THE rooms on the third floor of the Palazzo de Sogni were not like those in Diana’s beautiful appartamento. The drawing-room, which was so spacious and lofty in the piano nobile, was low, and divided into two; one half of it was Mrs. Norton’s bedroom. In moments of excitement, and in the early part of the day, the door of communication was sometimes left open, though it was against all the English ideas of nicety and tidiness, in which these little ladies were so strong, to leave a bedroom visible. But what else could be done, when Sophy was seized with that anxiety about her toilet, and the delightful sense of preparation for a further holiday whirled them both out of their sober routine? Mrs. Norton had her excuse all ready if anybody should call—that is, if any lady should call—for the thought of a masculine foot crossing her threshold did not occur to her. “We have no maid,” was what she would say, “and of course there are a great many things which we must do ourselves. Fortunately, I am quite fond of needlework, and Sophy is so clever, and has such taste. You would never think that pretty dress was made at home? but I assure you it is all our own work. The only thing is that we keep the bedroom door open, in order to keep this one as tidy as possible.” Every visitor (being a lady) sympathised and understood: and gentlemen, except the clergyman, never came. A clergyman, by virtue of his profession, has more understanding on these points—has he not?—than ordinary men; he is apt to understand how poor ladies have to employ themselves when they have no maid; in short, he has the feminine element so strongly developed as to be able to criticise without rushing into mere ignorant censure, as probably a gentleman visitor of another kind would have done. And no profane male foot ever crossed Mrs. Norton’s threshold. They were at their ease therefore next morning, after their interview with Diana, when they got up to the serious business of the day. There was no hurry; but the work was agreeable, the excitement of preparation agreeable, and then, to be sure, a hundred things might happen to hasten their departure, and it was always best to be prepared. The door of Mrs. Norton’s sanctuary was accordingly standing wide open, revealing not only the Italian bed with its crackling high-piled mattress of turchino, but a large wardrobe standing open with all kinds of dresses hung up inside. The alpaca which was in question was spread out upon the sofa in the little drawing-room, and formed the foreground to the picture. They were both standing at a little distance contemplating it with anxious interest. Mrs. Norton had her head on one side. Sophy had a pair of scissors in her hand. It was almost the most difficult question that had ever come before them.
“It is very elaborately made,” said Mrs. Norton, doubtfully. “The flounces would be very awkward in a travelling-dress. They are so heavy to hold up, and they get so full of dust——”
“But, auntie, I have heard you say it made all the difference to a dress when it was nicely made.”
“Yes, that is very true; but a travelling-dress ought to be simple—it never ought to have a train, especially for a young person. You ought to be able to jump out and in of carriages, and never think of your dress. Besides, that would be so useful at home. You could wear it so nicely for Diana’s little parties, or when she is alone——”
“Oh, auntie! I shall never care for these horried little parties again.”
“Hush, my darling! at least you must never talk like that. You will be very glad of them, Sophy, when winter comes.”
Sophy shook her head: but the present matter was still more important. “Something new would be better, no doubt,” she said, “for the evening—one of those light silks that are almost as cheap as alpaca. When one has to get a new thing, isn’t it better to have it for one’s best? whereas an alpaca is never very much for a best dress, and would look nothing in the evening; and making a new common dress is just as troublesome as making a handsome one. And I might cut this a little shorter, or loop it up: and it would look nice when we stayed anywhere for a few days. Diana will insist on staying everywhere for a few days: I am sure she cannot really like travelling: and this with my white frocks when it is very fine——”
“I see your heart is set upon a new silk.”
“No, indeed, auntie,” said Sophy, half offended. “The only thing is, what should I do with two grey alpacas? If I were to take off the trimming here, and change this flounce——”
“Run, Sophy, run! there is some one at the door. Filomena has no sense—she will show them in at once.”
“What does it matter?” said Sophy. “It can only be Mrs. Hunstanton—I don’t mind at all what she says. I should like her to know. She ought to be cured of her interfering. It will let her see who Diana cares the most for. It will show her——”
“Mr. Hunstanton!” cried Mrs. Norton, with almost a shriek. A gentleman! and actually the bed visible, and all the things hanging up. She made a dart at the door and shut it, then turned round breathless but bland. “This is a pleasure!” she said; “but you find us in great disorder. I am so sorry. We were just arranging a little against our journey.”
“What journey?” said Mr. Hunstanton. “Don’t apologise. I like to have a finger in the pie. You shall have my advice with the greatest pleasure. But what journey? Were you thinking really of returning with us? That would be good news: though I think I have perhaps something to say that may make a difference. Don’t take away the dress: I am a great authority about dress—though my wife snubs me. Don’t take it away.”
“We are going with Diana,” said Mrs. Norton. “If we had been going home there is nothing I should have liked so much as going with your party. You were all so kind to us coming. But our first duty is to Diana. She has never been abroad before—she thinks she would like to return by Switzerland, and see as much as possible; and, of course, I could not let her go alone. And Sophy will enjoy it—though, indeed,” said the little woman, with a sigh, “it will not be unalloyed pleasure to me. My circumstances were very different when I was there before. Still I must not be selfish; and, of course, I could not let Diana go alone. After all her kindness to Sophy, that would be too ungrateful—it is what I could not do——”
“Whew!” said Mr. Hunstanton under his breath: and then corrected himself, and composed his countenance. “So you are going to Switzerland with Diana. Ah-h!—with Diana! That is a new idea. Bless me! I wonder what Diana will say to me if I spoil her trip for her? Mrs. Norton, I have come to say something very important to you. It is not on my own account exactly. I am come as an ambassador; as—plenipotentiary. I have got something to say to you. Well, of course I don’t know what you will answer; but it is not disagreeable. It is the sort of thing I have always heard that ladies like to hear——”
Mrs. Norton looked with unfeigned amazement at the beaming ambassador, whose enjoyment of his office there could, at least, be no doubt about. The smile on his face, the knowing look, the air of mingled fun and flattery which he put on, with a comical assumption of the aspect which the wooer he represented ought to have worn, half alarmed her. Though she was conscious to the bottom of her heart of her dignity as a married woman, with a late “dear husband” to refer to, yet the mild little lady was as old-maidish in her primness and over-delicacy as the most pronounced specimen of that type. What could Mr. Hunstanton mean? Had he gone out of his senses? or was there anybody so rash and foolish as to think of addressing her, a clergyman’s widow, in this way? A momentary recollection of Mr. Snodgrass flashed across her mind, and a slight blush came upon her matronly cheek.
“Oh, shall I run away?” cried Sophy, still more surprised, and most unwilling to go.
“No, no! Sophy must not go—why, it is all about Sophy!” cried Mr. Hunstanton. “She must not go on any account. Mrs. Norton, you know it isn’t our English way; but whether it is that I have lived so much abroad, I don’t know, but I think it a very rational way. Inquire first if there are any objections; and then if there are any objections, withdraw without humiliation. Oh yes, I have a great opinion of the good sense of an English girl; but still you know, Sophy, you are fallible, and sometimes a man is drawn on—and then sent to the right-about, as if he had no feelings at all.”
Mrs. Norton had taken time to compose herself during this speech. She dismissed the rector out of her mind abruptly, with something of the feeling with which she would have turned an impertinent intruder out of doors—indignant: though, indeed, it was not at all Mr. Snodgrass’s fault that she had thought of him. The excitement was scarcely less when the case was that of Sophy: but still that personal suggestion took the edge off her flutter, and made her listen more calmly. But there are limits to patience. She interrupted Mr. Hunstanton with all the weight of authority. Here certainly she was mistress of the position; though it was not very clearly apparent what that position was.
“I have no objection to you as an ambassador, Mr. Hunstanton,” she said, “and I think it very right that any gentleman should address me first rather than to disturb my child. But Sophy, pardon me, had better withdraw. The only reason for telling me would be that Sophy should not know—except afterwards, if I thought fit, through me.”
“Oh, auntie!” said Sophy, under her breath. She stood, holding the dress in her hands, in natural curiosity and excitement, her pretty round face all flushed. She did not want to go; but she was dutiful though she was excited, and thought of nothing beyond remonstrance. Mr. Hunstanton, for his part, lost his head altogether. He got up and took the dress out of her hands (not so awkwardly for a man, they said afterwards). When he had laid it down with clumsy care on the sofa, he took Sophy’s hand, and drew her forward. “Sit down here,” he said. “Come, Sophy, you needn’t blush. I am not going to make love to you. We’ll leave him to do that; but I can’t let you be sent away. It is her affair. Let her hear it. After all, there is nobody so much interested. Well now, look here—guess! You ladies have eyes more than we have for that sort of thing especially. Who do you suppose has sent me here to-day?”
Sophy sat where he had placed her, and looked at him, her soft little face crimson with excitement and pleasurable expectation, her blue eyes round and eager. She was a pretty little thing, and a man would be very well off, the ambassador thought, with such a fresh soft innocent creature always looking up to him. Mr. Hunstanton was sensible enough to feel that a wife always looking up to you might be, on the whole, inconvenient now and then: but still it would be pleasant; and it would just suit Pandolfini, who was a solemn sort of personage. Where is the man that would not like it? though the other sort of wife is of more use, perhaps; and he was content with his own lot. Sophy looked quite ready to accept any love-making that should come her way. Her lips were a little apart, her breath coming quick, her little heart all a-flutter, her whole mind absorbed in inquiry. Who could it be? Pandolfini was the romantic hero of Sophy’s imagination, but there were two or three others whom she would not have frowned upon. Which could it be? Her eyes fixed upon Mr. Hunstanton with growing eagerness. She made a pretty picture—all glowing innocence and ignorance, the most charming blank sheet of paper on which a man could desire to inscribe his name.
“Mr. Hunstanton!” said Mrs. Norton, shocked; “indeed I don’t approve of my child being exposed to this. Sophy, you had really better go away. It is quite improper—it is a sort of thing—we are not accustomed to——”
“I should hope not, I should hope not, my dear Mrs. Norton; though I don’t doubt that you knew all about it in your day. But Sophy is young enough to begin her experiences, and I trust we shall bring them to a close very suddenly. Now I am not going to keep you in suspense. Mrs. Norton, you know him very well. You have had ways of seeing how much we think of him. My wife has the very highest opinion—and you know in many things Mrs. Hunstanton is perhaps more difficile than I am. His means are not great. He has enough to be very comfortable, but not enough to make a great show according to our English notions” (here Sophy’s countenance fell a little, for, to be sure, where everything was so vague, it was easy to add riches to the fabulous unknown wooer); “but Sophy is not the girl to mind that: and he belongs to a very good family. She will be able to call cousin with half the princes in the Italian peerage.”
“Mr. Hunstanton!” cried Mrs. Norton, breathless; “what is all this in comparison to more essential things? It depends entirely upon Sophy’s feelings; and how can we tell till we know—not what he is, but who he is?”
“My dear lady, am not I just going to tell you? Sophy knows who he is. She has found it out in his eyes, as I did. Why, who should it be but Pandolfini? And a man any girl might be proud of—a fellow—though I say it that shouldn’t—who knows English as well, and is as fond of it as of his own language—a most accomplished fellow! I verily believe just the best man living, and so modest you would never find it out. There’s the lover I bring you, Sophy; and if you don’t appreciate him, you are not the girl I took you for. He deserves—simply the most charming wife in the world.”
“The Cavaliere!” cried Sophy under her breath. In the first moment of awe the colour fled from her cheeks.
“Mr. Pandolfini!” cried her aunt. Then she paused and looked at Sophy, who sat breathless, the blush coming back again. “Mr. Hunstanton, I am sure you will not doubt we are very sensible of the honour he does us. Not that my Sophy would not be an ornament to any family; but till I know her feelings—— Yes; he is a very charming person indeed. I have the greatest respect for him—and admiration—a man that any one might be proud of, as you say; but till I know my Sophy’s feelings——my darling?” the little woman grew tremulous. It was a situation which she had never realised.
“Oh, auntie!” cried Sophy, throwing herself into Mrs. Norton’s arms. The girl laid her head upon her aunt’s shoulder, and melted into sobs. “Oh, I am not good enough! I am not clever enough! It cannot be me he cares for.”
“My darling! when Mr. Hunstanton tells you——”
“Oh, it must be some mistake—it must be some mistake!” cried Sophy, burrowing with her head in her aunt’s bosom. Mrs. Norton encircled her with tender arms. She felt that her child was behaving herself at this wonderful emergency exactly as she ought.
“You see how much overcome she is! You must let us have a little time, dear Mr. Hunstanton. You can imagine the excitement, the agitation. She is so young. And when I am so much upset myself, what should she be—at her age? But, indeed, it is I who have the most occasion,” said the little lady, beginning to cry: “for what shall I do without my Sophy?—not that I should think of that when her happiness is concerned.”
“Oh, auntie!” cried Sophy, clasping her close, and burrowing more than ever, “I could never leave you—how could I ever leave you? You must always—always stay with me.”
Mr. Hunstanton rubbed his hands. “I see—I see!” he said, “it is too early for a direct answer; but I don’t think Pandolfini need be cast down. I think there are indications that he will gain the day.”
At this moment it became apparent to Mrs. Norton that Sophy’s agitation was too sacred to be witnessed by strange eyes, especially by a gentleman’s eyes. Encircling her child with one arm, and holding her close to her breast, she extended the other hand to Mr. Hunstanton. It was too exquisite a moment for ceremony. “Dear friend,” she said, amid her tears, “you see how it is. Leave me alone with her, and if you will come later—or I will write you a note: yes, that is the best, I will write you a note. No, I do not think he need despair.”
“I understand—I understand—a note will be the best, which I can show him,” cried Mr. Hunstanton, delighted. “Good-bye—good-bye, Sophy. Yes—yes, I shall take myself off. Let her have it out; but it will not be long till Miss will be turned into Madame, I can see. Never mind the door. I hope I can open it for myself. Yes—yes, it is she that wants you most, poor little soul!”
Sophy raised herself from her shelter when the ambassador was heard to go; her pretty little face was all stained like a child’s with tears. “Oh, auntie!” she cried, looking her aunt in the face, then giving her a still closer hug; and then there followed a moment of mutual endearment, sobs, and kisses. “Oh, auntie, do you think it can be true? Him. I thought him so far above me. I never thought he would look twice at a little insignificant thing like me.”
This was selon les règles too; and Mrs. Norton felt with unfeigned satisfaction that Sophy was fully equal to the circumstances, and was saying and doing exactly what she ought. She pressed her to her breast with mingled love, respect, and admiration. Nothing inappropriate or out of place had come from Sophy’s lips. In everything she had comported herself as the most anxious of aunts could wish; and all the girls of England might have been there to take a lesson. Mrs. Norton breathed a sigh of content as she pressed her child to her heart.
“My darling, you are too humble—not that I wish you different, Sophy. I like to see that my child is the only one that is unconscious of her own merits. But Love sees further. Dear fellow! Oh, what a happiness for me, my pet, to think, if anything happened to me, that I could leave you in such good hands!”
“But oh, auntie, him! I thought it was Diana he would care for——”
“Diana, Sophy? My dear, Diana is very handsome—for her age: but she is not like you. You know how fond I am of Diana; but gentlemen don’t care for such clever women. They like some one to look up to them, not a person who is always standing on her opinion. No, my darling, Diana will never attract a man of fine feeling like dear Mr. Pandolfini. It is not just an equal he wants. He wants a clinging, sweet, dependent creature. And then youth, my pet, youth! that always carries the day.”
“But oh, auntie, fancy any one being with Diana, and preferring poor little me!”
What more natural than that a flutter of gratified vanity should thrill through the girl! Mrs. Norton shared it to the fullest extent. She said, “I never expected anything else. Though I don’t set up for being clever, I know the world, and I know gentlemen. It is not talent that is necessary for that—you know I don’t pretend to talent—but experience, and perhaps a little insight. Oh yes, I know what may be looked for. I know what gentlemen are; and you may take my word for it, Sophy, a woman of Diana’s age has no chance—especially when they look their years as dear Diana does fully, whatever your partiality may say.”
“She will dress in such an old-fashioned way. I have spoken to her about it so often, and she never pays any attention. But oh, auntie! what will Diana say?”
“I don’t know what she can say, dear, but congratulations. Dear Diana, she will be so glad of your good fortune. She always is so generous. She will be sure to want to help with your trousseau; and it is evidently such a pleasure to her that one never knows how to refuse.”
“Oh!” cried Sophy, hiding her face, “it is too soon surely, surely, to think of anything of the kind. A trousseau, auntie! it scarcely seems—proper,—it scarcely seems—delicate.”
“My darling, you are so sensitive!” said Mrs. Norton, taking her child once more into her close embrace.
It was not, however, till several hours later that she wrote her note to Mr. Hunstanton. It was quite a model of what an acceptance should be: dignified, yet not too dignified; cordial, yet not too effusive. She appreciated Mr. Pandolfini, but she knew the value of the treasure she was giving. “I shall be happy to see him this evening or to-morrow,” she wrote. “They will be better able to understand each other when they meet by themselves; and I too shall be glad to have a talk with Mr. Pandolfini.” Mr. Hunstanton rubbed his hands as he put this epistle in his pocket-book. “I knew they would be delighted,” he said to himself, “and with good reason. Why he should have made such a fuss I don’t know; for, of course, it’s a capital match for Sophy. And she’ll make him a nice little wife, and give him a tidy, comfortable English home, which is a thing not very common in Italy. My wife, by the by, will be in a pretty way! She never could bear these two harmless little bodies. Why are women so queer? They never judge as we do. But here’s a settler for them all,” he said, chuckling and patting his breast-pocket. Certainly it was all done and settled, and put beyond the reach of uncertainty now.