside
inns.
"Colonel Leyland, shall we go to the _Grand Hôtel des Alpes_, to
the _Hôtel de Londres_, to the _Pension Liebig_, to the _Pension
Atherley-Simon_, to the _Pension Belle Vue_, to the _Pension
Old-England_, or to the _Albergo Biscione_?"
"I suppose you would prefer the _Biscione_."
"I really shouldn't mind the _Grand Hôtel des Alpes_. The _Biscione_
people own both, I hear. They have become quite rich."
"You should have a splendid reception--if such people know what
gratitude is."
For Miss Raby's novel, "The Eternal Moment," which had made her
reputation, had also made the reputation of Vorta.
"Oh, I was properly thanked. Signor Cantù wrote to me about three years
after I had published. The letter struck me as a little pathetic,
though it was very prosperous: I don't like transfiguring people's
lives. I wonder whether they live in their old house or in the new one."
Colonel Leyland had come to Vorta to be with Miss Raby; but he was
very willing that they should be in different hotels. She, indifferent
to such subtleties, saw no reason why they should not stop under the
same roof, just as she could not see why they should not travel in the
same carriage. On the other hand, she hated anything smart. He had
decided on the _Grand Hôtel des Alpes_, and she was drifting towards
the _Biscione_, when the tiresome Elizabeth said: "My friend's lady is
staying at the _Alpes_."
"Oh! if Elizabeth's friend is there that settles it: we'll all go."
"Very well'm," said Elizabeth, studiously avoiding even the appearance
of gratitude. Colonel Leyland's face grew severe over the want of
discipline.
"You spoil her," he murmured, when they had all descended to walk up a
hill.
"There speaks the military man."
"Certainly I have had too much to do with Tommies to enter into what
you call 'human relations.' A little sentimentality, and the whole army
would go to pieces."
"I know; but the whole world isn't an army. So why should I pretend
I'm an officer. You remind me of my Anglo-Indian friends, who were so
shocked when I would be pleasant to some natives. They proved, quite
conclusively, that it would never do for them, and have never seen that
the proof didn't apply. The unlucky people here are always trying to
lead the lucky; and it must be stopped. You've been unlucky: all your
life you've had to command men, and exact prompt obedience and other
unprofitable virtues. I'm lucky: I needn't do the same--and I won't."
"Don't then," he said, smiling. "But take care that the world isn't an
army after all. And take care, besides, that you aren't being unjust to
the unlucky people: we're fairly kind to your beloved lower orders, for
instance."
"Of course," she said dreamily, as if he had made her no concession.
"It's becoming usual. But they see through it. They, like ourselves,
know that only one thing in the world is worth having."
"Ah! yes," he sighed. "It's a commercial age."
"No!" exclaimed Miss Raby, so irritably that Elizabeth looked back to
see what was wrong. "You are stupid. Kindness and money are both quite
easy to part with. The only thing worth giving away is yourself. Did
you ever give yourself away?"
"Frequently."
"I mean, did you ever, intentionally, make a fool of yourself before
your inferiors?"
"Intentionally, never." He saw at last what she was driving at. It was
her pleasure to pretend that such self-exposure was the only possible
basis of true intercourse, the only gate in the spiritual barrier
that divided class from class. One of her books had dealt with the
subject; and very agreeable reading it made. "What about you?" he added
playfully.
"I've never done it properly. Hitherto I've never felt a really big
fool; but when I do, I hope I shall show it plainly."
"May I be there!"
"You might not like it," she replied. "I may feel it at any moment and
in mixed company. Anything might set me off."
"Behold Vorta!" cried the driver, cutting short the sprightly
conversation. He and Elizabeth and the carriage had reached the top of
the hill. The black woods ceased; and they emerged into a valley whose
sides were emerald lawns, rippling and doubling and merging each into
each, yet always with an upward trend, so that it was 2000 feet to
where the rock burst out of the grass and made great mountains, whose
pinnacles were delicate in the purity of evening.