MISS
BROWN
A
NOVEL
BY
VERNON
LEE
AUTHOR
OF
‘EUPHORION
,
’
‘BELCARO
,
’
ETC.
IN
THREE
VOLUMES
VOL.
I
.
WILLIAM
BLACKWOOD
AND
SONS
EDINBURGH
AND
LONDON
MDCCLXXXIV
All
Rights
Reserved
TO
HENRY
JAMES
,
I
DEDICATE
,
FOR
GOOD
LUCK
,
MY
FIRST
ATTEMPT
AT
A
NOVEL
.
BOOK
I
.
MISS
BROWN
.
CHAPTER
I
.
IT
was
melancholy
to
admit
that
Italy
also
had
ceased
to
interest
him
,
thought
Hamlin
,
as
he
smoked
his
cigarette
on
the
hillside
above
the
Villa
Arnolfini
;
melancholy
,
although
,
in
truth
,
he
had
suspected
as
much
throughout
the
journey
,
and
,
indeed
,
before
starting
.
Pale
,
milky
morning
sky
,
deepening
into
luminous
blue
opposite
the
fast‐rising
sun
;
misty
blue‐green
valley
bounded
by
unsubstantial
Apennine
peaks
and
Carrara
crags
;
yellow
shimmer
of
vines
and
of
maize
,
green
sparkle
of
pine
and
fir
branches
,
glitter
of
vermilion
sand
crumbling
under
his
feet
among
the
sear
grass
and
the
brown
cistus
tufts
,
—
all
these
things
seemed
to
have
lost
for
him
their
emotional
colour
,
their
imaginative
luminousness
.
He
tried
to
realise
the
time
when
all
these
things
had
given
him
a
thrill
,
had
gone
to
his
head
,
nay
,
when
the
mere
sense
of
being
in
Italy
had
done
so
;
but
now
the
very
words
“
thrill
”
and
“
intoxication
”
seemed
false
,
disgusting
,
and
vulgar
.
Formerly
,
at
least
,
such
things
had
soaked
into
him
,
dyed
his
mind
with
colour
,
saturated
it
with
light
;
instead
of
remaining
,
as
now
,
so
separate
from
him
,
so
terribly
external
,
that
to
perceive
them
required
almost
an
effort
.
He
and
the
world
had
been
becoming
paler
in
the
last
three
years
;
it
was
melancholy
,
but
that
seemed
quite
natural
and
in
keeping
;
and
besides
,
a
washed‐out
world
,
a
man
with
worn‐out
feelings
,
have
quite
as
much
psychologic
interest
for
a
poet
as
the
reverse
.
Walter
Hamlin
had
never
been
your
splash‐of‐scarlet
and
dash‐of‐orange‐and‐skyblue
,
lust‐and‐terror
kind
of
lyrist
;
but
he
had
begun
his
poetical
career
with
a
quiet
concentra‐
tion
of
colour
,
physical
and
moral
,
which
had
made
his
earliest
verses
affect
one
like
so
many
old
church
windows
,
deep
flecks
of
jewel
lustre
set
in
quaint
stiff
little
frames
,
with
a
great
deal
of
lead
between
,
and
supreme
indifference
to
anatomy
and
perspective
.
And
as
a
painter
(
perhaps
just
because
,
despite
his
own
contrary
opinion
)
—
he
certainly
had
less
original
genius
as
painter
than
as
poet
—
he
had
continued
in
this
habit
of
gemlike
harmonies
of
colour
;
but
in
his
poetry
,
and
in
his
reality
as
a
man
,
it
struck
him
that
he
had
little
by
little
got
paler
and
paler
,
colours
turning
gradually
to
tints
,
and
tints
to
shadows
;
pleasure
,
pain
,
hope
,
despair
,
all
reduced
gradually
to
a
delicate
penumbra
,
a
diaphanous
intellectual
pallor
,
of
which
this
utter
listlessness
,
this
indifference
even
to
having
grown
indifferent
,
was
,
as
it
were
,
the
faint
key‐note
.
The
world
was
a
pale
and
prismatic
mist
,
full
of
vague
,
formless
ghosts
,
in
which
it
was
possible
to
see
only
as
far
as
to‐day
;
and
,
indeed
,
why
wish
to
see
that
paler
to‐day
called
to‐morrow
?
Perhaps
there
was
a
little
depression
added
to
Hamlin’s
usual
listlessness
.
It
had
given
him
a
kind
of
little
shock
to
see
Melton
Perry
again
,
after
those
twelve
or
thirteen
years
;
bringing
back
to
him
the
time
when
he
had
been
the
most
brilliant
and
eccentric
of
that
little
knot
of
æsthetic
undergraduates
,
at
whose
strange
doings
as
Greek
gods
,
and
Provençal
poets
,
and
Norse
heroes
,
Oxford
had
murmured
in
those
philistine
days
,
and
which
had
welcomed
young
Hamlin
,
with
his
girlish
beauty
and
pre‐Raphaelite
verses
,
as
a
sort
of
mixture
of
Apollo
and
Eros
,
sitting
at
the
head
of
the
supper‐table
dressed
in
green
silk
,
with
rose
garlands
on
his
head
,
while
Perry
led
a
chorus
of
praise
,
dressed
in
indigo
velveteen
,
with
peacocks’
feathers
in
his
button‐hole
,
and
silver‐gilt
grasshoppers
in
his
hair
.
Poor
old
Perry
!
Absurd
days
those
were
,
thought
Hamlin
,
as
he
walked
slowly
towards
the
house
,
through
the
grass
and
hemlock
bending
with
dew
,
pushing
aside
the
fig
branches
and
vine
trails
along
the
narrow
path
between
the
terraced
olives
;
absurd
days
those
,
and
at
which
he
could
now
,
having
grown
grave
and
listless
,
only
faintly
smile
.
Still
the
sight
of
Perry
had
brought
back
to
him
that
recurring
sense
that
all
those
absurd
lads
of
long‐gone
days
,
turned
humdrum
dons
,
and
parsons
,
and
squires
for
the
most
part
,
had
had
a
something
,
a
spontaneity
,
an
aristocratic
fibre
,
a
sort
of
free‐bornness
,
which
he
missed
among
the
clique‐and‐shop
shoddy
æstheticism
with
which
he
now
associated
,
and
which
sang
his
praises
as
those
boys
had
sung
them
so
many
years
before
.
Professional
poetry
!
professional
art
!
faugh
!
thought
Hamlin
;
it
was
that
feeling
which
had
been
making
London
odious
to
him
of
late
,
and
sent
him
abroad
,
he
knew
not
whither
.
He
was
a
poet
himself
,
and
a
painter
also
,
to
be
sure
;
but
somehow
he
liked
to
feel
(
and
yet
it
oppressed
him
)
that
he
was
not
of
the
same
stock
as
his
fellow‐workers
—
that
he
had
his
coats
made
by
less
romantic
tailors
,
and
cut
his
hair
and
beard
in
less
pictorial
style
.
The
sense
of
his
difference
from
all
those
pen‐
and‐pencil‐driving
men
of
genius
,
those
reviewer‐poets
and
clerk‐poets
,
those
once‐a‐week‐studio‐receiving
painters
;
the
sense
of
the
dust
and
smoke
,
as
it
were
,
of
the
æsthetic
factory
,
had
been
choking
him
of
late
:
he
would
rather
go
and
associate
only
with
well‐dressed
numskulls
,
go
and
flirt
with
empty‐headed
Faubourg
St
Germain
ladies
,
or
emptier‐headed
Monte
Carlo
ladies
—
he
would
not
touch
pen
or
brush
for
years
.
It
had
been
silly
to
accept
Perry’s
invitation
to
spend
September
at
the
Villa
Arnolfini
;
he
had
accepted
,
thinking
of
Perry
as
he
had
been
,
a
wild
,
roistering
,
half‐French
creature
,
brought
up
at
Louis‐le‐Grand
,
and
telling
wicked
French
stories
.
Good
heavens
!
what
a
change
!
When
the
wretched
,
thin
,
wasted
,
depressed‐looking
creature
,
fit
for
a
medieval
picture
of
mansuetude
,
had
greeted
him
by
night
at
the
nearest
station
,
and
had
driven
him
in
the
gig
,
he
had
been
quite
unable
to
realise
that
this
was
indeed
Melton
Perry
.
But
he
had
understood
all
,
all
,
when
,
in
the
bleak
drawing‐room
,
in
the
glare
of
an
ill‐
trimmed
lamp
,
that
lank
,
limp
,
lantern‐jawed
leering
creature
with
a
Sapphic
profile
had
come
forward
and
seized
him
by
both
hands
,
and
kissed
them
,
crying
—
“
Dear
Mr
Hamlin
,
I
must
kiss
the
hands
that
have
opened
the
paradise
of
body
and
soul
to
so
many
of
us
.
”
She
,
and
her
speech
,
and
the
damp
dab
on
his
hands
,
had
passed
before
him
like
a
nightmare
;
he
felt
that
he
would
never
be
able
to
disassociate
Mrs
Melton
Perry
from
that
horrible
smell
of
ill‐trimmed
,
flickering
oil‐lamp
.
It
seemed
to
him
dreadful
—
a
sort
of
hideous
,
harpy‐like
proceeding
—
that
his
old
friend
should
have
thus
been
metamorphosed
.
“
You
see
,
”
Perry
had
said
,
“
I
must
paint
things
—
well
—
not
the
sort
of
things
I
exactly
admire
,
—
because
,
you
see
,
there’s
Mrs
Perry
and
the
children
—
five
girls
,
—
and
last
year’s
baby
.
”
Perry’s
depressed
voice
had
remained
in
Hamlin’s
ears
.
This
was
the
end
of
a
bright
,
original
fellow
—
married
for
love
,
too
!
And
six
children
!
Hamlin
had
already
made
up
his
mind
that
he
could
not
possibly
hold
out
long
at
the
Villa
Arnolfini
.
That
Mrs
Perry
,
with
her
leering
Sapphic
profile
,
her
almost
amorous
admiration
,
the
limp
gown
,
the
five
girls
,
and
last
year’s
baby
,
the
all‐pervading
smell
of
oil‐lamp
,
were
too
much
for
him
.
In
three
days
,
he
calculated
,
he
might
decently
,
on
some
pretext
,
slip
off
to
Florence
.
And
then
—
why
,
from
Florence
he
might
go
to
America
.
He
thought
all
those
big
hotels
,
with
the
fifteen
hundred
inmates
and
thirteen
brass
bands
,
all
that
tremendous
strain
,
telegraph‐telephone
vulgarity
,
might
be
refreshing
.
Hamlin
had
got
to
the
bottom
of
the
hill
,
and
in
front
of
him
,
nestled
among
the
olives
and
the
vines
,
rose
the
Villa
Arnolfini
,
a
time‐
and
weather‐stained
Tuscan
country‐house
,
with
its
rose‐hedges
gone
wild
among
the
beans
and
artichokes
,
its
grotesque
ivy‐draped
terra‐cotta
statues
,
its
belvedere
towers
,
from
whose
crannied
sides
and
yellow
lichened
tiles
the
pigeons
swept
down
on
to
the
lawn
of
overgrown
grass
,
thick
with
dew
in
the
blue
morning
shadow
.
It
had
a
sort
of
half‐romantic
,
half‐idyllic
charm
,
which
Hamlin
could
not
help
recognising
:
it
certainly
was
better
than
an
American
hotel
,
with
ten
lifts
,
thirteen
brass
bands
,
and
fifteen
hundred
inmates
.
But
,
like
everything
else
,
it
was
a
snare
;
for
behind
those
sleepy‐looking
green
shutters
were
the
pink
and
blue
chromo‐lithograph
pot‐boilers
of
Melton
Perry
,
were
the
five
girls
and
the
last
year’s
baby
,
nay
,
were
the
Sapphic
leer
and
limp
dresses
of
Mrs
Melton
Perry
herself
.
Making
these
reflections
,
Hamlin
pushed
open
the
green
and
blistered
house‐door
and
entered
the
wide
hall
,
with
rickety
eighteenth‐century
chairs
and
tables
marshalled
round
the
walls
.
There
was
one
good
thing
about
his
hosts
,
he
thought
,
and
that
was
,
that
they
had
no
common
breakfast
,
but
invited
their
guests
to
do
whatsoever
they
pleased
in
the
early
morning
.
The
hall
was
very
silent
,
and
Ham‐
lin
wondered
how
he
should
get
any
breakfast
.
It
struck
him
that
he
had
better
go
and
ring
the
bell
in
his
bedroom
.
But
on
going
upstairs
he
found
there
was
no
sign
of
a
bell
either
in
it
or
in
the
vast
scantily
furnished
drawing‐room
,
where
a
thick
layer
of
dust
reposed
on
tables
and
mirrors
,
and
the
smell
of
last
night’s
oil‐lamp
still
lingered
.
He
saw
the
open
door
of
Perry’s
studio
;
it
was
empty
,
and
so
was
the
adjoining
dressing‐room
,
where
boots
and
canvases
littered
the
floor
.
But
on
the
mirror
was
a
paper
,
on
which
was
written
in
the
largest
characters
:
“
I
am
gone
to
sketch
at
the
Lake
of
Massaciuccoli
;
shan’t
be
back
till
lunch
;
please
look
after
Hamlin
.
”
“
Confound
it
!
”
thought
Hamlin
,
“
am
I
to
be
left
in
tête‐à‐tête
with
Mrs
Perry
all
the
morning
?
”
But
since
Melton
Perry
thought
nothing
of
leaving
his
guest
alone
all
the
morning
,
he
too
—
the
guest
—
might
surely
be
permitted
to
slip
away
after
breakfast
from
the
effusive
æstheticism
of
his
hostess
.
Having
found
no
sign
of
life
on
the
first
floor
,
Hamlin
went
down‐stairs
once
more
,
and
proceeded
to
ramble
about
in
search
of
breakfast
,
or
,
at
least
,
of
some
servant
.
The
ground‐floor
seemed
to
consist
entirely
of
servants’
rooms
,
offices
,
and
strange
garners
,
where
sacks
of
potatoes
,
garden‐tools
,
silkworm‐mats
,
and
various
kinds
of
pods
were
gathered
together
.
They
were
all
empty
;
and
empty
likewise
was
the
kitchen
,
its
brass
saucepans
and
huge
spits
left
invitingly
for
any
one
who
might
care
to
step
through
the
open
garden‐door
.
But
next
to
the
kitchen
was
a
sort
of
nursery
,
at
least
so
he
judged
from
the
children’s
chairs
and
battered
dolls
lying
about
—
and
here
a
table
was
spread
with
cups
and
saucers
and
jugs
,
and
a
cut
loaf
and
a
plate
of
figs.
“
This
looks
more
like
it
,
”
thought
Hamlin
,
wondering
what
had
become
of
the
inmates
of
this
mysterious
abode
of
sleep
.
Suddenly
he
heard
children
talking
in
a
room
at
the
end
of
the
passage
,
and
a
sort
of
subdued
,
deep
,
melancholy
chant
,
like
some
church
song
.
He
went
to
the
door
whence
came
the
sounds
,
and
knocked
gently
.
The
childish
chattering
did
not
stop
,
nor
the
fitful
gusts
of
chant
—
deep
,
nasal
,
but
harmonious
and
weird
,
with
curious
,
sudden
,
metallic
falsetto
notes
,
less
like
the
voice
of
a
woman
than
of
a
youth
.
Hamlin
knocked
again
,
and
receiving
no
notice
,
boldly
opened
the
door
and
stood
on
the
threshold
.
He
was
struck
by
the
sight
which
met
him
.
The
room
was
low
and
vaulted
,
with
walls
entirely
frescoed
with
dark‐blue
skies
sprinkled
with
birds
,
mountains
like
cheeses
,
rivers
,
box‐like
houses
,
people
fishing
,
and
plentiful
ducks
and
parrots
on
perches
;
a
faint
green
shimmer
of
leaves
came
through
the
open
windows
;
three
or
four
little
yellow‐headed
children
were
scrambling
on
the
floor
,
struggling
violently
over
the
funeral
of
a
doll
in
a
biscuit‐tin
.
In
the
middle
of
the
room
was
a
large
deal
table
,
covered
with
singed
flannel
,
on
the
corner
of
which
stood
a
brasier
with
some
flat‐irons
,
and
a
heap
of
crumpled
pink
pinafores
;
and
behind
this
table
,
her
tall
and
powerful
figure
,
in
a
close‐fitting
white
vest
and
white
skirt
,
standing
out
against
the
dark‐blue
painted
wall
and
the
green
shimmer
from
outside
,
was
a
young
woman
bending
over
a
frock
which
she
was
ironing
,
her
bare
brown
arms
going
up
and
down
along
the
board
;
her
massive
and
yet
girlish
body
bending
with
the
movement
,
and
singing
that
strange
chant
which
Hamlin
had
heard
from
outside
.
“
I
beg
your
pardon
,
”
said
Hamlin
,
in
Italian
,
as
he
stood
in
the
doorway
.
The
children
looked
round
,
tittered
,
and
made
remarks
in
shrill
whispers
;
the
girl
stopped
her
work
,
stood
erect
,
putting
her
iron
on
the
brasier
,
and
stared
full
at
Hamlin
with
large
wide‐opened
eyes
of
strange
dark‐greyish
blue
,
beneath
heavy
masses
of
dark
lustreless
hair
,
crimped
naturally
like
so
much
delicate
black
iron
wire
,
on
her
narrow
white
brow
.
“
I
beg
your
pardon
,
”
said
Hamlin
again
;
“
but
can
you
tell
me
how
I
may
get
some
breakfast
?
”
He
could
not
help
smiling
in
proffering
this
innocent
request
,
so
serious
and
almost
tragic
was
the
face
of
the
girl
.
“
It’s
Mr
Hamlin
,
”
tittered
the
children
,
rolling
under
the
table
,
and
hanging
to
the
table‐cloth
.
The
young
woman
eyed
Hamlin
for
a
second
in
no
very
gracious
manner
;
then
answered
,
with
a
certain
contemptuous
listlessness
in
her
slightly
hollowed
pale
cheeks
and
beautifully
curled
but
somewhat
prominent
lips
—
“
I
don’t
know
anything
about
your
breakfast
,
sir
.
”
She
spoke
,
to
his
surprise
,
in
perfect
English
,
with
only
the
faintest
guttural
Italian
accent
.
“
Mr
Perry
went
to
sketch
at
Massaciuccoli
early
this
morning
,
and
took
the
boy
with
him
;
Mrs
Perry
may
never
be
disturbed
till
nine
;
and
the
cook
is
gone
to
Lucca
for
provisions
.
”
“
That’s
very
sad
,
”
remarked
Hamlin
,
laughing
,
and
looking
at
this
curious
and
picturesque
being
.
The
girl
seemed
annoyed
at
being
discovered
in
that
guise
,
for
she
pulled
down
her
white
sleeves
quickly
.
“
I
suppose
the
cook
has
orders
about
your
breakfast
,
”
she
said
,
in
a
tone
which
seemed
to
put
an
end
to
the
conversation
;
and
she
took
up
her
iron
once
more
.
“
Mrs
Perry
did
not
think
you
would
want
anything
so
early
;
the
cook
will
be
back
about
nine
.
”
But
Hamlin
would
not
be
shaken
off
;
the
fact
was
,
he
enjoyed
watching
this
beautiful
sullen
creature
much
as
he
might
have
enjoyed
watching
a
cat
whom
he
had
disturbed
in
its
sleep
.
“
Nine
o’clock
!
”
he
said
;
“
that’s
a
long
time
to
wait
.
Couldn’t
you
give
me
something
to
eat
?
I
saw
a
table
spread
in
the
next
room
.
”
The
girl
put
down
her
iron
with
a
sort
of
subdued
irritation
of
manner
.
“
It’s
the
children’s
breakfast
,
sir
,
”
she
answered
;
“
we
have
neither
tea
nor
coffee
.
”
“
We
have
milk
,
”
said
the
eldest
of
the
little
girls
pertly
,
“
and
figs.
”
“
Milk
and
figs
!
”
exclaimed
Hamlin
;
“
why
,
that’s
a
breakfast
for
the
gods
!
and
won’t
you
,
”
he
went
on
rather
appealingly
—
“
won’t
you
share
a
little
of
it
with
me
?
”
“
You
are
Mrs
Perry’s
guest
,
”
said
the
girl
more
sullenly
than
ever
,
“
and
of
course
you
are
welcome
to
anything
you
choose
.
”
Hamlin
felt
rather
taken
aback
.
“
Indeed
!
”
he
said
.
“
I
don’t
wish
to
do
anything
against
the
habits
of
the
house
,
or
disagreeable
to
you
.
”
“
It
is
not
against
any
rules
,
”
she
answered
.
“
If
you
will
excuse
me
,
I
will
see
whether
the
milk
is
heated
.
The
children
will
show
you
the
way
.
”
CHAPTER
II
.
HAMLIN
felt
rather
contrite
and
humiliated
as
he
sat
down
at
the
square
table
,
with
the
two
eldest
children
,
pert
little
rosy
and
flaxen
things
,
on
either
side
of
him
,
and
the
three
little
ones
staring
at
him
,
and
then
suddenly
making
convulsive
dives
under
the
table‐cloth
and
behind
each
other’s
shoulders
opposite
.
He
was
the
furthest
possible
removed
from
the
kind
of
young
man
who
persecutes
pretty
housemaids
.
Whatever
vagaries
he
might
have
had
in
his
life
,
they
were
not
of
that
sort
;
and
now
,
although
he
had
merely
intended
to
ask
for
some
breakfast
,
he
found
himself
somehow
in
the
position
of
pushing
his
presence
upon
a
servant
girl
.
He
was
vexed
with
himself
,
and
became
very
grave
,
scarcely
answering
the
chatter
of
the
children
by
his
side
.
“
And
you
know
,
”
said
the
eldest
child
,
a
pretty
little
minx
of
eleven
,
fully
conscious
of
her
charms
,
“
mamma
told
us
you
were
the
great
poet
,
and
she
read
us
a
poem
of
yours
about
Sir
Troilus
.
Mamma
always
reads
poetry
to
us
—
and
we
liked
it
so
much
,
—
and
I
liked
all
about
where
he
kisses
the
lady
so
much
,
and
her
purple
dress
with
the
golden
roses
,
and
then
about
Love
,
where
he
comes
and
takes
her
by
the
throat
,
and
chokes
her
,
and
makes
her
feel
like
a
furnace
.
Mamma
says
it’s
just
like
love
.
Mr
Thaddeus
Smith
was
in
love
with
the
gardener’s
girl
when
he
came
here
last
year
,
mamma
says
.
”
“
Good
heavens
!
”
thought
Hamlin
,
“
what
a
mamma
and
what
children
!
”
“
And
mamma
told
us
to
get
some
myrtles
and
put
them
in
your
room
,
”
blurted
out
a
smaller
one
.
“
Hush
,
Winnie
!
You
know
you
shouldn’t
tell
,
”
said
the
eldest
.
“
And
you
know
,
”
insisted
the
younger
,
in
her
little
,
impertinent
lisp
,
“
mamma
said
we
should
put
the
myrtles
,
because
you
made
poems
about
myrtles
;
and
we
were
to
have
had
on
our
best
frocks
,
and
met
you
in
the
hall
,
and
—
”
“
Hush
,
Winnie
!
”
“
And
thrown
roses
on
the
floor
before
you
;
only
then
papa
got
a
telegram
saying
you
were
coming
by
the
late
train
,
and
we
had
to
go
to
bed
—
”
Miss
Winnie’s
revelations
and
her
sister’s
expostulations
were
interrupted
by
the
entry
of
the
nurse
,
or
governess
,
or
whatever
else
she
might
be
,
carrying
a
large
jug
of
milk
.
She
had
slipped
on
a
skirt
and
loose
jacket
of
striped
peasant
cotton
,
which
at
a
distance
looked
like
a
dull
,
rich
purple
.
She
sat
down
at
the
head
of
the
table
,
and
began
silently
helping
the
hot
milk
.
“
May
I
cut
the
bread
for
you
?
”
asked
Hamlin
,
feeling
quite
shy
from
her
silence
.
“
I
don’t
think
you
will
know
how
to
do
it
,
”
she
answered
.
“
We
have
only
yesterday’s
bread
at
this
hour
,
until
the
cook
returns
from
market
.
”
When
the
milk
was
helped
and
the
bread
cut
,
she
said
,
rather
sharply
—
“
Now
,
children
,
say
your
prayer
.
”
The
children
immediately
set
up
a
shrill
chorus
;
the
elder
,
who
wished
to
show
off
,
slowly
—
the
little
ones
,
who
were
hungry
,
quicker
;
an
absurdly
pseudo‐poetical
thanksgiving
,
which
reminded
Hamlin
of
the
sort
of
poetry
presented
to
rich
foreigners
by
needy
Italians
on
creamy
,
embossed
,
and
illuminated
paper
.
He
was
struck
by
the
fact
that
the
girl
did
not
join
,
but
waited
passively
through
this
religio‐poetical
ceremony
;
doubtless
,
he
thought
,
because
she
was
a
Catholic
.
“
That’s
mamma’s
Tuesday
hymn
,
”
said
Winnie
;
“
she
makes
a
different
one
for
each
day
of
the
week
.
”
Whereupon
the
children
fell
vigorously
to
their
breakfast
of
bread
and
milk
.
Heaven
knows
when
Hamlin
had
eaten
bread
and
milk
last
—
probably
,
he
thought
,
not
since
he
had
been
out
of
frocks
;
but
it
seemed
to
him
pleasant
and
pastoral
.
He
would
have
enjoyed
this
improvised
breakfast
had
the
children
chattered
less
incessantly
(
Hamlin
did
not
care
for
children
)
,
and
had
he
not
continued
to
feel
rather
as
if
he
had
been
courting
a
nursemaid
.
The
young
woman
had
as
much
as
she
could
do
in
pouring
out
more
milk
,
giving
out
more
figs
,
and
cutting
more
slices
of
bread
and
butter
for
the
children
;
and
her
conversation
was
entirely
engrossed
in
admonitions
to
them
not
to
spill
their
milk
,
not
to
jump
on
their
chairs
,
not
to
talk
with
their
mouths
full
,
and
so
forth
.
She
seemed
determined
,
in
her
sullen
indifferent
way
,
to
make
Hamlin
understand
that
he
might
intrude
his
person
at
that
breakfast‐table
,
but
that
he
had
no
chance
of
intruding
his
personality
upon
her
notice
.
But
her
very
indifference
afforded
Hamlin
an
opportunity
,
and
,
as
it
were
,
a
right
,
to
examine
her
appearance
:
one
may
surely
look
at
a
person
who
obstinately
refuses
to
notice
one
.
She
was
very
beautiful
,
and
even
more
than
beautiful
—
strange
.
She
seemed
very
young
,
certainly
,
thought
Hamlin
—
not
more
than
nineteen
at
most
;
but
her
face
,
though
of
perfectly
smooth
complexion
,
without
furrow
or
faintest
wrinkle
,
was
wholly
unyouthful
;
the
look
was
not
of
age
,
for
you
could
not
imagine
her
ever
growing
old
,
but
of
a
perfect
negation
of
youth
.
Hamlin
tried
to
think
what
she
might
have
been
as
a
child
,
looking
round
on
the
childish
faces
about
him
,
but
in
vain
.
The
complexion
was
of
a
uniform
opaque
pallor
,
more
like
certain
old
marble
than
ivory
;
indeed
you
might
almost
imagine
,
as
she
sat
motionless
at
the
head
of
the
table
,
that
this
was
no
living
creature
,
but
some
sort
of
strange
statue
—
cheek
and
chin
and
forehead
of
Parian
marble
,
scarcely
stained
a
dull
red
in
the
lips
,
and
hair
of
dull
wrought‐iron
,
and
eyes
of
some
mysterious
greyish‐blue
,
slate‐tinted
onyx
:
a
beautiful
and
sombre
idol
of
the
heathen
.
And
the
features
were
stranger
and
more
monumental
even
than
the
substance
in
which
they
seemed
carved
by
some
sharp
chisel
,
delighting
in
gradual
hollowing
of
cheek
and
eye
,
in
sudden
cutting
of
bold
groove
and
cavity
of
nostril
and
lip
.
The
forehead
was
high
and
narrow
,
the
nose
massive
,
heavy
,
with
a
slight
droop
that
reminded
Hamlin
of
the
head
of
Antinous
;
the
lips
thick
,
and
of
curiously
bold
projection
and
curl
;
the
faintly
hollowed
cheek
subsided
gradually
into
a
neck
round
and
erect
like
a
tower
,
but
set
into
the
massive
chest
as
some
strong
supple
branch
into
a
tree‐trunk
.
He
wondered
as
he
looked
at
her
;
and
wondered
whether
this
strange
type
,
neither
Latin
nor
Greek
,
but
with
something
of
Jewish
and
something
of
Ethiopian
subdued
into
a
statuesque
but
most
un‐Hellenic
beauty
,
had
met
him
before
.
The
nearest
approach
seemed
to
be
certain
mournful
and
sullen
heads
of
Michaelangelo
,
the
type
was
so
monumental
,
and
at
the
same
time
so
picturesque
;
and
as
he
looked
at
the
girl
,
it
seemed
,
despite
its
strangeness
,
as
if
,
at
some
dim
distant
time
,
he
had
seen
and
known
it
well
before
.
He
looked
at
her
with
the
curiosity
of
an
artist
examining
a
model
,
or
a
poet
trying
to
solve
a
riddle
;
there
was
,
he
felt
conscious
,
nothing
insolent
or
offensive
in
his
stare
.
Yet
he
felt
he
must
break
the
silence
;
so
,
with
real
indifference
,
he
suddenly
asked
—
“
How
is
it
that
you
speak
English
so
marvellously
well
?
No
one
would
ever
guess
that
you
were
not
English
.
”
“
I
am
English
,
”
answered
the
girl
.
English
nationality
had
explained
many
otherwise
unaccountable
mixed
types
to
Hamlin
;
but
this
took
him
by
surprise
,
and
left
him
utterly
incredulous
.
This
girl
certainly
was
no
Englishwoman
—
a
Jewess
,
perhaps
.
No
,
never
;
no
Jewess
was
ever
so
pure
and
statuesque
of
outline
:
some
Eastern
,
dashed
with
Hindoo
or
Negro
;
they
were
much
coarser
,
more
common
,
of
far
more
obvious
,
less
subtle
beauty
.
“
You
mean
English
by
adoption
,
”
he
suggested
,
“
surely
not
by
blood
?
”
“
My
mother
was
an
Italian
.
I
think
her
family
came
from
Sicily
or
Sardinia
,
or
somewhere
,
where
there
are
Spaniards
and
Moors
,
”
she
answered
;
“
but
my
father
was
Scotch
.
He
came
from
Aberdeen
.
”
“
Have
you
ever
been
in
Scotland
?
”
he
asked
,
just
by
way
of
saying
something
to
mitigate
the
personalness
of
his
previous
questions
.
“
No
,
”
she
answered
,
and
her
lips
closed
as
with
a
spring
;
then
she
added
,
as
if
to
close
all
further
conversation
,
“
I
was
born
in
Italy
;
my
father
was
employed
at
Spezia
in
the
docks
.
”
The
eldest
Miss
Perry
raised
her
pretty
little
sentimental
head
pertly
.
“
Annina’s
father
was
one
of
those
who
make
the
big
men‐of‐war
at
Spezia
.
”
“
Oh
,
you
know
,
we
once
went
with
papa
,
and
saw
a
man‐of‐war
,
and
all
the
boilers
and
big
,
big
cannons
,
”
interrupted
a
smaller
one
.
“
And
he
was
a
bad
,
bad
man
,
”
went
on
the
eldest
,
composedly
.
“
He
used
to
drink
quantities
of
acquavite
;
and
one
day
when
he
had
drunk
so
much
acquavite
,
do
you
know
what
he
did
?
He
tried
to
throw
Annina’s
mother
out
of
the
window
,
and
then
shot
himself
with
a
revolver
.
”
Hamlin
listened
as
the
cruel
words
dribbled
out
,
and
stared
at
the
childish
face
.
He
had
never
taken
any
interest
in
children
;
but
he
had
never
thought
that
a
child
could
be
so
deliberately
(
as
it
seemed
to
him
)
malignant
.
The
words
made
his
ears
burn
,
and
he
felt
indignant
,
confused
,
and
humiliated
,
as
if
he
were
a
party
to
them
.
He
did
not
look
at
the
girl
;
but
he
somehow
saw
,
or
felt
,
the
sullen
,
suppressed
bitterness
of
shame
in
her
tragic
face
.
“
And
is
it
true
,
”
interrupted
Winnie
,
“
that
you
are
going
to
do
our
picture
?
Mamma
said
you
would
want
to
paint
us
angels
or
fairies
.
All
the
painters
paint
us
,
because
,
mamma
says
,
we
are
the
most
beautiful
children
in
Florence
.
They
always
give
us
chocolate
and
marrons
glacés
to
keep
us
quiet
.
”
CHAPTER
III
.
WHEN
breakfast
was
over
,
and
she
had
made
the
children
fold
up
their
napkins
,
the
nurse
took
what
remained
of
figs
,
bread
,
and
milk
to
lock
up
in
the
kitchen
.
Mildred
,
the
eldest
of
the
little
Perrys
,
sidled
up
to
Hamlin
,
as
he
stood
on
the
doorstep
leading
into
the
vineyard
,
lighting
a
cigarette
,
and
asked
whether
he
would
not
like
to
see
her
garden
.
Hamlin
looked
down
upon
the
innocent‐looking
little
fiend
with
a
sort
of
disgust
and
contempt
.
“
Thank
you
,
”
he
said
;
“
gardens
aren’t
much
in
my
line
.
”
The
little
thing
scowled
at
this
rebuff
of
her
fascinations
.
But
a
sudden
thought
struck
Hamlin
.
“
Yes
,
by
the
way
,
”
he
said
,
“
I
do
take
an
interest
in
gardens
sometimes
.
Come
and
show
me
yours
.
”
Mildred
slipped
her
arm
through
his
—
a
long‐legged
,
fair‐haired
,
pre‐Raphaelite
child
,
in
much‐darned
stockings
and
patched
pinafore
—
Winnie
,
the
second
,
a
rounder
,
more
comfortable
,
cherubic
beauty
,
seized
his
hand
.
He
let
himself
be
led
along
,
among
the
prattle
of
the
little
one
and
the
assumed
shyness
of
the
elder
,
through
the
vineyard
,
where
the
tall
,
red‐tipped
sorghum
brooms
stood
among
the
trailing
pumpkins
and
the
tufts
of
fennel
,
to
a
small
grove
behind
the
house
,
in
whose
shade
were
four
little
raked‐up
spaces
,
with
drooping
marigolds
and
zinnias
stuck
into
the
earth
,
and
small
box
sprigs
.
“
This
is
my
garden
!
”
cried
Winnie
,
dragging
him
along
,
and
pointing
to
the
melancholy
little
patch
.
“
I
have
marigolds
,
and
sunflowers
,
and
red
beans
and
potatoes
.
”
“
And
this
is
mine
,
”
said
Mildred
,
raising
her
big
blue
eyes
.
“
I
call
it
the
garden
of
Acrasia
;
because
mamma
told
us
once
about
Sir
Guyon
—
”
“
Won’t
you
give
us
anything
to
buy
seeds
with
;
we
want
tomato
seeds
,
”
clamoured
Winnie
.
“
Hush
,
Winnie
!
I
wonder
you’re
not
ashamed
!
”
cried
Mildred
.
“
They
are
very
good
sort
of
gardens
,
”
said
Hamlin
,
fishing
in
his
waistcoat
for
loose
silver
,
while
the
children
looked
at
him
with
beaming
eyes
;
“
here
—
I
hope
your
tomatoes
may
prosper
and
prove
eatable
.
”
Then
he
suddenly
turned
to
Mildred
.
“
Come
here
,
”
he
ordered
,
“
I
want
to
speak
to
you
;
”
and
he
sat
down
on
a
stone
bench
under
a
plane‐tree
,
in
which
the
cicala
was
sawing
away
with
all
his
might
.
Mildred
stood
in
front
of
him
,
wondering
,
half
hoping
for
the
usual
request
that
she
should
sit
for
an
angel
or
a
fairy
.
“
Look
here
,
”
said
Hamlin
,
quietly
;
“
I
want
to
know
how
you
would
feel
if
your
papa
had
been
in
the
habit
of
drinking
too
much
acquavite
,
and
had
shot
himself
after
trying
to
murder
your
mamma
,
and
some
nasty
little
girl
blurted
it
all
out
at
breakfast
to
a
perfect
stranger
?
”
The
child
flushed
with
surprise
and
anger
;
she
looked
as
if
she
would
have
scratched
Hamlin’s
eyes
out
.
But
he
looked
steadily
in
her
face
,
and
he
was
a
stranger
,
a
gentleman
,
a
man
,
and
not
her
papa
;
circumstances
which
entirely
overawed
her
.
She
recovered
her
composure
marvellously
,
and
answered
after
a
moment’s
reflection
,
“
My
papa
is
a
gentleman
,
and
Annina’s
papa
was
a
common
man
—
a
mascalzone
,
”
—
with
considerable
triumph
at
her
dignified
argument
.
“
Your
papa
is
a
gentleman
,
”
replied
Hamlin
,
sternly
;
“
I
have
known
him
long
before
you
were
born
.
But
remember
,
if
you
say
cruel
things
which
hurt
people’s
feelings
,
whether
they
be
gentle
people
or
servants
,
however
much
your
papa
may
be
a
gentleman
,
you
won’t
be
a
lady
.
”
And
Hamlin
left
the
little
Perrys
to
muse
upon
this
moral
truth
.
He
felt
quite
excited
;
and
when
the
excitement
had
subsided
,
he
felt
quite
astonished
at
himself
.
He
could
scarcely
realise
that
he
himself
had
actually
been
meddling
in
other
people’s
affairs
,
had
been
reading
a
lesson
to
other
people’s
children
,
all
about
a
little
girl
saying
offensive
things
to
her
nurse
.
It
was
so
strange
that
it
quite
humiliated
him
:
he
had
first
pushed
his
company
on
to
a
nursemaid
,
and
then
,
unasked
,
fought
the
nursemaid’s
battle
.
This
confounded
Perry
household
!
Was
it
going
to
turn
him
also
into
a
ridiculous
caricature
?
He
went
up‐stairs
and
wrote
some
business
letters
,
and
corrected
a
lot
of
proof
of
his
new
book
.
Then
he
thought
it
would
be
pleasanter
to
correct
the
remainder
in
the
garden
;
so
he
brought
down
his
writing‐case
,
and
established
himself
on
the
grass
behind
the
house
.
The
first‐floor
balcony
and
the
roof
projected
a
deep
shade
;
and
on
the
high
grass
flickered
shadows
of
plane‐trees
and
laurels
,
as
through
their
branches
there
flickered
the
pale‐blue
sky
.
The
swifts
flew
round
the
eaves
with
sharp
noise
,
the
cicalas
sawed
in
the
trees
;
all
was
profoundly
peaceable
.
But
suddenly
,
from
the
first‐floor
windows
came
a
vague
sound
of
childish
sobbing
,
a
confused
murmur
as
if
of
consolation
.
Then
a
pause
,
after
which
a
well‐known
voice
arose
shrill
in
glib
Italian
.
“
Annina
,
how
dare
you
distress
the
signorina
Mildred
?
How
dare
you
say
cruel
things
to
my
poor
,
poor
sensitive
child
?
”
“
I
have
said
nothing
cruel
to
the
signorina
Mildred
,
”
answered
a
deep
,
quiet
voice
;
“
the
signorina
Mildred
went
to
show
her
garden
to
Mr
Hamlin
,
and
then
came
back
crying
.
I
asked
her
what
had
happened
,
but
she
refused
to
tell
me
.
I
have
nothing
to
do
with
her
tears
.
”
“
How
dare
you
tell
such
an
untruth
?
”
shrieked
Mrs
Perry
.
“
The
signorina
Mildred
said
something
about
your
father
at
breakfast
,
and
you
,
like
a
little
viper
,
turned
round
upon
the
poor
little
darling
.
She
is
nearly
in
hysterics
!
You
little
serpent
!
”
“
It
is
one
of
Miss
Mildred’s
usual
lies
,
”
answered
the
other
voice
calmly
—
“
una
delle
solite
bugíe
.
”
Hamlin
had
been
admitted
too
much
into
confidence
.
He
took
up
his
writing
things
hastily
,
and
removed
to
the
furthest
end
of
the
garden
,
out
of
reach
of
the
dispute
.
This
was
the
pretty
result
of
his
interference
!
He
had
merely
got
this
poor
devil
of
a
nursemaid
into
a
scrape
.
It
was
the
fit
punishment
for
his
folly
in
going
out
of
his
way
to
meddle
with
other
folk
.
He
was
very
much
annoyed
;
he
had
been
dragged
into
a
sordid
woman’s
squabble
;
Mrs
Perry’s
scolding
had
seemed
addressed
to
him
.
At
the
same
time
,
he
did
feel
indignant
that
the
girl
should
be
treated
in
this
fashion
:
such
a
splendid
,
queenly
creature
slanged
by
a
sentimental
,
æsthetic
fishwife
,
as
he
defined
his
hostess
to
himself
.
The
return
of
Melton
Perry
interrupted
his
reflections
.
Perry
was
quite
astonished
to
find
him
up
,
and
extremely
distressed
at
his
having
had
no
regular
breakfast
.
“
You
see
,
”
he
said
,
“
Mrs
Perry
is
very
delicate
—
in
short
,
scarcely
fit
for
any
kind
of
household
bother
,
—
so
that
—
”
“
Oh
,
”
answered
Hamlin
,
“
I
had
a
capital
breakfast
with
your
children
.
”
Then
they
fell
to
talking
of
old
times
;
and
little
by
little
there
emerged
from
out
of
the
overworked
,
henpecked
Melton
Perry
of
the
present
,
the
resemblance
of
the
proud
and
brilliant
Melton
Perry
of
the
past
.
“
Of
course
,
”
said
Perry
,
as
they
sat
smoking
in
the
sheltered
studio
—
“
of
course
I’m
very
happy
,
and
that
sort
of
thing
.
My
wife
—
well
,
she’s
a
little
impetuous
,
and
I
don’t
always
agree
about
her
way
of
bringing
up
the
children
—
but
there’s
no
saying
that
she
isn’t
an
immensely
superior
kind
of
woman
.
I
don’t
always
agree
with
her
,
mind
you
;
but
she
has
the
true
poetic
temperament
,
and
”
—
here
he
made
an
evident
effort
—
“
she
keeps
me
up
to
the
mark
with
my
work
.
I
was
always
a
lazy
hound
,
you
know
,
and
all
that
.
In
short
,
I
know
I’m
quite
a
singularly
fortunate
man
.
Nevertheless
,
—
well
,
I
tell
you
my
frank
opinion
about
matrimony
:
never
do
it
;
the
odds
are
too
great
.
My
own
belief
is
,
that
,
especially
for
an
artist
,
it’s
a
fellow’s
ruin
.
Mine
,
you
see
,
is
an
exceptional
position
.
But
if
you
take
my
advice
,
old
man
,
never
marry
.
”
“
I
don’t
think
there
is
the
faintest
chance
,
”
answered
Hamlin
.
“
Women
have
got
to
bore
me
long
ago
:
all
that
in
my
poems
is
mere
recollections
of
the
past
—
descriptions
of
a
myself
which
has
long
come
to
an
end
.
”
“
I’m
glad
of
it
,
”
replied
Perry
.
“
It
is
a
foolish
thing
to
get
tied
to
a
woman
.
”
“
Foolish
indeed
!
”
thought
Hamlin
,
looking
from
his
shabby
,
depressed
old
comrade
,
to
the
blazing
sunsets
and
green
moonlights
on
the
easels
about
them
.
CHAPTER
IV
.
DURING
luncheon
,
no
mention
was
made
of
the
nursemaid
into
whose
concerns
Hamlin
had
that
morning
intruded
;
but
at
dinner
,
Hamlin’s
sense
of
the
question
being
a
sore
one
,
and
of
being
himself
mixed
up
in
it
,
gave
way
before
his
curiosity
to
solve
the
riddle
of
the
strange‐type
which
had
taken
him
so
by
surprise
.
“
That
is
a
very
strange‐looking
girl
you
have
in
your
service
,
”
he
remarked
to
his
hostess
,
over
their
grapes
and
thin
wine
.
“
The
cook
?
”
cried
Mrs
Perry
.
“
Isn’t
she
a
divine
creature
?
I
call
her
Monna
Lisa’s
younger
sister
.
”
“
I
don’t
know
your
cook
by
sight
,
”
he
answered
.
“
I
mean
the
other
young
woman
they
call
Annina
—
”
Mrs
Perry’s
brow
darkened
.
“
The
nurse
—
or
governess
,
—
I
don’t
know
exactly
how
to
describe
her
,
—
of
your
little
girls
.
”
“
My
children’s
maid
,
”
answered
Mrs
Perry
,
with
considerable
emphasis
.
“
Thank
heaven
,
my
children
have
never
had
and
shall
never
have
any
other
nurse
or
any
other
governess
than
their
own
mother
.
”
“
Well
,
now
,
Julia
,
”
remonstrated
her
husband
,
“
I
think
,
you
know
,
that’s
pushing
it
a
little
too
far
.
”
“
My
children
shall
never
learn
anything
from
a
menial
,
”
insisted
Mrs
Perry
,
“
neither
to
walk
bodily
,
nor
morally
,
nor
intellectually
,
as
long
as
I
am
alive
.
”
“
Good
heavens
!
”
thought
Hamlin
,
“
what
a
bandy‐legged
family
they
are
likely
to
turn
out
!
”
“
I
suppose
you
mean
Annie
,
”
said
Perry
.
“
Yes
,
she’s
a
good
girl
,
and
a
good‐looking
girl
.
”
“
You
are
mad
,
Melton
,
”
cried
Mrs
Perry
,
“
with
your
idea
of
goodness
and
good
looks
!
”
“
I
think
her
extraordinarily
good‐looking
,
”
put
in
Hamlin
,
enjoying
the
authority
of
his
own
verdict
.
“
I
always
told
you
so
,
”
replied
Perry
.
“
When
I
say
good‐looking
,
”
corrected
Hamlin
,
“
I
don’t
mean
it
at
all
in
the
ordinary
sense
.
There
are
dozens
of
Italian
girls
five
times
as
pretty
as
that
girl
,
and
I
daresay
most
people
don’t
think
her
at
all
attractive
.
”
“
Yes
,
”
burst
out
Mrs
Perry
,
“
vulgar
minds
and
eyes
never
appreciate
the
higher
beauty
.
They
see
only
the
body
.
”
“
This
is
exactly
a
question
of
the
body
,
”
went
on
Hamlin
.
“
That
girl
is
one
of
the
most
singular
types
I
have
ever
come
across
.
She
is
like
some
of
Michaelangelo’s
women
,
but
even
stranger
—
a
superb
creature
.
”
The
revelation
of
her
maid’s
beauty
by
so
great
an
authority
as
Hamlin
quite
dazzled
and
delighted
Mrs
Perry
.
“
All
our
servants
are
handsome
,
”
she
said
;
“
the
cook’s
the
finest
Leonardo
da
Vinci
type
—
when
you
see
her
you
will
want
to
do
her
picture
,
Mr
Hamlin
,
as
Venus
Mystica
,
”
and
Mrs
Melton
Perry
set
her
meagre
features
and
wide‐opening
mouth
into
a
mystic
smile
,
intimating
that
she
knew
a
great
deal
about
Venus
Mystica
,
and
her
guest
doubtless
likewise
.
“
And
the
footman
”
.
.
.
she
went
on
.
“
Errand‐boy
,
”
corrected
Mr
Perry
,
suddenly
,
emboldened
by
his
friend’s
presence
.
“
The
footman
is
quite
a
type
of
manly
beauty
—
a
young
Hercules
,
—
such
a
neck
and
shoulders
and
arms
—
and
a
head
like
a
cameo
.
I
always
make
it
a
rule
to
engage
only
handsome
servants
,
because
it
spiritualises
the
minds
of
our
children
to
be
brought
up
constantly
surrounded
by
beautiful
human
forms
.
”
“
I
see
,
”
answered
Hamlin
drily
,
entirely
neglecting
his
opportunity
of
making
the
usual
reply
to
this
remark
—
namely
,
that
the
young
Perrys
were
so
abundantly
provided
with
beautiful
human
form
in
the
person
of
their
mother
that
any
other
was
superfluous
.
“
That
girl
you
noticed
has
rather
a
curious
history
,
”
said
Perry
.
“
Indeed
!
”
answered
Hamlin
;
“
she
looks
as
if
she
ought
to
have
some
sort
of
tragic
past
—
a
kind
of
Brynhilt
or
Amazon
.
”
“
It’s
tragic
enough
if
you
like
,
but
it’s
unfortunately
not
at
all
poetical
,
”
replied
Perry
.
“
There
is
poetry
in
all
suffering
,
Melton
,
”
corrected
his
wife
gravely
.
“
Well
,
this
girl
is
the
daughter
of
a
Scotch
mechanic
,
a
very
clever
fellow
,
I
believe
,
who
fell
in
love
with
the
Italian
maid
of
some
old
friends
of
ours
,
and
followed
her
to
Italy
.
He
got
a
very
good
position
in
the
docks
at
Spezia
,
but
then
the
other
chaps
caballed
against
him
,
and
made
him
lose
his
place
.
They
had
to
live
from
hand
to
mouth
for
a
long
while
,
doing
odd
jobs
for
the
railway
company
;
he
squandered
his
money
also
on
inventions
,
so
,
little
by
little
,
he
and
his
wife
and
children
got
into
great
distress
.
Then
he
took
to
drinking
,
poor
devil
!
(
I’m
sure
I
should
have
done
so
long
before
;
)
and
one
day
that
he
had
again
been
done
out
of
a
place
by
some
Italian
scoundrel
,
he
tried
to
throw
his
wife
out
of
the
window
,
and
then
shot
himself
.
It
was
a
dreadful
business
.
”
“
He
was
a
great
republican
,
poor
dear
,
”
added
Mrs
Perry
.
“
I’m
a
republican
too
,
a
socialist
—
quite
a
dreadful
creature
,
Mr
Hamlin
.
”
“
What
became
of
the
wife
and
children
?
”
asked
Hamlin
.
“
The
children
had
all
died
by
this
time
,
except
Annie
;
and
the
poor
wife
was
quite
broken
in
health
.
There
was
a
nephew
of
the
husband’s
,
a
Scotch
lad
,
quite
a
boy
,
who
was
awfully
plucky
and
worked
for
them
for
some
time
.
Then
the
widow
died
;
and
an
old
friend
of
ours
,
old
Miss
Curzon
,
the
famous
singer
that
had
been
—
perhaps
you
may
have
heard
of
her
—
took
Annie
into
her
house
.
”
“
Darling
Miss
Curzon
!
”
exclaimed
Mrs
Perry
.
“
She
was
the
noblest
woman
that
ever
lived
.
How
she
loved
me
!
I
always
say
that
I
lost
my
voice
—
I
had
a
lovely
voice
before
my
marriage
—
when
dear
darling
Miss
Curzon
died
.
”
“
Miss
Curzon
was
an
excellent
old
woman
,
”
went
on
Perry
:
“
she
took
Annie
when
she
was
eleven
,
and
kept
her
in
her
house
and
educated
her
till
her
own
death
two
years
ago
;
”
and
Perry
sighed
,
as
he
peeled
a
hard
white
peach
.
“
Then
I
said
to
my
husband
,
‘Perry
,
this
child
is
a
legacy
to
us
from
our
dearest
friend
,
’
”
went
on
Mrs
Perry
,
solemnly
;
“
‘we
are
not
rich
,
but
Heaven
will
send
us
enough
for
our
children
and
this
child
;
and
if
it
don’t
,
why
,
we
must
do
without.’
”
“
So
she
has
been
with
you
ever
since
?
”
“
Yes
,
”
answered
Perry
,
sharply
;
“
and
I
should
like
her
to
remain
for
the
children’s
sake
,
only
that
I
feel
the
girl
ought
to
look
out
for
some
better
place
.
”
And
he
turned
rather
gloomily
to
his
wife
.
Mrs
Perry
answered
his
look
with
one
of
sweet
and
ineffable
astonishment
.
She
naturally
viewed
all
her
property
,
servants
,
children
,
husband
,
etc.
,
as
emanations
from
herself
—
that
is
to
say
,
from
perfection
,
and
consequently
as
more
perfect
than
other
folk’s
property
,
servants
,
children
,
husbands
,
although
occasionally
falling
short
of
this
ineffable
origin
;
and
she
accepted
,
with
alacrity
and
pleasure
,
the
belief
in
the
transcendent
beauty
of
the
nursemaid
whom
she
had
shrieked
at
only
a
few
hours
before
.
She
was
quite
reconciled
to
her
,
evidently
.
“
And
what
is
this
girl’s
name
?
”
asked
Hamlin
.
“
Anne
,
”
answered
Perry
—
“
Anne
Brown
.
”
CHAPTER
V.
THUS
it
came
about
that
Walter
Hamlin
,
of
Wotton
Hall
,
pre‐Raphaelite
poet
and
painter
,
made
acquaintance
with
Anne
Brown
,
nurse
,
or
as
Mrs
Perry
defined
it
,
children’s
maid
at
the
Villa
Arnolfini
.
The
whole
of
the
two
following
days
,
Hamlin
neither
saw
nor
particularly
remembered
the
strange
girl
whose
champion
he
had
constituted
himself
against
the
little
Perrys
.
An
old
chaise
,
with
an
older
pony
,
was
produced
from
the
neighbouring
farmhouse
,
and
Mr
and
Mrs
Melton
Perry
took
it
by
turns
to
drive
their
guest
along
the
dusty
roads
to
the
old
town
of
Lucca
,
to
various
villas
,
and
other
sights
of
the
neighbourhood
.
In
the
evening
Perry
led
his
friend
out
for
a
stroll
among
the
vineyards
and
the
olives
,
and
across
the
low
hills
covered
with
bright
green
pines
and
dark
cypresses
.
At
the
end
of
the
third
day
,
Hamlin
,
while
smoking
after
dinner
with
his
host
,
insinuated
to
Perry
that
he
really
thought
he
must
be
pushing
on
to
Florence
.
A
look
of
blank
terror
overspread
poor
Perry’s
face
.
“
Nonsense
!
”
he
cried
—
“
don’t
say
that
;
don’t
leave
me
in
the
lurch
yet
.
”
“
You
see
,
”
said
Hamlin
,
hypocritically
,
“
I
intend
going
to
America
;
and
I
really
think
I
ought
to
do
a
little
work
before
leaving
Italy
.
”
“
What
sort
of
work
?
”
“
Why
,
I
suppose
—
I
think
—
I
ought
to
take
this
opportunity
of
working
a
little
at
one
of
my
pictures
for
the
next
Grosvenor
.
”
“
Which
picture
?
”
asked
Perry
,
eagerly
.
“
I
really
scarcely
know
.
I
suppose
I
ought
to
be
making
some
studies
for
Circe
and
the
child
Comus
.
”
“
Child
Comus
!
”
exclaimed
Perry
.
“
Why
,
I’ve
the
very
thing
you
want
here
at
hand
.
Such
a
Comus
for
you
!
There’s
not
a
model
in
all
Florence
will
suit
you
so
well
;
it’s
the
farmer’s
son
.
Such
legs
,
and
such
a
chest
!
”
“
I
don’t
intend
doing
him
naked
,
”
answered
Hamlin
,
whose
strong
point
was
not
anatomy
.
“
Naked
or
not
,
he’s
what
you
want
.
The
head
,
since
you
don’t
care
for
legs
and
chest
.
You
shall
have
him
to‐morrow
;
and
you
can
work
much
better
here
than
in
that
swelter
at
Florence
—
”
“
In
short
,
”
burst
out
poor
Perry
,
“
don’t
leave
me
yet
,
old
fellow
.
You
don’t
know
what
it
is
for
me
to
have
you
here
—
I
feel
quite
another
man
.
It
seems
to
me
as
if
I
were
ten
years
younger
.
The
fact
is
,
don’t
you
know
,
a
man’s
never
the
same
when
once
married
;
it’s
a
weight
round
his
neck
.
Don’t
go
away
yet
,
dear
old
Watty
,
for
the
sake
of
auld
lang
syne
.
”
Hamlin
could
not
help
being
touched
by
the
way
in
which
his
old
friend
threw
himself
on
his
compassion
.
Poor
old
Perry
!
How
dreadfully
dreary
and
broken‐spirited
he
must
be
when
all
alone
with
that
awful
wife
of
his
!
“
Well
,
I’m
willing
enough
to
stay
,
if
you’ll
keep
me
,
”
answered
Hamlin
.
“
That’s
right
!
”
cried
Perry
,
squeezing
his
hand
.
“
Keep
me
from
growing
into
a
turnip
for
a
little
longer
,
for
goodness’
sake
.
”
So
the
next
morning
the
farmer’s
boy
was
sent
for
,
and
Hamlin
began
,
in
a
desultory
way
,
to
make
some
studies
for
his
picture
.
The
fact
was
,
he
was
so
utterly
indifferent
as
to
all
his
own
movements
,
that
it
was
an
absolute
relief
to
be
pinned
down
to
one
place
by
his
old
friend
.
Accordingly
he
unpacked
his
things
,
and
prepared
to
stay
at
the
Villa
Arnolfini
until
the
Perrys
should
themselves
return
to
Florence
in
October
.
Little
by
little
he
got
to
arrange
his
day
so
as
to
avoid
as
far
as
possible
the
dreaded
tête‐à‐tête
with
Mrs
Perry
;
spending
the
morning
lying
on
the
sear
grass
or
the
fallen
fir‐needles
under
Melton
Perry’s
sketching
umbrella
;
and
locking
himself
up
during
the
afternoon
with
the
pretext
of
his
picture
.
Locking
himself
up
,
and
sometimes
unlocking
the
door
and
letting
the
lank
and
limp
lady
come
and
sit
in
his
improvised
studio
,
entertaining
him
with
her
views
on
life
,
poetry
,
art
,
love
;
and
invariably
representing
herself
as
the
devoted
slave
of
a
kind
of
fierce
and
gloomy
lover‐husband
of
the
Othello
description
.
During
this
first
week
of
his
stay
at
the
Villa
Arnolfini
,
Hamlin
did
not
lose
sight
of
the
Perrys’
strange
nursemaid
.
The
girl’s
exotic
,
and
,
so
to
speak
,
tragic
style
of
beauty
,
had
made
a
great
impression
upon
him
,
but
a
sort
of
impression
such
as
only
a
temper
entirely
artistic
could
receive
.
He
was
interested
in
Anne
Brown
,
but
not
in
the
whole
of
Anne
Brown
.
He
wished
to
see
more
of
her
,
but
to
see
more
only
of
her
superb
physical
appearance
,
and
of
that
sullen
,
silent
,
almost
haughty
manner
which
accompanied
it
.
As
to
anything
there
might
be
,
intellectual
or
moral
,
behind
this
beautiful
and
dramatic
creature
,
he
did
not
care
in
the
least
,
and
would
much
rather
have
seen
nothing
of
it
.
So
far
,
she
was
striking
,
admirable
,
picturesque
,
consistent
;
further
details
might
merely
spoil
the
effect
.
Hence
it
was
that
,
although
he
made
several
sketches
of
her
head
from
memory
,
and
although
he
rhymed
the
first
half
of
a
sonnet
upon
the
strange
fate
which
had
,
to
put
it
in
plain
prose
,
given
the
beauty
of
an
Amazon
to
a
nursemaid
,
he
instinctively
abstained
from
seeking
in
any
way
to
renew
the
acquaintance
which
he
had
made
that
first
morning
.
The
picturesque
and
imaginative
figure
was
just
in
the
right
light
and
at
the
right
distance
,
—
a
single
movement
,
and
all
the
picturesqueness
and
strangeness
might
vanish
.
Walter
Hamlin
had
had
but
too
many
instances
of
the
melancholy
results
of
trying
to
approach
and
become
familiar
with
creatures
who
had
caught
his
æsthetic
and
poetic
fancy
.
He
often
saw
her
hurrying
(
if
she
might
ever
be
said
to
hurry
,
for
there
was
something
wonderfully
measured
about
her
)
to
and
fro
,
filling
up
,
it
would
seem
,
the
gaps
in
Mrs
Perry’s
rather
theoretical
housekeeping
;
and
sometimes
,
passing
through
the
ground‐floor
passage
,
he
would
also
see
her
ironing
,
like
that
first
time
,
or
laboriously
presiding
over
the
little
Perrys’
lessons
;
for
it
appeared
that
Mrs
Perry’s
intellectual
guidance
of
her
children
consisted
in
telling
them
the
plots
of
novels
and
repeating
choice
poetry
,
leaving
such
mechanical
matters
as
reading
and
writing
to
what
she
called
a
menial
.
And
even
more
frequently
Hamlin
would
meet
her
taking
the
children
for
a
walk
,
or
sitting
in
the
vineyard
sewing
or
reading
,
while
they
built
houses
of
leaves
and
sticks
,
and
cooked
dinners
of
maize‐grains
and
unripe
figs.
Hamlin
scarcely
ever
spoke
to
her
;
and
if
the
children
forced
him
to
remain
and
examine
their
houses
or
their
dinners
,
he
would
watch
the
girl
,
but
without
the
slightest
desire
of
entering
into
conversation
.
He
wished
to
know
only
as
much
as
he
could
see
of
her
.
But
this
much
which
he
saw
inspired
him
with
a
kind
of
respect
,
—
a
respect
not
for
Anne
Brown
,
nursemaid
or
nursery‐governess
of
Mrs
Melton
Perry
,
but
respect
for
a
beautiful
and
solemn
kind
of
Valkyr
or
Amazon
;
for
there
is
no
doubt
that
to
certain
temperaments
not
given
to
respect
for
social
distinctions
or
religious
institutions
,
or
even
the
kind
of
moral
characteristics
held
to
be
worthy
of
respect
by
ordinary
folk
,
there
is
something
actually
venerable
in
some
kinds
of
beauty
:
the
man
respects
the
unknown
woman
as
a
goddess
,
and
respects
himself
for
having
discovered
her
divinity
.
So
that
,
habitually
and
instinctively
,
Hamlin
displayed
towards
the
young
woman
a
degree
of
courtesy
which
astonished
the
little
Perrys
,
who
had
seen
young
men
flirt
with
various
of
their
mother’s
carefully
selected
beautiful
servants
,
but
never
treat
them
,
as
Miss
Mildred
expressed
it
,
as
if
they
were
funerals
passing
.
All
of
which
distant
respect
Anne
Brown
received
coldly
,
as
if
it
were
a
matter
of
course
;
showing
astonishment
only
on
one
occasion
,
when
Hamlin
answered
,
being
requested
to
lift
little
Winnie
into
the
branches
of
an
olive‐tree
—
“
You
must
first
ask
permission
of
Miss
Brown
.
”
The
girl
looked
up
from
her
work
,
and
fixed
her
great
greyish‐blue
eyes
upon
him
in
wonder
.
No
one
had
ever
called
her
Miss
Brown
before
.
Thus
things
might
have
continued
,
and
Hamlin
have
left
the
Villa
Arnolfini
with
only
a
few
lines
of
a
sonnet
on
the
fly‐leaf
of
his
‘Vita
Nuova’
—
a
few
scratched‐out
sketches
of
a
face
with
strange
,
curling
full
lips
,
and
masses
of
wiry
hair
,
in
his
sketchbook
—
and
a
daily
fainter
remembrance
of
Mrs
Perry’s
nurse
;
when
one
day
he
took
it
into
his
head
to
construct
a
kind
of
medieval
costume
for
his
peasant‐boy
model
,
and
accordingly
went
to
Mrs
Perry
for
assistance
in
sewing
together
the
various
shreds
of
old
brocade
and
satin
which
he
had
bought
at
Lucca
,
the
various
bits
of
weather‐stained
cotton
which
he
had
obtained
by
barter
from
the
peasants
.
Mrs
Perry
,
lying
languidly
on
a
sofa
in
her
dusty
boudoir
,
littered
over
with
books
and
reviews
,
afforded
him
a
variety
of
valuable
pieces
of
information
upon
harmonies
of
colours
and
the
magic
of
folds
;
but
when
it
came
to
practical
tailoring
,
she
smiled
with
reproachful
gentleness
,
and
,
clapping
her
hands
,
called
out
for
Annie
.
Annie
—
that
is
to
say
,
Anne
Brown
