muchthat
her
family
have
to
abandon
the
idea
.
So
,
towards
sunset
,
Jim
is
dismissed
.
He
has
no
opportunity
for
any
parting
endearments
to
his
lady-love
,
as
the
whole
family
are
in
the
room
,
and
it
is
Cecilia
,
not
Amelia
,
who
volunteers
to
walk
across
the
hotel
courtyard
with
him
,
for
the
advantage
of
a
last
word
.
What
that
last
word
is
he
is
not
slow
to
learn
.
"
You
will
take
us
some
excursions
,
will
not
you
?
"
she
says
,
with
a
persuasive
air
,
putting
her
arm
through
his
.
"
Father
is
so
unenterprising
,
we
have
really
seen
scarcely
anything
;
but
you
will
take
us
some
excursions
now
,
will
not
you
?
"
"
Are
you
sure
that
your
spirits
are
equal
to
them
?
"
inquires
Burgoyne
unkindly
.
"
I
do
not
know
about
that
,
I
am
sure
,
"
replies
she
,
growing
pink
at
his
tone
;
"
but
one
must
make
an
exertion
sometime
,
and
I
think
a
little
distraction
would
do
me
good
,
and
so
I
am
sure
it
would
to
poor
Amelia
!
"
"
Poor
Amelia
will
shortly
have
the
distraction
of
being
married
,
"
rejoins
the
young
man
,
who
feels
as
if
he
could
not
repeat
the
statement
of
this
fact
too
often
to
himself
and
others
.
"
And
I
think
it
would
be
only
civil
,
"
continues
Cecilia
persistently
,
"
in
fact
,
I
do
not
see
how
you
could
avoid
it
,
if
you
invited
your
friend
to
join
us
.
"
But
Jim
escapes
without
having
committed
himself
to
this
promise
,
and
wanders
about
the
town
in
the
lovely
,
lowering
light
;
finds
himself
on
the
Lung
Arno
,
strolling
along
with
the
leisurely
loiterers
,
among
whom
,
for
every
two
soft
Tuscan
voices
,
there
is
a
loud
metallic
Anglo-Saxon
one
.
He
watches
the
carriages
rolling
back
from
their
drive
on
the
Cascine
;
the
river
falling
over
the
weir
;
the
river
yellow
as
Tiber
yesterday
,
and
to
day
shot
with
blue
and
green
and
silver
,
as
it
tumbles
with
a
pleasant
noise
.
The
houses
on
either
side
of
the
Arno
,
the
domes
and
roofs
,
are
all
clothed
in
a
strange
serenity
of
yellow
light
;
a
golden
air
so
transparent
and
line
and
crystal
clear
,
so
free
from
the
soft
blur
of
mist
—
lovely
too
—
through
which
we
see
objects
in
our
wet
green
home
,
that
Jim
feels
as
if
he
could
stretch
out
his
hand
and
touch
the
hill
that
backs
gold
towers
and
bridges
,
and
see
whether
it
really
is
made
out
of
one
whole
amethyst
,
as
it
looks
.
The
beauty
of
the
world
has
always
been
very
much
to
Burgoyne
,
though
hitherto
it
has
been
chiefly
in
the
austerity
of
her
high
and
desert
places
that
he
has
bowed
the
knee
before
the
Universal
Mother
.
This
little
gold
evening
city
,
sunset
clad
in
the
colours
of
the
New
Jerusalem
,
lifting
her
heavenly
campanile
to
as
heavenly
a
sky
,
is
to
him
a
new
and
wonderful
thing
.
Her
loveliness
sinks
into
his
soul
,
and
with
it
a
companion
sadness
as
deep
.
From
henceforth
the
sight
of
earth
's
fair
shows
will
be
,
for
the
most
part
,
forbidden
him
.
He
has
always
loved
to
look
and
adore
in
silence
and
alone
;
henceforth
he
will
never
have
the
right
to
be
alone
;
henceforth
he
will
never
have
the
right
to
go
anywhere
without
his
wife
.
Strange
and
terrible
word
to
which
he
tries
in
vain
to
accustom
his
mental
ears
;
and
,
thanks
to
the
narrowness
of
their
means
,
neither
of
them
will
be
able
to
stir
from
the
strait
precincts
of
their
pinched
home
.
He
comes
back
to
his
hotel
,
through
the
Piazza
of
the
Duomo
.
All
the
infinite
richness
of
cupola
and
arch
,
high
up
,
are
still
wrapped
in
the
fiery
rose
cloak
of
sunset
,
while
below
the
body
of
the
great
church
,
with
all
its
marbles
and
traceries
and
carved
wonders
,
is
clad
in
the
sobriety
of
twilight
.
On
reaching
the
Minerva
,
he
finds
that
Byng
has
not
yet
returned
,
or
rather
that
he
has
been
in
and
gone
out
again
.
He
waits
dinner
half-an-hour
for
him
,
and
then
dines
without
him
;
dines
in
solitude
,
since
it
is
not
till
his
cup
of
coffee
is
before
him
,
and
his
cigarette
between
his
lips
,
that
his
young
friend
appears
.
It
is
evidently
no
unpleasant
errand
that
has
detained
him
,
for
he
arrives
beaming
,
and
too
excited
even
to
perceive
the
menu
which
a
waiter
offers
him
.
"
They
have
arrived
!
"
he
cries
.
Oddly
enough
it
never
occurs
to
Burgoyne
to
inquire
who
"
they
"
may
be
;
it
seems
as
much
a
matter-of-course
to
him
as
to
the
handsome
pink
and
white
boy
before
him
,
that
the
pronoun
must
relate
to
Elizabeth
Le
Marchant
and
her
mother
.
His
only
answer
,
however
,
is
an
"
Oh
!
"
whose
tone
is
rather
more
eagerly
interested
than
he
could
have
wished
.
"
I
thought
that
they
could
not
stay
more
than
another
day
in
Genoa
,
"
continues
Byng
,
at
length
becoming
aware
of
the
menu
at
his
elbow
;
but
only
to
wave
it
impatiently
away
.
"
So
I
thought
I
would
just
run
down
to
the
station
to
meet
the
evening
train
,
the
one
we
came
by
last
night
;
however
,
it
must
have
been
more
punctual
than
yesterday
,
for
before
I
reached
the
station
,
I
met
them
;
I
mean
they
passed
me
in
a
fiacre
.
I
only
caught
a
glimpse
of
her
face
,
but
I
saw
her
hand
;
it
was
lying
on
the
carriage
door
like
a
snow-flake
.
"
"
Like
my
grandmother
!
"
cries
Burgoyne
in
a
rage
,
for
which
he
cannot
quite
account
to
himself
,
at
this
ingenious
and
novel
simile
.
Byng
laughs
;
the
laugh
of
a
thoroughly
sweet-natured
person
,
who
,
in
addition
,
has
some
special
cause
for
good-humour
.
"
I
do
not
know
what
colour
your
grandmother
was
;
but
she
must
have
been
very
unlike
most
people
's
if
she
was
like
a
snow-flake
.
"
Jim
's
cross
mouth
unbends
into
a
reluctant
smile
.
It
is
not
the
first
time
that
he
has
discovered
how
useless
,
and
also
impossible
,
it
is
to
be
out
of
humour
with
Byng
.
"
I
had
a
good
mind
to
tell
my
fiacre
man
to
follow
them
,
"
continued
Byng
,
in
an
excited
voice
;
"
but
,
in
the
first
place
,
I
did
not
know
how
to
say
it
—
really
,
Jim
,
we
must
get
up
a
little
of
the
lingo
—
and
,
in
the
second
place
,
I
thought
it
would
perhaps
be
rather
too
much
in
the
private
detective
line
.
"
"
I
think
it
would
have
been
extremely
ungentlemanlike
!
"
rejoins
Jim
severely
.
Byng
reddens
;
but
still
without
losing
his
temper
.
"
That
is
coming
it
rather
strong
,
is
not
it
?
but
anyhow
,
I
did
not
do
it
.
"
And
then
,
by
tacit
agreement
,
they
both
drop
the
subject
.
During
the
next
three
or
four
days
it
is
not
named
between
them
,
nor
indeed
do
they
see
much
of
each
other
.
Burgoyne
spends
the
greater
part
of
his
days
with
Amelia
.
Whatever
cause
for
the
accusation
he
may
have
given
during
the
previous
eight
years
,
nobody
can
say
that
he
neglects
her
now
.
He
passes
long
hours
at
her
side
,
on
the
same
hard
chair
that
had
supported
him
on
their
first
interview
,
in
the
little
dismal
dining-room
;
going
into
calculations
of
house-rent
and
taxes
,
drawing
up
lists
of
necessary
furniture
.
He
even
makes
a
bid
for
Cecilia
's
drawing-room
grate
;
but
that
young
lady
,
whose
forecasting
mind
can
look
beyond
present
grief
to
future
sunshine
,
refuses
to
part
with
it
.
The
lovers
are
not
always
,
however
,
studying
Maple
's
and
Oetzmann
's
lists
.
Sometimes
Jim
varies
the
diversion
by
taking
his
future
wife
to
picture-galleries
and
churches
,
to
the
Uffizi
,
the
Accademia
,
San
Lorenzo
.
It
is
doubtful
whether
Amelia
enjoys
these
excursions
as
much
as
she
does
the
selection
of
bedsteads
and
saucepans
,
her
pleasure
being
in
some
degree
marred
by
a
feverish
anxiety
to
say
what
she
thinks
her
lover
expects
of
her
as
they
stand
before
each
immortal
canvas
.
In
her
heart
she
thinks
the
great
statues
in
the
Medici
Chapel
frightful
,
a
heresy
in
which
she
is
kept
in
countenance
by
no
less
a
light
than
George
Eliot
,
who
in
one
of
her
letters
dares
to
say
of
them
,
"
they
remained
to
us
as
affected
and
exaggerated
in
the
original
,
as
in
copies
and
casts
.
"
To
Amelia
many
of
the
frescoes
appear
lamentably
washed
out
,
nor
are
her
efforts
to
hide
these
sentiments
attended
with
any
conspicuous
success
,
since
nothing
is
more
hopeless
than
for
one
utterly
destitute
of
a
feeling
for
works
of
art
to
feign
it
,
without
having
the
imposture
at
once
detected
.
Burgoyne
's
mind
during
these
expeditions
is
a
battle-ground
for
pity
and
rage
;
pity
at
the
pathos
of
his
poor
love
's
endeavours
;
rage
at
their
glaring
failure
.
Cecilia
sometimes
accompanies
the
lovers
,
but
this
does
not
make
matters
much
better
.
Cecilia
devotes
but
a
very
cursory
notice
to
the
pictures
;
her
attention
being
almost
wholly
centred
on
the
visitors
,
and
on
finding
resemblances
for
them
among
the
inhabitants
of
her
own
village
at
home
,
for
the
accuracy
of
which
she
appeals
at
every
moment
to
her
sister
.
Every
day
she
asks
Burgoyne
to
fulfil
his
promise
—
a
promise
which
he
as
punctually
assures
her
that
he
never
made
—
to
introduce
his
friend
to
her
.
He
has
a
strangely
strong
reluctance
to
comply
with
this
simple
request
,
which
yet
,
he
knows
,
will
have
to
be
complied
with
some
day
.
When
Amelia
is
his
wife
,
Byng
will
have
to
know
Cecilia
,
for
she
will
probably
spend
a
great
deal
of
her
time
with
them
—
make
their
house
a
second
home
,
in
fact
.
And
meanwhile
Jim
is
keenly
,
and
for
some
reason
sorely
,
conscious
of
the
fact
that
,
during
the
hours
in
which
he
is
stooping
his
weary
head
over
catalogues
of
fenders
and
fire-irons
,
carving-knives
and
fish-slices
,
blankets
and
ticking
,
Byng
is
searching
Florence
through
her
length
and
breadth
for
their
two
countrywomen
.
It
is
not
indeed
necessary
to
credit
his
friend
with
any
special
quest
to
account
for
his
wanderings
through
the
"
adorable
little
city
,
"
as
Henry
James
most
truly
calls
it
,
since
he
is
a
young
man
of
a
wide
and
alert
curiosity
,
with
a
large
appetite
for
pleasure
both
intellectual
and
the
reverse
.
Jim
,
whose
acquaintance
with
him
has
chiefly
been
with
his
rowdy
undergraduate
side
,
bear-fighting
,
and
proctor-defying
,
is
astonished
at
his
almost
tremulous
appreciation
of
the
Ghirlandajos
,
the
Lorenzo
di
Credis
,
the
Giottos
,
that
in
a
hundred
chapels
,
from
a
hundred
walls
,
shine
down
in
their
mixed
glory
of
naïve
piety
and
blinding
colour
upon
him
.
One
day
the
elder
man
is
sitting
in
his
bedroom
with
a
despatch-box
and
a
sheet
of
paper
before
him
.
He
is
embarked
upon
a
dreary
calculation
as
to
what
his
guns
will
fetch
.
He
has
made
up
his
mind
to
sell
them
.
Of
what
further
use
can
they
be
to
him
?
He
will
not
be
allowed
to
shoot
at
the
Bayswater
omnibuses
,
which
will
be
the
only
game
henceforth
within
his
reach
.
While
he
is
thus
employed
upon
an
occupation
akin
to
,
and
about
as
cheerful
as
,
that
of
Rawdon
Crawley
before
Waterloo
,
Byng
enters
.
"
You
look
as
if
you
had
a
headache
,
old
chap
,
"
he
says
,
sitting
down
upon
his
friend
's
bed
.
"
If
you
had
been
going
through
as
many
kitchen-ranges
as
I
have
this
morning
,
perhaps
you
would
have
a
headache
,
"
replies
Jim
gravely
.
"
You
know
that
I
am
going
to
be
married
as
soon
as
I
get
home
.
"
Byng
nods
;
and
Burgoyne
,
while
inwardly
blessing
the
tact
that
spares
him
any
congratulations
,
takes
himself
to
task
for
having
made
the
announcement
so
lugubriously
as
to
render
felicitation
obviously
inapplicable
.
"
When
are
you
going
to
introduce
me
to
Miss
Wilson
?
"
asks
Byng
presently
.
"
If
you
shirk
it
much
longer
,
I
shall
think
that
you
are
ashamed
of
me
.
"
Jim
glances
affectionately
,
yet
not
quite
comfortably
,
at
his
young
friend
,
and
the
thought
dashes
across
his
mind
that
,
in
his
last
remark
,
the
latter
has
put
the
saddle
on
the
wrong
horse
.
"
You
have
so
large
an
acquaintance
in
Florence
already
,
"
he
says
,
with
some
stiffness
,
"
that
I
did
not
know
that
you
would
care
to
add
to
it
.
"
"
One
cannot
have
too
much
of
a
good
thing
,
"
replies
the
other
joyously
.
"
You
know
I
love
my
fellow-creatures
;
and
in
this
case
,
"
he
adds
civilly
,
"
I
do
care
very
much
.
"
Burgoyne
's
eyes
are
bent
on
the
paper
before
him
,
which
contains
the
melancholy
enumeration
of
his
firearms
—
"
A
500
double-barrelled
express
,
by
Henry
,
of
Edinburgh
;
a
450
single-barrelled
ditto
,
by
same
maker
,
"
etc.
,
etc.
—
as
he
says
slowly
:
"
I
shall
be
very
happy
.
"
His
acceptance
of
the
proposition
can
hardly
be
called
eager
;
but
of
this
Byng
appears
unawares
.
"
When
shall
it
be
,
then
?
To-day
—
this
afternoon
?
"
"
No-o-o
;
not
to-day
,
I
think
.
It
has
been
arranged
that
we
are
to
go
to
San
Miniato
—
Amelia
,
her
sister
,
and
I
.
"
"
Three
of
you
?
"
cries
Byng
,
raising
his
eyebrows
.
"
Then
why
not
four
?
Why
may
not
I
come
too
?
"
There
being
,
in
point
of
fact
,
no
reason
why
he
should
not
,
and
Cecilia
's
morning
prayer
being
still
ringing
in
her
future
brother-in-law
's
ears
,
he
gives
a
dull
and
lagging
assent
;
so
that
at
about
three
o'clock
the
two
men
present
themselves
at
the
door
of
the
Wilsons
'
apartment
at
the
Anglo-Américain
Hotel
.
That
Sybilla
is
not
expecting
visitors
is
evident
by
the
fact
that
,
at
the
moment
of
their
entrance
,
she
is
taking
her
own
temperature
—
a
very
favourite
relaxation
of
hers
—
with
a
clinical
thermometer
.
She
removes
the
instrument
from
her
mouth
without
indecent
haste
,
and
holds
out
a
languid
white
hand
to
Byng
.
"
So
you
are
going
off
on
a
long
afternoon
's
pleasuring
?
"
she
says
,
with
a
pathetic
smile
.
"
I
am
so
glad
that
neither
of
my
sisters
is
going
to
stay
at
home
with
me
.
We
invalids
must
guard
against
growing
selfish
,
though
I
think
that
is
perhaps
more
the
danger
with
malades
imaginaires
;
we
real
ones
have
learnt
our
lesson
of
suffering
better
,
I
hope
.
"
"
You
do
not
look
so
very
ill
,
"
replies
Byng
,
in
his
sympathetic
voice
,
letting
his
eyes
rest
caressingly
on
the
prostrate
figure
,
which
has
yet
no
smallest
sign
of
emaciation
about
it
.
"
Ah
,
that
is
because
of
my
colour
,
"
replies
Sybilla
,
with
an
animation
slightly
tinged
with
resentment
.
"
You
,
too
,
fall
into
that
common
error
.
My
London
doctor
tells
me
that
there
is
no
such
unerring
indication
of
radical
delicacy
of
constitution
as
a
fixed
pink
colour
like
mine
;
the
more
feverish
I
am
,
the
deeper
it
grows
.
It
is
very
hard
"
—
smiling
again
sadly
—
"
for
one
gets
no
pity
!
"
"
Where
is
Cecilia
?
"
cries
Jim
brusquely
,
and
fidgeting
in
his
chair
.
"
Why
is
not
she
ready
?
"
As
he
speaks
,
the
young
lady
in
question
enters
—
so
obviously
arrayed
for
conquest
,
in
so
patently
new
a
hat
,
and
such
immaculate
pale
gloves
,
that
across
Burgoyne
's
mind
there
flashes
,
in
vexed
mirth
,
the
recollection
of
the
immortal
caution
addressed
by
Major
O'Dowd
to
his
friend
and
comrade
,
"
Moind
your
oi
,
Dob
,
my
boy
!
"
Would
he
not
do
well
to
repeat
it
to
his
friend
?
CHAPTER
VIII
.
They
are
off
now
,
there
being
nothing
further
to
retard
them
,
leaving
Sybilla
tête-à-tête
with
her
thermometer
.
They
are
off
,
sociably
packed
in
one
fiacre
—
"
Four
precious
souls
,
and
all
agog
To
dash
thro
'
thick
and
thin
.
"
Not
,
indeed
,
that
there
is
much
dash
about
the
Florentine
cab-horses
—
saddest
among
God
's
many
sad
creatures
—
with
not
a
sound
leg
among
them
,
with
staring
coats
and
starting
ribs
,
and
poor
broken
knees
;
and
with
their
sadness
emphasized
by
the
feathers
stuck
in
their
tired
heads
,
as
if
to
mock
their
wretchedness
by
a
sort
of
melancholy
smartness
!
Sad
as
they
are
,
it
must
be
owned
that
they
are
the
only
sad
things
in
the
cheerful
Florentine
streets
,
where
no
one
seems
over-busy
,
where
,
out
of
the
deep-eaved
,
green-shuttered
houses
,
people
lean
,
talking
to
acquaintances
on
the
shadowed
pavement
below
.
All
the
narrow
thorough-fares
are
full
of
bustling
life
;
but
there
is
no
haggard
squalor
apparently
,
no
dreadful
gin-palace
gaiety
.
It
does
not
follow
here
that
a
man
must
be
drunk
because
he
sings
.
And
down
the
strait
,
colourful
streets
one
looks
—
down
a
vista
of
houses
diversely
tall
,
each
with
its
cream-yellow
face
and
its
green
shutters
,
varied
here
and
there
by
the
towering
bulk
of
some
giant-blocked
mountain-palace
,
through
whose
grim
,
barred
windows
a
woman
peeps
,
or
a
little
dog
shows
his
pointed
nose
—
looks
to
where
,
in
dwindling
perspective
,
the
view
is
closed
by
a
narrow
picture
of
lucent
purple
hill
,
Fiesole
or
Bellosguardo
—
names
to
which
the
tongue
cleaves
lovingly
.
Through
the
gay
streets
,
over
bridge
and
blue
Arno
,
our
travellers
go
;
their
driver
cracking
a
prodigious
whip
,
and
with
a
tiny
red
dog
,
absurdly
shaven
,
and
with
nothing
but
a
small
woolly
head
and
tail
left
of
the
original
design
,
seated
gravely
beside
him
.
Away
they
go
,
pleasuring
;
but
pleasure
and
pleasuring
are
not
always
identical
.
Burgoyne
sits
opposite
Amelia
;
and
as
for
Cecilia
,
it
is
to
be
supposed
that
her
heartache
is
for
the
moment
dulled
,
since
the
same
carriage-rug
covers
her
knees
and
those
of
Byng
.
Burgoyne
does
not
look
at
Amelia
;
nor
,
though
his
eyes
are
fixed
upon
the
passing
objects
,
does
he
at
first
see
aught
of
them
.
His
vision
is
turned
inwards
,
and
to
his
own
soul
he
is
mechanically
repeating
in
dismal
recitative
,
"
A
double-barrelled
,
central
fire
,
breech-loading
gun
,
by
Lancaster
;
made
strong
enough
at
the
breech
to
shoot
a
spherical
bullet
.
"
As
for
Amelia
,
her
features
are
not
of
a
build
to
express
any
emotion
with
much
brilliancy
;
but
over
them
lies
a
deep
and
brooding
content
.
Amelia
has
not
had
much
undiluted
happiness
in
her
life
,
but
she
is
exceedingly
happy
to-day
.
She
is
even
strangely
free
from
the
carking
fear
which
usually
assails
her
,
of
praising
mistakenly
,
of
being
enthusiastic
in
the
wrong
places
,
and
passing
over
the
right
ones
unnoticed
.
If
she
keep
to
a
vague
generality
of
handsome
adjectives
,
she
will
surely
do
well
enough
,
and
,
on
this
high
holiday
that
her
heart
is
holding
,
he
cannot
be
cross
to
her
.
As
to
Byng
,
he
is
emphatically
of
the
school
of
divinity
taught
by
Tommy
Moore
,
nor
was
he
ever
known
,
when
lacking
"
the
lips
that
he
loved
,
"
to
fail
to
make
love
to
"
the
lips
that
are
near
.
"
His
taste
is
too
good
for
him
to
have
chosen
Cecilia
as
a
companion
;
but
,
since
fate
has
allotted
her
to
him
for
the
afternoon
,
he
finds
no
difficulty
in
making
the
best
of
her
.
Nor
,
to
do
her
justice
,
is
she
destitute
of
charms
of
a
certain
kind
,
though
her
face
has
the
inevitable
air
of
commonness
incident
upon
a
very
short
nose
and
a
very
long
upper
lip
.
But
she
has
a
good
deal
of
bloom
,
and
of
crisp
,
showy-coloured
hair
,
and
a
very
considerable
eye-power
.
Byng
's
attachment
to
the
fair
sex
being
of
far
too
stout
a
quality
to
be
blunted
by
such
trifles
as
an
inch
too
much
or
too
little
of
nose
or
lip
,
he
also
,
like
Amelia
,
is
thoroughly
prepared
to
enjoy
himself
.
Up
the
turning
Via
Galileo
they
climb
,
to
the
Basilica
at
the
top
—
stock-drive
of
all
tourists
—
hackneyed
as
only
Yankeedom
and
Cockneydom
,
rushing
hand
in
hand
through
all
earth
's
sacredness
,
can
hackney
.
But
even
hackneying
is
powerless
to
take
off
the
freshness
to
the
eye
that
sees
it
for
the
first
time
,
of
that
view
when
he
beholds
the
Lily
City
lying
close
at
his
feet
,
so
close
that
it
seems
he
could
throw
a
stone
into
her
Arno
.
They
have
left
their
fiacre
,
and
,
as
naturally
happens
in
a
partie
carrée
—
more
especially
when
one
couple
are
betrothed
lovers
—
have
broken
into
pairs
.
Burgoyne
leans
pensively
on
the
terrace
parapet
,
and
his
sombre
eyes
rest
on
the
band
of
sister
hills
,
joining
hands
in
perpetual
watch
round
valley
and
town
;
hills
over
which
,
in
this
late
spring
,
there
is
more
a
promise
than
a
performance
of
that
green
and
many-coloured
wealth
of
verdure
and
blossom
that
one
associates
with
Firenze
's
fair
name
.
But
it
is
a
promise
that
is
plainly
on
the
verge
of
a
bounteous
fulfilment
.
Then
his
look
drops
slowly
to
the
city
herself
.
In
what
a
little
space
comparatively
does
the
Florence
that
is
immortal
lie
!
The
Duomo
,
the
lily
Campanile
"
made
up
of
dew
and
sunshine
,
"
the
Baptistery
,
Santa
Croce
,
the
Palazzo
Vecchio
;
he
could
compass
them
in
a
ten
minutes
'
walk
.
And
around
this
small
nucleus
of
the
undying
dead
and
their
work
,
what
a
nation
of
gleaming
villas
of
the
polyglot
living
—
a
nation
of
every
tongue
,
and
people
,
and
language
!
All
over
the
hills
is
the
sheen
of
white
walls
,
the
verdure
of
tended
gardens
;
they
stretch
away
almost
to
where
the
Apennines
raise
their
cold
white
fronts
against
the
sky
.
He
rouses
himself
to
remember
that
Amelia
is
beside
him
,
and
that
he
ought
to
say
something
to
her
.
So
he
makes
a
rather
banal
observation
upon
the
smallness
of
the
enceinte
that
encloses
so
much
loveliness
.
"
Yes
,
is
not
it
tiny
?
"
replies
she
,
with
the
eager
pleasure
of
having
a
remark
made
to
her
which
she
cannot
go
wrong
in
answering
.
"
Think
of
London
!
Why
,
the
whole
thing
is
not
as
big
as
South
Kensington
or
Bayswater
!
"
He
shudders
.
Must
the
accursed
suburb
pursue
him
even
here
?
"
Let
us
go
into
the
church
,
"
he
says
,
in
a
tone
that
a
little
dulls
his
companion
's
buoyancy
.
She
follows
him
crestfallenly
,
asking
herself
whether
she
has
answered
amiss
here
also
.
She
does
not
trust
herself
to
any
comment
upon
the
interior
.
Byng
and
Cecilia
are
standing
before
the
high
altar
,
from
over
which
a
mosaic
Madonna
stiffly
beams
upon
them
;
and
as
the
other
couple
approach
them
,
Burgoyne
hears
the
words
"
drawing-room
grate
"
issue
from
his
future
sister-in-law
's
lips
.
"
Bravo
,
Cis
!
"
he
says
in
a
dry
aside
;
"
you
are
getting
on
nicely
!
I
did
not
think
that
you
would
have
reached
the
drawing-room
grate
till
to-morrow
.
"
To
avoid
intruding
further
on
her
delicate
confidences
,
and
also
to
escape
from
two
Americans
,
who
are
nasally
twanging
Hare
and
Horner
at
each
other
,
varied
by
trips
into
Baedeker
,
he
passes
into
a
side
chapel
made
famous
by
one
of
the
loveliest
tombs
that
ever
feigned
to
simulate
in
marble
death
's
ugliness
.
The
Yankee
voices
are
high
and
shrill
,
but
they
had
need
to
be
higher
and
shriller
still
before
they
could
break
the
slumber
of
him
whose
resting-place
Jim
has
invaded
in
his
flight
from
Cecilia
and
New
York
.
Was
ever
rest
so
beautiful
as
this
of
the
young
sleeper
?
A
priest
he
was
,
nay
cardinal
,
and
youthful
and
lovely
and
chaste
!
and
now
in
how
divine
a
slumber
is
he
lapt
!
But
how
should
that
four
hundred
years
'
slumber
not
be
divine
,
watched
by
such
a
gentle
Mary-mother
as
is
watching
his
;
smiling
as
if
to
tell
him
that
he
does
well
to
sleep
,
that
sleep
is
better
than
waking
,
that
death
is
better
than
life
!
There
is
a
sunken
look
about
his
fair
eyelids
,
as
if
he
had
gone
through
suffering
to
his
rest
;
and
his
reposeful
hands
are
thin
;
but
below
him
,
as
he
lies
in
his
spotless
marble
tranquillity
,
upon
his
sarcophagus
,
the
rose
garlands
wave
in
lovely
frieze
,
and
the
riotous
horses
rear
and
plunge
in
fulness
of
life
.
Burgoyne
has
not
perceived
that
Amelia
did
not
follow
him
.
She
has
,
in
point
of
fact
,
remained
in
the
body
of
the
church
,
immersed
in
her
guide-book
,
steadily
working
through
the
marble
screen
and
pulpit
,
and
still
five
good
minutes
off
the
side
chapel
,
in
which
her
lover
stands
in
so
deeply
brown
a
study
,
that
he
is
not
aware
of
the
intrusion
upon
his
solitude
of
two
women
,
until
he
is
roused
with
a
leap
by
the
voice
of
one
of
them
addressing
—
not
him
,
of
whose
presence
she
is
obviously
as
unaware
as
was
he
of
hers
,
until
this
moment
—
but
her
companion
.
"
Oh
,
mother
!
am
I
not
a
fool
,
at
my
age
,
too
?
but
I
cannot
help
it
,
it
makes
me
cry
so
!
"
Burgoyne
does
not
need
the
evidence
of
his
eyes
.
His
ears
and
his
startled
heart
have
enough
assured
him
whose
are
the
tears
called
forth
by
that
indeed
most
touching
effigy
at
which
he
himself
has
been
so
pensively
staring
.
The
mother
's
answer
is
inaudible
;
and
then
again
comes
the
voice
of
Elizabeth
Le
Marchant
,
tearful
and
vibrating
.
"
You
know
I
have
seen
so
few
beautiful
things
in
my
life
,
I
shall
get
used
to
them
presently
;
it
is
only
sheer
happiness
that
makes
me
—
—
"
She
stops
abruptly
,
having
evidently
discovered
for
herself
,
or
been
made
aware
by
her
mother
of
his
vicinity
;
and
even
if
she
had
not
done
so
,
he
feels
that
he
must
lose
no
time
in
announcing
himself
.
"
Florence
is
a
place
that
does
make
one
often
choky
,
"
he
says
,
eagerly
taking
the
hand
which
she
hesitatingly
,
and
with
some
confusion
,
offers
him
.
It
is
not
quite
true
;
Florence
has
never
made
him
feel
choky
;
and
,
if
he
is
experiencing
that
sensation
now
,
it
is
certainly
not
the
dead
cardinal
of
Portugal
who
is
giving
it
to
him
.
"
I
am
a
fool
,
a
perfect
fool
!
"
replies
Elizabeth
,
hastily
and
shamefacedly
wiping
away
her
tears
.
To
give
her
time
to
recover
herself
,
and
also
because
he
has
not
yet
greeted
the
girl
's
mother
,
Jim
turns
to
her
.
"
Did
not
I
tell
you
that
we
should
meet
here
?
"
There
is
such
undisguised
joy
and
triumph
in
his
tone
,
that
perhaps
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
has
not
the
heart
to
dash
his
elation
;
at
all
events
,
he
is
conscious
in
her
tone
of
a
less
resolute
determination
to
keep
him
at
arm's-length
,
than
on
their
two
last
meetings
.
"
I
do
not
think
that
I
contradicted
you
,
"
she
answers
,
smiling
.
He
may
steal
another
look
at
Elizabeth
now
.
She
is
not
crying
any
longer
.
Indeed
,
despite
the
real
moisture
on
her
cheeks
,
she
strikes
him
as
looking
happier
than
at
their
last
meeting
;
and
though
the
interval
between
now
and
then
is
too
short
for
any
such
alteration
to
have
taken
place
in
reality
,
yet
he
cannot
help
imagining
that
the
hollows
in
those
very
cheeks
are
less
deep
than
when
they
stood
together
before
the
great
Vandyke
in
the
Brignoli
Sala
Palace
.
"
And
the
entresol
?
is
it
all
your
fancy
painted
it
?
"
he
asks
quickly
,
feeling
a
sort
of
panic
fear
,
that
if
he
stops
putting
questions
for
one
minute
they
will
slip
out
of
his
grasp
again
,
as
they
did
in
the
Genoese
Palace
.
Elizabeth
's
face
breaks
into
a
soft
bright
smile
.
She
has
a
dimple
in
one
cheek
and
not
in
the
other
.
She
must
have
had
it
ten
years
ago
;
how
comes
he
to
have
forgotten
so
sweet
and
strange
a
peculiarity
?
"
It
is
delightful
—
perfectly
delightful
!
"
"
Large
enough
to
receive
your
friends
in
,
after
all
?
"
But
the
moment
that
the
words
are
out
of
his
mouth
,
he
perceives
that
he
has
made
a
false
step
,
and
is
somehow
treading
dangerous
ground
.
Elizabeth
's
smile
goes
out
,
like
a
light
blown
into
nothingness
by
a
sudden
wind
.
"
We
have
not
many
friends
,
"
she
murmurs
;
"
we
—
we
are
not
going
out
at
all
.
"
He
hastens
to
change
his
cue
.
"
Byng
and
I
are
at
the
Minerva
,
"
he
says
,
beginning
to
talk
very
fast
;
"
I
wonder
if
,
by
any
chance
,
you
are
in
our
neighbourhood
;
have
I
forgotten
,
or
did
you
never
tell
me
where
the
entresol
lies
?
Where
is
it
,
by-the-bye
?
"
Ensnared
by
the
wily
and
brazen
suddenness
of
this
demand
,
Miss
Le
Marchant
has
evidently
no
evasion
ready
,
and
,
after
an
almost
imperceptible
pause
of
hesitation
,
answers
:
"
We
are
at
12
bis
,
Piazza
d'Azeglio
.
"
She
is
looking
doubtfully
and
half
uneasily
in
his
face
,
as
she
gives
this
answer
,
but
he
has
scarcely
time
for
a
flash
of
self-congratulation
at
having
obtained
the
information
,
which
he
had
never
realized
the
eagerness
of
his
desire
for
until
this
moment
,
before
he
becomes
aware
that
his
interlocutor
's
eyes
are
no
longer
meeting
his
,
but
have
wandered
to
some
object
over
his
shoulder
.
What
that
object
is
he
is
not
long
left
in
doubt
.
Whether
it
is
a
genuine
accident
,
or
one
of
those
spurious
ones
,
of
which
those
who
profit
by
them
are
the
artificers
,
Jim
does
not
know
;
and
,
as
he
is
at
the
time
,
and
will
be
when
he
thinks
of
the
circumstance
to
the
end
of
his
life
,
too
angry
to
question
Byng
on
the
subject
,
it
is
pretty
certain
that
he
never
will
know
;
but
so
it
is
that
at
this
moment
the
voice
of
his
protégé
breaks
upon
his
ear
:
"
You
are
not
going
to
give
us
the
slip
like
this
,
old
chap
—
oh
!
I
beg
your
pardon
!
"
But
begging
pardon
ever
so
sweetly
does
not
alter
the
fact
that
he
has
rushed
,
like
a
bull
in
a
china
shop
,
into
the
middle
of
the
dialogue
.
All
four
look
at
each
other
for
a
second
;
then
,
since
there
is
no
help
for
it
,
Jim
presents
his
disciple
,
and
the
next
moment
the
latter
has
slid
into
talk
with
Elizabeth
,
and
she
is
responding
with
an
ease
and
freedom
from
embarrassment
such
as
had
never
marked
her
sparse
and
hardly
won
utterances
to
the
elder
man
.
Byng
has
the
advantage
of
him
,
as
he
somewhat
bitterly
thinks
.
Byng
has
no
connection
with
"
old
times
;
"
those
poor
old
times
which
she
and
her
mother
have
so
unaccountably
taken
en
grippe
.
He
seems
suddenly
relegated
,
as
by
some
natural
affinity
,
to
the
mother
.
On
their
two
last
meetings
the
eagerness
to
converse
has
been
all
on
his
side
;
yet
now
he
has
nothing
to
say
to
her
.
It
is
she
who
addresses
him
.
"
I
hope
that
you
found
your
young
lady
flourishing
,
"
she
says
civilly
.
He
gives
a
slight
inward
start
,
though
—
as
he
is
thankful
to
feel
—
his
body
is
quiet
.
"
His
young
lady
!
"
Yes
,
of
course
he
has
a
young
lady
!
Has
there
been
any
danger
during
the
last
five
minutes
of
his
forgetting
that
fact
?
and
has
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
done
him
an
unnecessary
service
in
recalling
it
?
"
Oh
,
yes
,
thanks
,
she
is
all
right
!
"
"
Is
she
still
in
Florence
?
"
"
Yes
,
she
is
here
;
by-the-bye
"
—
looking
round
with
a
sudden
sense
that
he
ought
to
have
missed
her
—
"
what
has
become
of
her
?
Oh
,
here
she
is
!
"
For
even
while
the
words
are
on
his
lips
,
Amelia
and
Cecilia
come
into
sight
.
Amelia
with
a
shut
Baedeker
,
and
the
serene
look
of
an
easy
conscience
and
a
thoroughly
performed
duty
on
her
amiable
face
;
Cecilia
with
a
something
of
search
and
disquiet
in
her
large
rolling
eye
,
which
would
have
made
him
laugh
at
another
time
.
A
sudden
instinct
,
with
which
his
will
has
nothing
to
do
,
makes
him
flash
a
look
back
at
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
,
as
if
to
gauge
the
effect
produced
upon
her
by
his
betrothed
;
and
,
following
her
glance
,
he
finds
that
it
is
resting
on
Cecilia
.
She
thinks
that
he
is
engaged
to
Cecilia
.
The
mistake
is
intolerable
to
him
,
and
yet
a
second
's
reflection
tells
him
that
it
is
a
natural
one
.
In
a
second
he
sees
his
Amelia
as
she
presents
herself
to
a
strange
eye
.
Miss
Wilson
is
only
thirty-one
,
but
upon
her
has
already
come
that
set
solid
look
of
middle
age
,
which
overtakes
some
women
before
they
are
well
over
the
borders
of
youth
,
and
which
other
women
manage
to
stave
off
till
they
are
within
near
hail
of
forty
.
Yes
;
the
mistake
is
quite
a
natural
one
.
Most
people
would
suppose
that
the
showy
Cecilia
,
still
fairly
youthful
,
and
with
so
many
obvious
and
well-produced
"
points
,
"
must
be
his
choice
;
and
yet
,
as
I
have
said
,
the
idea
that
anyone
should
credit
him
with
her
ownership
is
intolerable
to
him
.
"
Here
she
is
!
"
he
cries
precipitately
.
"
The
one
to
the
right
side
,
the
other
is
her
sister
;
may
I
—
may
I
present
them
to
you
?
"
Perhaps
it
is
his
irritated
fancy
that
dictates
the
idea
,
but
it
seems
to
him
as
if
he
detected
a
sort
of
surprise
in
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
's
face
,
when
he
effects
the
introduction
he
has
proposed
,
and
to
which
she
accedes
courteously
,
after
a
pause
of
hesitation
about
as
long
as
had
followed
his
inquiry
of
Elizabeth
as
to
their
address
.
Five
minutes
later
they
have
all
sauntered
out
again
on
the
terrace
,
and
Burgoyne
is
again
leaning
on
the
wall
;
but
this
time
he
has
no
fear
of
hearing
of
Bayswater
,
for
it
is
Elizabeth
who
is
beside
him
.
Since
last
he
looked
at
it
half
an
hour
ago
,
a
sort
of
glorification
has
passed
over
the
divine
view
.
Down
where
the
river
twists
through
the
plain
country
,
there
is
a
light
,
dainty
mist
,
but
the
mountains
have
put
on
their
fullest
glory
.
They
are
not
green
,
or
brown
,
or
purple
,
or
blue
;
but
clad
in
that
ineffable
raiment
woven
by
the
sun
,
that
defies
our
weak
vocabulary
to
provide
it
with
a
name
.
A
little
snow-chain
lies
on
the
sun-warmed
neck
of
Morello
,
and
along
the
tops
of
the
further
Apennines
,
right
against
the
acute
blue
of
the
heavens
,
lies
a
line
of
snow
,
that
looks
like
a
fleece-soft
cloud
resting
from
its
journeyings
on
their
crests
;
but
it
is
no
cloud
,
nor
is
there
any
speck
upon
the
gigantic
complete
arch
that
over-vaults
town
and
valley
and
radiant
mountains
.
In
the
folds
of
these
last
,
the
shadows
slumber
;
but
over
all
the
city
is
the
great
gold
glory
of
spring
.
The
one
thing
in
Florence
that
frowns
among
so
many
smiles
is
the
scowling
Pitti
,
and
that
,
from
here
,
is
invisible
.
Nearer
to
him
,
against
the
azure
,
stand
the
solemn
flame-shaped
cypresses
arow
,
and
beside
them
—
as
unlike
as
life
to
death
—
a
band
of
quivering
poplars
,
a
sort
of
transparent
gold-green
in
their
young
spring
livery
.
The
air
is
so
clear
that
one
can
go
nigh
to
counting
the
marbles
on
the
Duomo
walls
.
In
a
more
transparent
amber
light
,
fuller
of
joy
and
gaiety
,
cannot
the
saved
be
dancing
around
,
as
in
Fra
Angelico
's
divine
picture
?
cannot
they
be
walking
in
the
New
Jerusalem
of
St.
John
's
great
dream
?
Only
in
the
New
Jerusalem
there
are
no
galled
and
trembling-kneed
fiacre
horses
.
Elizabeth
is
sitting
on
the
wall
,
her
light
figure
—
is
it
possible
that
it
has
been
in
the
world
only
four
years
less
than
Amelia
's
solid
one
?
—
half-supported
by
one
small
gray
hand
outspread
on
the
stone
;
her
little
fine
features
all
tremulous
with
emotion
,
and
half
a
tear
gathered
again
in
each
sweet
eye
.
As
Jim
looks
at
her
,
a
sort
of
cold
covetous
gripe
pinches
his
heart
.
"
What
a
woman
with
whom
to
look
at
all
earth
's
loveliness
—
with
whom
to
converse
without
speech
!
"
Even
as
he
so
thinks
,
she
turns
her
head
towards
him
,
and
,
drawing
in
her
breath
with
a
long
low
sigh
,
says
:
"
Oh
,
how
glad
I
am
I
did
not
die
before
to-day
!
"
Her
eyes
are
turned
towards
him
,
and
yet
,
as
once
before
,
he
realizes
that
it
is
not
to
him
that
either
her
look
or
her
thoughts
are
directed
.
Both
are
aimed
at
an
object
over
his
shoulder
,
and
,
as
before
,
that
object
is
Byng
.
Byng
,
too
,
has
been
gazing
at
the
view
.
There
are
tears
in
Byng
's
eyes
also
.
Stevenson
says
that
some
women
like
a
man
who
cries
.
Byng
cries
easily
and
genuinely
,
and
enjoys
it
;
and
,
as
he
is
a
remarkably
fine
young
man
,
there
is
something
piquant
in
the
contrast
between
his
wet
blue
orbs
and
his
shoulders
.
As
Burgoyne
rolls
home
that
afternoon
in
his
fiacre
,
as
before
,
placed
opposite
Amelia
,
his
mental
vision
is
no
longer
fixed
upon
a
"
double-barrelled
,
central
fire
,
breech-loading
gun
;
"
it
is
fixed
with
a
teasing
tenacity
upon
the
figure
of
a
smallish
woman
,
perennially
looking
,
through
brilliant
tears
,
over
his
shoulder
at
somebody
else
.
CHAPTER
IX
.
"
Was
it
12
,
or
12
bis
,
Piazza
d'Azeglio
?
"
There
are
no
tears
in
Byng
's
eyes
as
he
asks
this
question
next
morning
—
asks
it
of
his
friend
,
as
the
latter
sits
in
the
Fumoir
,
with
an
English
paper
in
his
hands
,
and
a
good
cigar
between
his
clean-shaven
lips
.
It
has
struck
him
several
times
lately
that
he
will
have
to
give
up
good
cigars
,
and
take
to
a
churchwarden
pipe
and
shag
instead
.
But
,
so
far
,
the
churchwarden
and
the
shag
remain
in
the
future
.
"
12
,
or
12
bis
,
Piazza
d'Azeglio
?
"
inquires
Byng
.
"
Was
what
12
or
12
bis
?
"
replies
his
friend
,
with
a
somewhat
obviously
intentional
obtuseness
;
but
Byng
is
far
too
thoroughly
healthy
and
happy
a
young
animal
this
morning
to
take
offence
easily
.
"
I
mean
Miss
Le
Marchant
's
address
,
"
he
answers
,
explaining
as
amiably
as
if
he
had
not
been
perfectly
aware
that
it
was
only
"
cussedness
"
that
had
dictated
the
query
.
There
is
a
slight
pause
.
Burgoyne
would
like
to
answer
that
he
does
not
remember
—
would
like
still
more
to
answer
that
he
does
not
see
what
business
it
can
be
of
Byng
's
;
but
,
since
he
is
not
destitute
of
common-sense
,
a
second
's
reflection
shows
him
that
he
has
no
good
reason
for
either
the
lie
or
the
incivility
,
so
he
replies
,
pretty
calmly
,
with
his
eyes
still
on
his
leading
article
:
"
I
believe
Miss
Le
Marchant
said
12
bis
.
"
Having
obtained
the
information
he
wanted
,
and
finding
his
companion
not
conversationally
disposed
,
Byng
is
moving
away
again
,
when
he
is
arrested
by
Jim
's
voice
,
adding
to
the
intelligence
he
has
just
given
the
monosyllable
:
"
Why
?
"
"
Why
what
?
"
asks
Byng
,
returning
readily
,
and
laughingly
mimicking
the
intentional
obtuseness
so
lately
practised
on
himself
by
the
other
.
"
Why
did
you
ask
?
"
"
I
am
thinking
of
paying
my
respects
there
this
afternoon
,
and
I
did
not
want
to
ring
at
the
wrong
bell
.
"
A
short
silence
.
Jim
's
head
is
partly
hidden
by
his
Galignani
.
"
Did
Miss
or
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
ask
you
to
call
?
"
Byng
laughs
.
"
Both
of
them
are
as
innocent
of
it
as
the
babe
unborn
!
"
"
You
asked
yourself
then
?
"
(
in
a
snubbing
voice
)
.
Byng
nods
.
"
And
she
said
yes
?
"
The
plural
pronoun
has
dropped
out
of
sight
,
but
neither
of
them
perceives
it
.
The
younger
man
shakes
his
sleek
head
.
Jim
lays
down
his
paper
with
an
air
of
decision
.
"
If
she
did
not
say
'
Yes
'
—
if
she
said
'
No
,
'
"
he
begins
,
with
an
accent
of
severity
,
"
I
fail
to
understand
—
—
"
"
She
did
not
say
'
No
,
'
"
interrupts
Byng
,
still
half
laughing
,
and
yet
reddening
as
well
.
"
She
began
to
say
it
;
but
I
suppose
that
I
looked
so
broken-hearted
—
I
am
sure
I
felt
it
—
that
she
stopped
.
"
As
Jim
makes
no
rejoinder
,
he
continues
by-and-by
:
"
After
all
,
she
can
but
send
me
away
.
One
is
always
being
sent
away
"
(
Jim
wishes
he
could
think
this
truer
than
he
does
)
;
"
but
now
and
again
one
is
not
sent
,
and
those
are
the
times
that
pay
for
the
others
!
I
'll
risk
it
.
"
There
is
a
hopeful
ring
in
his
voice
as
he
ends
,
and
again
a
pause
comes
,
broken
a
third
time
by
the
younger
man
.
"
Come
now
,
Jim
"
—
looking
with
a
straight
and
disarming
good
humour
into
his
friend
's
overcast
countenance
—
"
speak
up
!
Do
you
know
of
any
cause
or
impediment
why
I
should
not
?
"
Thus
handsomely
and
fairly
appealed
to
,
Burgoyne
,
who
is
by
nature
a
just
man
,
begins
to
put
his
conscience
through
her
paces
as
to
the
real
source
of
his
dislike
to
the
idea
of
his
companion
's
taking
advantage
of
that
introduction
which
he
himself
has
been
the
means
—
however
unwillingly
—
of
procuring
for
him
.
It
is
true
that
Byng
's
mother
had
adjured
him
,
with
tears
in
her
eyes
,
to
preserve
her
boy
from
undesirable
acquaintances
;
but
can
he
,
Burgoyne
,
honestly
say
that
he
looks
upon
Elizabeth
Le
Marchant
as
an
undesirable
acquaintance
for
anyone
?
The
result
of
his
investigations
is
the
discovery
of
how
infinitesimal
a
share
in
his
motives
regard
for
his
young
friend
's
welfare
has
had
.
The
discovery
is
no
sooner
made
than
he
acts
upon
it
.
"
My
dear
boy
,
"
he
says
—
and
to
his
credit
says
it
heartily
—
"
I
see
no
earthly
reason
why
you
should
not
go
;
you
could
not
make
nicer
friends
.
"
"
Then
why
will
not
you
come
too
?
"
asks
Byng
,
with
boyish
generosity
.
The
other
shakes
his
head
.
"
They
had
much
rather
I
stayed
away
;
they
have
taken
me
en
grippe
.
"
"
Pooh
!
Nonsense
!
You
fancy
it
.
"
"
I
think
not
"
—
speaking
slowly
and
thoughtfully
—
"
I
am
not
a
fanciful
person
,
nor
apt
to
imagine
that
my
acquaintances
bother
their
heads
about
me
one
way
or
another
;
but
when
people
try
their
best
,
in
the
first
instance
,
to
avoid
recognising
you
at
all
,
and
on
every
subsequent
occasion
endeavour
to
disappear
as
soon
as
you
come
in
sight
,
it
is
not
a
very
forced
assumption
that
they
are
not
exactly
greedy
for
your
society
.
"
This
reasoning
is
so
close
that
Byng
is
for
the
moment
silenced
;
and
it
is
the
other
who
shortly
resumes
:
"
I
think
it
is
because
I
remind
them
of
the
past
;
they
have
evidently
some
unpleasant
association
of
ideas
with
that
past
.
I
wonder
what
it
is
.
"
The
latter
clause
is
addressed
more
to
himself
than
to
Byng
.
"
Perhaps
some
of
them
have
died
,
or
come
to
grief
,
and
they
are
afraid
of
your
asking
after
them
,
"
suggests
the
younger
man
.
"
On
the
contrary
—
they
are
all
—
one
more
flourishing
than
another
.
"
"
Well
,
I
would
give
them
one
more
trial
,
anyhow
;
I
am
sure
they
would
come
round
.
Give
them
time
,
and
I
am
sure
they
would
come
round
!
"
cries
Byng
sanguinely
;
adding
,
"
What
could
have
been
pleasanter
than
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
's
manner
when
you
presented
her
to
Miss
Wilson
?
"
The
mention
of
Miss
Wilson
recalls
to
Jim
the
extremely
unpleasant
moment
of
that
presentation
,
thus
brought
back
to
him
—
the
moment
when
Amelia
had
looked
so
middle-aged
,
and
Cecilia
so
flashy
;
recalls
to
him
also
the
conviction
that
has
been
growing
upon
him
since
yesterday
,
of
the
more
than
wisdom
,
the
absolute
imperative
duty
on
his
part
,
of
avoiding
a
repetition
of
that
comparison
which
had
forced
itself
upon
his
notice
in
the
church
of
San
Miniato
.
"
You
had
better
come
,
"
persists
Byng
still
,
like
a
magnanimous
child
,
holding
out
half
his
cake
to
his
friend
;
whether
,
like
the
same
child
,
with
a
semi-hope
that
it
may
be
refused
,
or
whether
,
on
the
other
hand
,
it
may
have
crossed
his
mind
that
,
where
there
are
two
visitees
,
the
chances
of
a
tête-à-tête
are
improved
by
there
being
also
two
visitors
.
"
My
dear
boy
,
"
returns
Jim
,
this
time
with
a
testiness
handsomely
streaked
with
irony
,
"
you
are
really
too
obliging
;
but
,
even
if
I
wished
it
—
which
I
do
not
—
or
even
if
they
wished
it
—
which
they
do
not
—
it
is
in
this
case
quite
impossible
,
as
I
am
engaged
to
go
shopping
with
Amelia
.
"
Probably
the
blow
is
not
a
knockdown
one
to
Byng
;
at
all
events
,
he
bears
the
rebuff
with
his
habitual
healthy
good
temper
,
and
goes
off
to
put
on
a
smarter
tie
.
Burgoyne
,
thinking
no
such
improvement
in
his
toilette
necessary
,
strolls
away
to
the
Anglo-Américain
.
It
is
true
that
he
has
covenanted
to
escort
Amelia
to
the
shop
for
Cantagalli
ware
,
though
there
is
no
particular
reason
why
,
had
he
so
wished
it
,
the
purchase
of
the
dinner-service
that
is
to
grace
their
Bayswater
symposia
might
not
have
been
deferred
for
twenty-four
hours
;
and
indeed
,
as
things
turn
out
,
it
has
to
be
so
deferred
.
As
he
opens
the
door
of
the
Wilson
sitting-room
his
future
father-in-law
brushes
past
him
,
with
evident
signs
of
discomposure
all
over
his
clerical
figure
and
spectacled
face
;
and
,
on
entering
,
he
finds
equal
,
if
not
superior
,
marks
of
upset
equanimity
on
the
countenances
of
the
three
women
that
are
the
room
's
occupants
.
Over
the
wood
fire
—
Sybilla
alternately
roasts
and
freezes
her
family
,
and
this
is
one
of
her
roasting
days
—
Cecilia
is
stooping
,
in
evident
search
for
some
object
that
has
been
committed
,
or
tried
to
be
committed
,
to
the
flames
.
The
other
two
are
looking
on
with
an
air
of
vexed
interest
.
Sybilla
is
the
first
to
address
him
.
"
You
have
appeared
at
a
not
very
happy
moment
,
"
she
says
,
with
a
sigh
;
"
we
have
been
having
a
family
breeze
;
it
has
sent
my
temperature
up
nicely
!
It
is
100
,
100
,
Point
2.
"
The
mention
of
Sybilla
's
temperature
is
always
enough
to
put
Jim
in
a
rage
.
It
is
therefore
in
no
very
feeling
tone
that
he
returns
:
"
If
it
were
1
,
000
,
Point
99
,
I
should
not
be
surprised
,
in
this
atmosphere
!
Good
Heavens
,
Cis
,
are
not
you
hot
enough
already
?
"
The
young
lady
thus
apostrophised
rises
,
with
some
precipitation
,
and
with
a
very
heated
complexion
,
from
her
knees
,
holding
in
her
hand
,
however
,
the
object
of
her
quest
—
a
rather
charred
small
parcel
,
done
up
in
white
paper
,
and
with
a
fragment
of
white
ribbon
still
adhering
here
and
there
to
it
.
"
Father
behaves
so
childishly
,
"
she
says
,
with
irritated
undutifulness
.
"
You
must
own
that
it
was
enough
to
provoke
him
,
"
strikes
in
Amelia
's
mild
voice
.
"
What
was
enough
to
provoke
him
?
How
has
he
shown
his
childishness
?
For
Heaven
's
sake
,
some
of
you
explain
!
"
cries
Jim
impatiently
,
looking
from
one
to
the
other
.
But
with
this
request
none
of
the
three
appears
in
any
hurry
to
comply
.
There
is
a
distinct
pause
before
Cecilia
,
seeing
neither
of
her
seniors
shows
any
signs
of
relieving
her
of
the
burden
of
explanation
,
takes
that
burden
upon
herself
.
"
The
fact
is
,
"
she
says
,
setting
her
little
rescued
packet
on
the
table
beside
her
,
and
beginning
to
fan
herself
,
"
that
Mr.
Dashwood
,
the
man
to
whom
I
was
engaged
,
has
chosen
to
marry
.
I
am
sure
"
—
with
a
shrug
—
"
no
one
has
the
least
desire
to
deny
his
perfect
right
to
do
so
;
and
this
morning
there
arrived
by
post
a
bit
of
his
wedding-cake
!
I
suppose
he
meant
it
civilly
;
but
father
chose
to
take
it
as
an
insult
to
himself
,
and
though
it
was
addressed
to
me
,
he
threw
it
into
the
fire
.
I
am
very
fond
of
wedding-cake
;
so
,
as
soon
as
father
's
back
was
turned
,
I
fished
it
out
again
!
"
Jim
laughs
,
with
more
vigour
perhaps
than
heartfelt
amusement
.
"
Bravo
,
Cis
!
You
are
a
real
philosopher
!
We
might
all
learn
a
lesson
from
you
.
"
"
What
have
you
done
with
your
nice
friend
?
"
asked
Sybilla
languidly
.
"
Amelia
,
dear
,
this
couvre-pied
is
slipping
off
me
again
.
What
a
sympathetic
voice
he
has
!
I
am
sure
he
has
been
a
great
deal
with
sick
people
.
"
"
I
left
him
putting
on
his
best
tie
to
go
out
calling
.
No
,
calm
yourself
,
Cecilia
,
not
on
you
;
it
is
not
your
turn
to-day
.
"
"
Whose
turn
is
it
then
?
"
asks
the
girl
,
with
an
interest
not
at
all
blunted
by
the
mortifying
incident
of
the
cake
,
which
,
indeed
,
she
has
begun
to
nibble
with
apparent
relish
.
Jim
hesitates
a
second
—
a
second
during
which
it
strikes
him
with
a
shock
that
he
already
finds
a
difficulty
in
pronouncing
Elizabeth
Le
Marchant
's
name
.
He
manages
to
evade
the
necessity
even
now
by
a
circumlocution
.
"
I
believe
it
is
the
Piazza
d'Azeglio
upon
which
that
luminary
is
to
shine
.
"
"
Is
he
going
to
see
that
lovely
creature
to
whom
you
introduced
me
yesterday
?
"
cries
Amelia
,
with
good-natured
enthusiasm
.
"
I
heard
her
telling
him
that
she
lived
in
the
Piazza
d'Azeglio
.
Oh
,
Jim
,
how
pretty
she
is
!
One
ought
to
pay
for
being
allowed
to
look
at
her
.
"
Many
women
,
whose
plainness
is
incontestable
,
are
able
to
be
just
to
their
better
favoured
sisters
;
but
Amelia
is
more
than
just
—
she
is
lavishly
generous
.
Burgoyne
rewards
her
with
an
affectionate
look
—
a
look
such
as
would
make
her
swear
that
,
beside
Miss
Le
Marchant
,
as
beside
Dumain
's
fair
love
,
"
Juno
but
an
Ethiop
were
!
"
"
She
looks
as
if
she
had
had
a
history
;
that
always
improves
a
woman
's
appearance
,
"
says
Cecilia
pensively
,
holding
a
fragment
of
the
fateful
cake
suspended
in
air
,
and
regarding
it
with
a
melancholy
eye
.
"
Has
she
?
"
"
I
never
asked
her
.
"
"
Why
did
not
you
go
too
?
"
inquires
Amelia
,
judiciously
striking
in
,
as
is
her
habit
,
as
often
as
she
perceives
that
her
younger
sister
is
beginning
to
get
too
obviously
upon
her
own
fiancé
's
nerves
;
a
catastrophe
which
something
in
the
tone
of
his
last
remark
tells
her
—
though
she
does
not
quite
understand
why
it
should
—
is
imminent
.
"
They
are
old
friends
of
yours
,
are
not
they
?
They
may
be
hurt
if
they
find
that
a
perfect
stranger
like
Mr.
Byng
is
in
a
greater
hurry
to
visit
them
than
you
are
.
"
Before
Burgoyne
's
mental
vision
rises
a
picture
of
Elizabeth
's
heavenly
eye
wandering
indifferently
over
the
dear
old
friend
's
shoulder
to
find
its
home
in
that
of
the
perfect
stranger
.
But
he
says
kindly
,
and
even
playfully
:
"
Why
did
not
I
go
too
?
Because
I
was
under
the
impression
that
I
was
engaged
to
go
with
another
lovely
being
to
choose
crockery
,
was
I
not
?
Am
I
not
?
"
Amelia
's
answer
is
conveyed
by
a
series
of
nods
and
winks
executed
behind
her
sisters
'
backs
,
which
he
presently
understands
to
imply
that
she
desires
a
private
interview
.
It
is
not
immediately
that
he
grasps
what
she
is
driving
at
,
since
dumb-show
is
often
puzzling
to
the
person
at
whom
it
is
aimed
,
though
clear
as
day
to
the
dumb-shower
.
As
soon
,
however
,
as
he
masters
what
her
wish
is
,
he
hastens
to
comply
with
it
;
and
five
minutes
later
finds
them
tête-à-tête
in
the
hideous
little
dining-room
which
had
been
the
scene
of
their
reunion
,
and
of
many
after-meetings
.
"
I
could
not
say
so
,
of
course
,
before
her
,
"
remarks
Miss
Wilson
,
as
soon
as
they
are
out
of
earshot
,
"
or
she
might
have
insisted
upon
my
going
.
She
is
very
unselfish
sometimes
;
but
the
fact
is
,
I
do
not
think
I
ought
to
leave
Sybilla
again
to-day
.
You
see
,
she
was
alone
the
whole
of
yesterday
afternoon
;
and
when
we
came
back
we
found
her
in
a
very
low
way
.
She
had
been
reading
her
book
of
prescriptions
—
you
know
the
book
;
all
the
prescriptions
which
she
has
had
for
the
last
ten
years
bound
up
together
—
and
we
rather
dread
her
bringing
it
out
,
as
she
always
fancies
that
she
is
going
to
have
the
disease
prescribed
for
.
"
