"WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO ME?"
"Costanza is so cross," said Bianca, drawing me aside, in her childish
fashion; "she talks of going back at once to Florence, and I don't know
who would be sorry if she did."
"Oh, for shame, Bianca; she is your guest," I said, really shocked.
It was the morning after the ball, and all the ladies were assembled in
the sitting-room, displaying every one of them unmistakable signs of
what is sometimes called "hot coppers."
I had been greeted coldly on my entrance, a fact which had dashed
my own cheerful mood, and had set me seriously considering plans of
departure. "If they are going to dislike me, there's an end of the
matter," I thought; but I hated the idea of retiring beaten from the
field.
I did not succeed in making my escape for a single hour throughout
the day. Every one wanted Miss Meredith's services; now she must hold
a skein of wool, now accompany Costanza's song on the piano, now shout
her uncertain Italian down the trumpet of a deaf old visitor. I was
quite worn out by dinner-time; and afterwards the whole party drove off
to a reception, leaving me behind.
"Does not the signorina accompany us?" said Andrea to his mother, as
they stood awaiting the carriage.
"Miss Meredith is tired and goes to bed," answered the Marchesa in her
dry, impenetrable way. I had not been invited, but I made no remark.
Andrea opened his eyes wide, and came over deliberately to the sofa
where I sat.
There was such a determined look about the lines of his mouth, about
his whole presence, that I found myself unconsciously thinking: "You
are a very, very obstinate person, Marchesino, and I for one should be
sorry to defy you. You looked just like that five years ago, when they
were trying to tie you to the ancestral apron-strings, and I don't know
that Costanza is to be envied, when all is said."
"Miss Meredith," said his lowered voice in my ear, "this is the first
opportunity you have given me to-day of telling you what I think of
your conduct. I do not wonder that you are afraid of me."
"Marchesino!"
"To make engagements and to break them is not thought good behaviour
either in Italy or in America. Perhaps in England it is different."
I looked up, and meeting his eyes forgot everything else in the world.
Forgot the Marchesa hovering near, only prevented by a certain awe of
her son from swooping down on us; forgot Costanza champing the bit, as
it were, in the doorway; forgot the cold, unfriendly glances which had
made life dark for me throughout the day.
"I had no partner for number ten," went on Andrea, "though a lady had
promised to dance it with me. Now what do you think of that lady's
behaviour?"
His gravity was too much for my own, and I smiled.
"You suffer from too keen a sense of humour, Miss Meredith," he said,
and I scarcely knew whether to take him seriously or not. I only knew
that my heart was beating, that my pulses were throbbing as they had
never done before.
"The carriage is at the door, Andrea," cried Bianca, bouncing up to
us, and looking inquisitive and excited.
He rose at once, holding out his hand.
"Good-night, Miss Meredith," he said, aloud; "I am sorry that you do
not accompany us."
Costanza flounced across the passage noisily; the Marchesa looked me
full in the face, then turned away in silence; and even Annunziata was
grave. I felt suddenly that I had been brought up before a court of
justice, tried, and found guilty of some heinous but unknown offence.
Light still lingered in the gallery, and when the carriage had rolled
off I sought shelter there, pacing to and fro with rapid, unequal
tread. What had happened to me? What curious change had wrought itself
not only in myself, but in my surroundings, during these last two
days? Was it only two days since Andrea had come towards me down this
very gallery? Unconsciously the thought shaped itself, and then I grew
crimson in the solitude. What had Andrea to do with the altered state
of things? How could his home-coming affect the little governess, the
humblest member of that stately household?
There in the glow of the fading sunlight hung the Bronzino, its
eyes--so like some other eyes--gazing steadily at me from the canvas.
"Beautiful eyes," I thought; "honest eyes, good eyes! There was never
anything very bad in that person's life. I think he was good and happy,
and that every one was fond of him."
And then again I blushed, and turned away suddenly. To blush at a
picture!
Down in the deserted garden the spring was carrying on her work, in her
own rapid, noiseless fashion. No doubt it was the spring also that was
stirring in my heart; that was causing all sorts of new, unexpected
growths of thought and feeling to sprout into sudden life; that was
changing the habitual serenity of my mood into something of the
fitfulness of an April day.
Alternately happy and miserable, I continued to pace the gallery till
the last remnant of sunlight had died away, and the brilliant moonlight
came streaming in through the windows.
Then my courage faded all at once. The stony place struck chill, my own
footsteps echoed unnaturally loud; the eyes of the Bronzino staring
through the silver radiance, filled me with unspeakable terror.
With a beating heart I gathered up my skirts and fled up the silent
stairs, along the corridor, to my room.