Christina raised her hand to her eyes, and bent her head thoughtfully.
Rowland was puzzled to measure the effect of his venture; she rather surprised him by her gentleness. At last, without moving, "If I were to marry him," she asked, "what would have become of his fiancee?"
"I am bound to suppose that she would be extremely unhappy."
Christina said nothing more, and Rowland, to let her make her reflections, left his place and strolled away. Poor a.s.sunta, sitting patiently on a stone bench, and unprovided, on this occasion, with military consolation, gave him a bright, frank smile, which might have been construed as an expression of regret for herself, and of sympathy for her mistress. Rowland presently seated himself again near Christina.
"What do you think," she asked, looking at him, "of your friend"s infidelity?"
"I don"t like it."
"Was he very much in love with her?"
"He asked her to marry him. You may judge."
"Is she rich?"
"No, she is poor."
"Is she very much in love with him?"
"I know her too little to say."
She paused again, and then resumed: "You have settled in your mind, then, that I will never seriously listen to him?"
"I think it unlikely, until the contrary is proved."
"How shall it be proved? How do you know what pa.s.ses between us?"
"I can judge, of course, but from appearance; but, like you, I am an observer. Hudson has not at all the air of a prosperous suitor."
"If he is depressed, there is a reason. He has a bad conscience. One must hope so, at least. On the other hand, simply as a friend," she continued gently, "you think I can do him no good?"
The humility of her tone, combined with her beauty, as she made this remark, was inexpressibly touching, and Rowland had an uncomfortable sense of being put at a disadvantage. "There are doubtless many good things you might do, if you had proper opportunity," he said. "But you seem to be sailing with a current which leaves you little leisure for quiet benevolence. You live in the whirl and hurry of a world into which a poor artist can hardly find it to his advantage to follow you."
"In plain English, I am hopelessly frivolous. You put it very generously."
"I won"t hesitate to say all my thought," said Rowland. "For better or worse, you seem to me to belong, both by character and by circ.u.mstance, to what is called the world, the great world. You are made to ornament it magnificently. You are not made to be an artist"s wife."
"I see. But even from your point of view, that would depend upon the artist. Extraordinary talent might make him a member of the great world!"
Rowland smiled. "That is very true."
"If, as it is," Christina continued in a moment, "you take a low view of me--no, you need n"t protest--I wonder what you would think if you knew certain things."
"What things do you mean?"
"Well, for example, how I was brought up. I have had a horrible education. There must be some good in me, since I have perceived it, since I have turned and judged my circ.u.mstances."
"My dear Miss Light!" Rowland murmured.
She gave a little, quick laugh. "You don"t want to hear? you don"t want to have to think about that?"
"Have I a right to? You need n"t justify yourself."
She turned upon him a moment the quickened light of her beautiful eyes, then fell to musing again. "Is there not some novel or some play," she asked at last, "in which some beautiful, wicked woman who has ensnared a young man sees his father come to her and beg her to let him go?"
"Very likely," said Rowland. "I hope she consents."
"I forget. But tell me," she continued, "shall you consider--admitting your proposition--that in ceasing to flirt with Mr. Hudson, so that he may go about his business, I do something magnanimous, heroic, sublime--something with a fine name like that?"
Rowland, elated with the prospect of gaining his point, was about to reply that she would deserve the finest name in the world; but he instantly suspected that this tone would not please her, and, besides, it would not express his meaning.
"You do something I shall greatly respect," he contented himself with saying.
She made no answer, and in a moment she beckoned to her maid. "What have I to do to-day?" she asked.
a.s.sunta meditated. "Eh, it "s a very busy day! Fortunately I have a better memory than the signorina," she said, turning to Rowland. She began to count on her fingers. "We have to go to the Pie di Marmo to see about those laces that were sent to be washed. You said also that you wished to say three sharp words to the Buonvicini about your pink dress.
You want some moss-rosebuds for to-night, and you won"t get them for nothing! You dine at the Austrian Emba.s.sy, and that Frenchman is to powder your hair. You "re to come home in time to receive, for the signora gives a dance. And so away, away till morning!"
"Ah, yes, the moss-roses!" Christina murmured, caressingly. "I must have a quant.i.ty--at least a hundred. Nothing but buds, eh? You must sew them in a kind of immense ap.r.o.n, down the front of my dress. Packed tight together, eh? It will be delightfully barbarous. And then twenty more or so for my hair. They go very well with powder; don"t you think so?" And she turned to Rowland. "I am going en Pompadour."
"Going where?"
"To the Spanish Emba.s.sy, or whatever it is."
"All down the front, signorina? Dio buono! You must give me time!"
a.s.sunta cried.
"Yes, we"ll go!" And she left her place. She walked slowly to the door of the church, looking at the pavement, and Rowland could not guess whether she was thinking of her ap.r.o.n of moss-rosebuds or of her opportunity for moral sublimity. Before reaching the door she turned away and stood gazing at an old picture, indistinguishable with blackness, over an altar. At last they pa.s.sed out into the court.
Glancing at her in the open air, Rowland was startled; he imagined he saw the traces of hastily suppressed tears. They had lost time, she said, and they must hurry; she sent a.s.sunta to look for a fiacre. She remained silent a while, scratching the ground with the point of her parasol, and then at last, looking up, she thanked Rowland for his confidence in her "reasonableness." "It "s really very comfortable to be asked, to be expected, to do something good, after all the horrid things one has been used to doing--instructed, commanded, forced to do! I "ll think over what you have said to me." In that deserted quarter fiacres are rare, and there was some delay in a.s.sunta"s procuring one. Christina talked of the church, of the picturesque old court, of that strange, decaying corner of Rome. Rowland was perplexed; he was ill at ease.
At last the fiacre arrived, but she waited a moment longer. "So, decidedly," she suddenly asked, "I can only harm him?"
"You make me feel very brutal," said Rowland.
"And he is such a fine fellow that it would be really a great pity, eh?"
"I shall praise him no more," Rowland said.
She turned away quickly, but she lingered still. "Do you remember promising me, soon after we first met, that at the end of six months you would tell me definitely what you thought of me?"
"It was a foolish promise."
"You gave it. Bear it in mind. I will think of what you have said to me.
Farewell." She stepped into the carriage, and it rolled away. Rowland stood for some minutes, looking after it, and then went his way with a sigh. If this expressed general mistrust, he ought, three days afterward, to have been rea.s.sured. He received by the post a note containing these words:--
"I have done it. Begin and respect me!
"--C. L."