ofSybilla
,
who
has
never
been
partial
to
him
—
from
each
of
them
.
"
We
have
been
thinking
that
Jim
was
going
to
jilt
you
,
Amelia
!
"
Cecilia
has
said
with
graceful
badinage
;
nor
,
strange
to
say
,
has
she
been
at
all
offended
when
Jim
has
retorted
,
with
equal
grace
and
much
superior
ill-nature
,
that
on
such
a
subject
no
one
could
speak
with
more
authority
than
she
.
The
large
white
stars
are
making
the
nightly
sky
almost
as
gorgeous
as
the
day
's
departed
majesty
had
done
,
ere
Jim
finds
himself
back
at
his
hotel
.
His
intention
of
quietly
retreating
to
his
own
room
is
traversed
by
Byng
,
who
,
having
evidently
been
on
the
watch
for
him
,
springs
up
the
stairs
,
three
steps
at
a
time
,
after
him
.
"
Where
have
you
been
all
day
?
"
he
inquires
impatiently
.
"
At
the
Anglo-Américain
.
I
wonder
you
are
not
tired
of
always
asking
the
same
question
and
receiving
the
same
answer
to
it
.
"
"
I
am
not
so
sure
that
I
should
always
receive
the
same
answer
,
"
replies
the
other
,
with
a
forced
laugh
—
"
but
stop
a
bit
!
"
—
seeing
a
decided
quickening
of
speed
in
his
friend
's
upward
movements
—
"
my
mother
is
asking
for
you
;
she
has
been
asking
for
you
all
the
afternoon
;
she
wants
to
speak
to
you
before
she
goes
.
"
"
Goes
?
"
"
Yes
,
she
is
off
at
seven
o'clock
to-morrow
morning
—
back
to
England
:
she
had
a
telegram
to-day
to
say
that
her
old
aunt
,
the
one
who
brought
her
up
,
has
had
a
second
stroke
.
No
!
"
—
seeing
Jim
begin
to
arrange
his
features
in
that
decorous
shape
of
grave
sympathy
which
we
naturally
assume
on
such
occasions
—
"
it
is
no
case
of
great
grief
;
the
poor
old
woman
has
been
quite
silly
ever
since
her
last
attack
;
but
mother
thinks
that
she
ought
to
be
there
,
at
—
at
the
end
;
to
look
after
things
,
and
so
forth
.
"
There
is
an
alertness
,
a
something
that
expresses
the
reverse
of
regret
in
the
tone
employed
by
Mrs.
Byng
's
son
in
this
detailed
account
of
the
causes
of
her
imminent
departure
,
which
,
even
if
his
thoughts
had
not
already
sprung
in
that
direction
,
would
have
set
Burgoyne
thinking
as
to
the
mode
in
which
the
young
man
before
him
is
likely
to
employ
the
liberty
that
his
parent
's
absence
will
restore
to
him
.
"
I
offered
to
go
with
her
,
"
says
Byng
,
perhaps
discerning
a
portion
at
least
of
his
companion
's
disapprobation
.
"
And
she
refused
?
"
Byng
looks
down
,
and
begins
to
kick
the
banisters
—
they
are
still
on
the
stairs
—
idly
with
one
foot
.
"
Mother
is
so
unselfish
that
it
is
always
difficult
to
make
out
what
she
really
wishes
;
but
—
but
I
do
not
quite
see
of
what
use
I
should
be
to
her
if
I
did
go
.
"
There
is
a
moment
's
pause
;
then
Burgoyne
speaks
,
in
a
dry
,
hortatory
elder
brother
's
voice
:
"
If
you
take
my
advice
you
will
go
home
.
"
The
disinterested
counsel
of
wise
elder
brothers
is
not
always
taken
in
the
spirit
it
merits
;
and
there
is
no
trace
of
docile
and
unquestioning
acquiescence
in
Byng
's
monosyllabic
—
"
Why
?
"
"
Because
,
if
you
stay
here
,
I
think
you
will
most
likely
get
into
mischief
.
"
The
young
man
's
usually
good-humoured
eyes
give
out
a
blue
spark
that
looks
rather
like
fight
.
"
The
same
kind
of
mischief
that
you
have
been
getting
into
during
the
past
week
?
"
he
inquires
slowly
.
The
acquaintance
with
his
movements
evidenced
by
this
last
sentence
,
no
less
than
the
light
they
throw
upon
his
own
motives
,
stagger
Jim
,
to
the
extent
of
making
him
accept
the
sneer
in
total
silence
.
Is
not
it
a
richly
deserved
one
?
But
the
sweet-natured
Byng
is
already
repenting
it
;
and
there
is
something
conciliatory
and
almost
entreating
in
the
spirit
of
his
last
remark
:
"
I
do
not
know
what
has
happened
to
my
mother
,
"
he
says
,
lowering
his
voice
;
"
there
is
no
one
less
of
a
mauvaise
langue
than
she
,
as
you
know
;
but
in
the
case
of
—
—
"
—
he
breaks
off
and
begins
his
sentence
afresh
;
"
she
has
been
warning
me
against
them
again
;
I
ca
n't
find
that
she
has
any
reason
to
go
upon
;
but
she
has
taken
a
violent
prejudice
against
her
.
She
says
that
it
is
one
of
her
instincts
;
and
you
—
you
have
done
nothing
towards
setting
her
right
?
"
Perhaps
it
may
be
that
his
young
friend
's
reported
metaphor
of
the
"
hippopotamus
hide
"
has
not
served
to
render
him
any
dearer
to
Jim
;
but
there
is
certainly
no
great
suavity
in
his
reply
:
"
Why
should
I
?
—
it
is
no
concern
of
mine
.
"
"
No
concern
of
yours
to
stand
by
and
see
an
angel
's
white
robe
besmirched
by
the
foul
mire
of
slander
?
"
cries
Byng
indignantly
,
and
lapsing
into
that
high-flown
mood
which
never
fails
to
make
his
more
work-a-day
companion
"
see
blood
.
"
"
When
I
come
across
such
a
disagreeable
sight
it
will
be
time
enough
to
decide
whether
I
will
interfere
or
not
.
At
present
I
have
not
met
with
anything
of
the
kind
,
"
returns
he
,
resolutely
putting
an
end
to
the
dialogue
by
knocking
at
Mrs.
Byng
's
portal
,
within
which
he
is
at
once
admitted
.
The
door
of
the
bedroom
communicating
with
the
salon
is
open
,
and
through
it
he
sees
the
lady
he
has
come
to
visit
standing
surrounded
by
gaping
dress-baskets
,
strewn
raiment
,
and
scattered
papers
;
all
the
uncomfortable
litter
that
speaks
of
an
imminent
departure
.
She
joins
him
at
once
,
and
,
shutting
the
door
behind
her
,
sits
down
with
a
fagged
air
.
"
I
hear
,
"
he
begins
—
"
Willy
tells
me
—
I
am
very
sorry
to
hear
—
—
"
"
Oh
,
there
is
no
great
cause
for
sorrow
,
"
rejoins
she
quickly
,
as
if
anxious
to
disclaim
a
grief
which
might
be
supposed
to
check
or
limit
her
conversation
—
"
poor
dear
old
auntie
!
—
the
people
who
love
her
best
could
not
wish
to
keep
her
in
the
state
she
has
been
in
for
the
last
year
;
oh
,
dear
!
"
—
sighing
—
"
how
very
dismal
the
dregs
of
life
are
!
do
not
you
hope
,
Jim
,
that
we
shall
die
before
we
come
to
be
'
happy
releases
'
?
"
"
I
do
indeed
,
"
replies
he
gravely
;
"
I
expect
to
be
sick
—
dead-sick
of
life
long
before
I
reach
that
stage
of
it
.
"
He
looks
at
her
resentfully
as
she
speaks
,
but
she
has
so
entirely
forgotten
her
own
application
of
the
accented
adjectives
to
his
feelings
for
Amelia
,
that
she
replies
only
by
a
rather
puzzled
but
perfectly
innocent
glance
.
"
I
never
was
so
unwilling
to
leave
any
place
in
my
life
,
"
she
goes
on
presently
,
pursuing
her
own
train
of
thought
;
"
I
do
not
know
how
to
describe
it
—
a
sort
of
presentiment
.
"
He
smiles
.
"
And
yet
I
do
not
think
that
there
are
any
owls
in
the
Piazza
to
hoot
under
your
windows
!
"
"
Perhaps
not
,
"
rejoins
she
,
with
some
warmth
;
"
but
what
is
still
more
unlucky
than
that
happened
to
me
last
night
;
they
passed
the
wine
the
wrong
way
round
the
table
at
the
MacIvors
.
I
was
on
thorns
!
"
"
And
you
think
that
the
wine
going
the
wrong
way
round
the
table
gave
your
aunt
a
stroke
?
"
inquires
Jim
,
with
an
irritating
air
of
asking
for
information
.
Mrs.
Byng
reddens
slightly
.
"
I
think
nothing
of
the
kind
;
I
draw
no
inference
;
I
only
state
a
fact
;
it
is
a
very
unlucky
thing
to
send
the
wine
round
the
wrong
way
:
if
you
had
not
spent
your
life
among
grizzly
bears
and
cannibals
you
would
have
known
it
too
!
"
"
There
are
no
cannibals
in
the
Rocky
Mountains
,
"
corrects
Jim
quietly
;
and
then
they
both
laugh
,
and
recommence
their
talk
on
a
more
friendly
footing
.
"
I
am
not
at
all
happy
about
Willy
.
"
"
No
?
"
"
It
is
not
his
health
so
much
—
his
colour
is
good
,
and
his
appetite
not
bad
.
"
"
Except
the
Fat
Boy
in
'
Pickwick
,
'
I
never
heard
of
anyone
who
had
a
better
.
"
"
But
he
is
not
himself
;
there
is
something
odd
about
him
!
"
"
Indeed
!
"
"
Have
not
you
noticed
it
yourself
?
—
do
not
you
think
that
there
is
something
odd
about
him
?
Does
not
he
strike
you
as
odd
?
"
"
Odd
?
"
repeats
Burgoyne
slowly
,
reflecting
in
how
extremely
commonplace
a
light
both
the
virtues
and
vices
of
his
fellow-traveller
have
always
presented
themselves
to
him
;
"
it
would
never
have
occurred
to
me
that
Willy
was
odd
;
I
cannot
"
—
smiling
—
"
encourage
you
in
the
idea
that
you
have
added
one
to
the
number
of
the
world
's
eccentrics
.
"
She
sighs
rather
impatiently
at
his
apparently
intentional
misunderstanding
of
her
drift
.
"
'
Children
are
avenues
to
misfortune
,
'
as
somebody
said
,
and
I
think
that
,
whoever
he
was
,
he
was
right
.
'
If
Jacob
take
a
wife
of
the
daughters
of
Heth
,
such
as
are
those
in
the
land
,
what
good
shall
my
life
do
to
me
?
'
"
"
Why
should
you
credit
Jacob
with
any
such
intention
?
"
"
I
do
not
half
like
leaving
him
here
by
himself
.
"
"
By
himself
?
You
count
me
as
no
one
then
?
"
"
Oh
yes
,
I
do
—
I
count
you
as
a
great
deal
;
that
is
why
I
was
so
anxious
to
speak
to
you
before
I
went
;
of
course
I
do
not
expect
you
to
take
upon
yourself
the
whole
responsibility
of
him
,
but
you
might
keep
an
eye
upon
him
.
"
He
shrugs
his
shoulders
.
"
As
I
have
to
keep
the
other
eye
upon
myself
,
I
am
afraid
that
the
effort
would
but
make
me
squint
.
"
"
It
is
his
own
generosity
that
I
am
afraid
of
—
his
self-sacrificing
impulses
;
I
am
always
in
terror
of
his
marrying
someone
out
of
pure
good-nature
,
just
to
oblige
her
,
just
because
she
looked
as
if
she
wished
it
.
"
"
Stevenson
thinks
that
it
does
not
much
matter
whom
we
marry
,
whether
'
noisy
scullions
,
'
or
'
acidulous
vestals
.
'
"
"
I
do
not
care
what
Stevenson
thinks
:
ever
since
Willy
was
in
Eton
jackets
,
I
have
had
a
nightmare
of
his
bringing
me
home
as
daughter-in-law
some
poor
little
governess
with
her
nose
through
her
veil
,
and
her
fingers
through
her
gloves
!
"
Burgoyne
smiles
involuntarily
as
a
vision
of
Elizabeth
's
daintily-clad
hands
flashes
before
his
mental
eye
.
"
I
think
you
overrate
his
magnanimity
;
I
never
saw
him
at
all
tender
to
anyone
whose
gloves
were
not
beyond
suspicion
.
"
Mrs.
Byng
laughs
constrainedly
.
"
Well
,
if
she
has
not
holes
in
her
gloves
,
she
may
have
holes
in
her
reputation
,
which
is
worse
.
"
Jim
draws
in
his
breath
hard
.
The
tug
of
war
is
coming
,
as
the
preceding
leading
remark
,
lugged
in
by
the
head
and
shoulders
,
sufficiently
evidences
.
At
all
events
he
will
do
nothing
to
make
its
approach
easier
or
quicker
.
He
awaits
it
in
silence
.
"
These
Le
Marchants
—
as
they
are
friends
of
yours
—
I
suppose
that
I
ought
not
to
say
anything
against
them
?
"
"
I
am
sure
that
you
are
too
well-bred
to
do
anything
of
the
kind
,
"
replies
he
precipitately
,
with
a
determined
effort
to
stop
her
mouth
with
a
compliment
,
which
she
is
equally
determined
not
to
deserve
.
"
I
do
not
think
I
am
;
I
am
only
well-bred
now
and
then
,
when
it
suits
me
;
I
am
not
going
to
be
well-bred
to-night
.
"
"
I
am
sorry
to
hear
it
.
"
"
Whether
they
are
friends
of
yours
or
not
,
I
do
not
like
them
.
"
"
I
do
not
think
that
that
matters
much
,
either
to
you
or
to
them
.
"
"
I
have
an
instinct
that
they
are
adventuresses
.
"
"
I
know
for
a
certainty
"
—
with
growing
warmth
—
"
that
they
are
nothing
of
the
kind
.
"
"
Then
why
do
not
they
go
out
anywhere
?
"
"
Because
they
do
not
choose
.
"
"
Because
no
one
asks
them
,
more
likely
!
Why
were
they
so
determined
not
to
be
introduced
to
me
?
"
"
How
can
I
tell
?
Perhaps
"
—
with
a
wrathful
laugh
—
"
they
did
not
like
your
looks
!
"
She
echoes
his
false
mirth
with
no
inferior
exasperation
.
"
Who
is
ill-bred
now
?
"
Her
tone
calls
him
back
to
a
sense
of
the
ungentleman-likeness
and
puerility
of
his
conduct
.
"
I
!
"
—
he
replies
contritely
—
"
undoubtedly
I
!
but
—
—
"
"
Do
not
apologize
,
"
interrupts
she
,
recovering
her
equanimity
with
that
ease
which
she
has
transmitted
to
her
son
;
"
I
like
you
for
standing
up
for
them
if
they
are
your
friends
;
and
I
hope
that
you
will
do
the
same
good
office
for
me
when
someone
sticks
pins
into
me
behind
my
back
;
but
come
now
,
let
us
be
rational
;
surely
we
may
talk
quietly
about
them
without
insulting
each
other
,
may
not
we
?
"
"
I
do
not
know
;
we
can
try
.
"
"
I
suppose
"
—
a
little
ironically
—
"
that
you
are
not
so
sensitive
about
them
but
that
you
can
bear
me
to
ask
a
few
perfectly
harmless
questions
?
"
He
writhes
.
"
Of
course
!
of
course
!
what
are
they
to
me
?
—
they
are
nothing
to
me
!
"
A
look
of
incredulity
,
which
she
perhaps
does
not
take
any
very
great
pains
to
conceal
,
spreads
over
her
face
.
"
Then
you
really
will
be
doing
me
a
great
service
if
you
tell
me
just
exactly
all
you
know
about
them
,
good
and
bad
.
"
"
All
I
know
about
them
,
"
replies
Jim
in
a
rapid
parrot-voice
,
as
if
he
were
rattling
over
some
disagreeable
lesson
—
"
is
that
they
were
extremely
kind
to
me
ten
years
ago
;
that
they
had
a
beautiful
place
in
Devonshire
,
and
were
universally
loved
and
respected
:
I
hear
that
they
have
let
their
place
;
so
no
doubt
they
are
not
so
much
loved
and
respected
as
they
were
;
and
now
you
know
as
much
about
the
matter
as
I
do
!
"
CHAPTER
XXII
.
"
Welcome
ever
smiles
;
and
Farewell
goes
out
sighing
.
"
This
last
clause
is
not
always
true
.
For
example
,
there
is
very
little
sighing
in
the
farewells
made
to
Mrs.
Byng
by
the
two
young
men
who
see
her
off
at
the
Florence
Railway
Station
.
And
Mrs.
Byng
herself
has
been
too
much
occupied
in
manœuvring
to
get
a
few
last
private
words
with
each
of
her
escort
to
have
much
time
for
sighing
either
.
She
would
have
been
wounded
if
her
old
friend
Jim
had
not
come
to
see
the
last
of
her
,
and
she
would
have
been
broken-hearted
if
her
son
had
not
paid
her
this
final
attention
;
and
yet
each
necessarily
destroys
the
tête-à-tête
she
is
burning
to
have
with
the
other
.
It
is
indelicate
to
implore
your
adored
child
not
to
go
to
the
devil
in
the
presence
of
an
intimate
friend
,
and
it
would
give
a
not
unnatural
umbrage
to
that
child
if
you
urged
the
guardian
friend
to
check
his
downward
tendency
while
he
himself
is
standing
by
.
Nor
do
her
two
companions
at
all
aid
her
in
her
strategy
;
rather
,
they
show
a
tendency
to
unite
in
baffling
her
,
hanging
together
round
her
like
a
bodyguard
,
and
effectually
hindering
the
last
words
which
she
is
pining
to
administer
.
Only
once
for
a
very
few
minutes
does
she
succeed
in
outwitting
them
,
when
she
despatches
Willy
to
the
bookstall
to
buy
papers
for
her
—
an
errand
from
which
he
returns
with
an
exasperating
celerity
.
The
instant
that
his
back
is
turned
,
Mrs.
Byng
addresses
her
companion
in
an
eager
voice
of
hurry
and
prayer
:
"
You
will
keep
an
eye
upon
him
?
"
Silence
.
"
You
will
keep
an
eye
upon
him
—
promise
?
"
"
I
do
not
know
what
'
keeping
an
eye
upon
him
'
means
in
your
vocabulary
;
often
you
and
I
do
not
use
the
same
dictionary
;
until
I
know
,
I
will
not
promise
.
"
"
You
will
look
after
him
;
do
,
Jim
!
"
"
My
dear
madam
"
—
with
irritation
—
"
let
me
go
and
buy
your
papers
;
and
meanwhile
urge
him
to
look
after
me
;
I
assure
you
that
it
is
quite
as
necessary
.
"
"
Fiddlesticks
,
with
your
unimaginative
,
unemotional
nature
—
—
"
"
H
'm
!
"
"
Your
head
will
always
take
care
of
your
heart
.
"
"
Will
it
?
"
"
While
he
—
promise
me
at
least
that
,
if
you
see
him
rushing
to
his
ruin
,
you
will
telegraph
to
me
?
"
"
Certainly
,
if
you
wish
it
;
I
will
telegraph
,
'
Willy
rushing
Ruin
.
'
At
five-and-twenty
centimes
a
word
,
it
will
cost
you
sevenpence
halfpenny
;
not
dear
at
the
price
,
is
it
?
"
The
mother
reddens
.
"
You
have
become
a
very
mauvais
plaisant
of
late
,
Jim
;
oh
dear
me
!
here
he
is
back
again
,
tiresome
boy
!
"
It
is
with
feelings
tied
into
a
knot
of
complications
,
which
he
scarcely
seeks
to
unravel
,
that
Burgoyne
walks
away
from
the
station
,
and
from
the
good-natured
staunch
woman
,
whose
last
few
moments
in
fair
Firenze
he
has
done
his
best
to
embitter
.
He
is
glad
that
she
is
gone
,
and
he
is
sorry
that
she
is
gone
.
He
is
remorseful
at
his
gladness
,
and
he
is
ashamed
of
his
sorrow
,
knowing
and
acknowledging
that
it
results
from
no
regret
for
her
companionship
,
which
he
had
been
wont
to
prize
;
but
to
the
consciousness
that
she
had
stood
like
an
angel
with
a
drawn
sword
between
her
son
and
the
Piazza
d'Azeglio
.
Both
angel
and
drawn
sword
are
steaming
away
now
,
covered
by
a
handsome
travelling
cloak
down
to
the
heels
in
a
coupé
toilette
,
and
the
road
to
the
Piazza
lies
naked
and
undefended
,
open
to
the
light
feet
that
are
so
buoyantly
treading
the
flags
beside
him
.
The
step
of
youth
is
always
light
,
but
there
is
something
aggressively
springy
in
Byng
's
this
morning
;
and
though
he
does
not
say
anything
offensively
cheerful
,
there
is
a
ring
in
his
voice
that
makes
his
kind
friend
long
to
hit
him
.
He
,
the
kind
friend
,
is
thankful
when
their
ways
part
,
without
his
having
done
him
any
bodily
violence
.
"
You
are
late
to-day
,
"
says
Cecilia
,
as
he
enters
the
salon
,
giving
him
a
nod
of
indifferent
friendliness
,
while
Sybilla
crossly
asks
him
to
shut
the
door
more
quietly
,
and
Amelia
lays
her
hand
lingeringly
in
his
,
with
a
silent
smile
of
rapture
;
"
we
began
to
think
you
had
had
a
relapse
.
I
was
just
telling
Amelia
that
the
pace
had
been
too
good
to
last
—
ha
,
ha
!
"
Burgoyne
has
always
found
it
difficult
to
laugh
at
Cecilia
's
jokes
,
and
his
now
perfect
intimacy
with
her
relieves
him
from
the
necessity
of
even
feigning
to
do
so
.
"
I
have
been
seeing
Mrs.
Byng
off
,
"
he
replies
,
with
that
slight
shade
of
awkwardness
in
his
tone
which
has
accompanied
his
every
mention
of
the
mother
or
son
since
his
explanation
with
his
betrothed
.
"
You
let
her
go
without
getting
that
wedding
present
out
of
her
,
after
all
?
"
cries
Cecilia
,
who
is
in
a
rather
tryingly
playful
mood
.
"
Gone
,
is
she
?
"
says
Sybilla
,
with
a
somewhat
ostentatious
sigh
of
resentful
relief
;
"
well
,
I
,
for
one
,
shall
not
cry
.
I
am
afraid
that
she
was
not
very
simpatica
to
me
;
she
was
so
dreadfully
robust
.
Perhaps
,
now
that
she
is
no
longer
here
to
monopolise
him
,
we
shall
be
allowed
to
see
something
more
of
that
nice
boy
.
"
No
one
answers
.
Not
one
of
her
three
listeners
is
at
the
moment
disposed
to
chant
or
even
echo
praises
of
the
"
nice
boy
.
"
Sybilla
perversely
pursues
the
subject
.
"
I
dare
say
that
he
has
a
delicacy
about
coming
without
a
special
invitation
,
"
she
says
,
"
where
there
is
an
invalid
;
but
you
might
tell
him
that
on
my
good
days
no
one
is
more
pleased
to
see
their
friends
than
I
;
it
does
not
even
send
my
temperature
up
;
you
might
tell
him
that
on
my
good
days
Dr.
Coldstream
says
it
does
not
even
send
my
temperature
up
!
"
Again
no
one
answers
.
"
You
do
not
seem
to
be
listening
to
what
I
am
saying
,
"
cries
Sybilla
fractiously
;
"
will
you
please
tell
him
,
Jim
?
"
Jim
lifts
his
heavy
eyes
from
the
ugly
carpet
on
which
they
have
been
resting
,
and
looks
distastefully
back
at
her
.
"
I
do
not
think
that
I
will
,
Sybilla
,
"
he
replies
slowly
;
"
I
do
not
think
he
cares
a
straw
whether
your
temperature
goes
up
or
down
.
I
think
that
he
does
not
come
here
because
—
because
he
has
found
metal
more
attractive
elsewhere
.
"
He
makes
this
statement
for
no
other
reason
than
because
it
is
so
intensely
unpleasant
to
him
,
because
he
realizes
that
he
must
have
to
face
the
fact
it
embodies
,
and
to
present
it
not
only
to
himself
,
but
to
others
.
And
each
day
that
passes
proves
to
him
more
and
more
conclusively
that
it
is
a
fact
.
He
asks
Byng
no
question
as
to
the
disposition
of
his
day
.
He
sees
but
little
of
him
,
having
,
indeed
,
changed
the
hours
of
his
own
breakfast
and
dinner
in
order
to
avoid
having
his
appetite
spoilt
by
the
sight
of
so
much
unnecessary
radiance
opposite
him
;
but
he
knocks
up
against
him
,
flower-laden
,
at
the
Strozzi
steps
;
he
notes
the
splendour
of
his
ties
and
waistcoats
;
he
grows
to
know
the
Elizabeth-look
on
his
face
,
when
he
comes
singing
home
at
evening
,
as
one
knows
the
look
of
the
western
clouds
that
the
sun
's
red
lips
have
only
just
ceased
to
kiss
,
though
no
sun
is
any
longer
in
sight
;
and
yet
he
does
not
interfere
.
He
has
received
from
the
young
man
's
mother
a
hasty
letter
,
pencilled
in
the
train
,
not
an
hour
after
she
had
quitted
him
;
another
more
leisurely
,
yet
as
anxious
,
from
Turin
;
a
third
from
Paris
,
and
lastly
a
telegram
from
Charing
Cross
.
All
bear
the
same
purport
.
"
Write
;
keep
an
eye
upon
him
!
"
"
Write
;
keep
an
eye
upon
him
!
Write
!
"
And
yet
,
though
a
full
week
has
passed
,
though
he
sees
the
son
of
his
old
ally
drifting
,
faster
than
ever
autumn
leaf
drifted
on
a
flush
October
river
,
to
the
whirlpool
she
had
dreaded
for
him
,
yet
he
sends
her
never
a
word
.
He
writes
her
long
letters
,
it
is
true
,
covers
telegram-forms
with
pregnant
messages
,
but
they
all
find
their
ultimate
home
in
the
wood
fire
.
When
the
moment
comes
,
he
finds
it
impossible
to
send
them
,
since
,
upon
searching
his
heart
for
the
motives
that
have
dictated
them
,
he
finds
those
motives
to
be
no
fidelity
to
an
ancient
friendship
,
no
care
for
the
boy
's
welfare
,
but
,
simply
and
nakedly
,
the
satisfaction
of
his
own
spite
,
the
easing
of
his
own
bitter
jealousy
.
So
the
Florentine
post
goes
out
daily
,
bearing
no
tale
of
Byng
's
backslidings
to
his
native
land
,
and
Jim
,
brushing
past
him
,
answering
him
curtly
,
never
going
nearer
to
the
Piazza
d'Azeglio
than
the
Innocenti
—
a
good
long
street
off
—
devotes
himself
to
the
frantic
prosecution
of
a
suit
long
since
won
,
to
the
conquest
of
a
heart
for
eight
weary
years
hopelessly
,
irrecoverably
,
pitiably
his
.
His
presence
at
the
Anglo-Américain
is
so
incessant
,
and
his
monopolizing
of
Amelia
so
unreasonable
,
that
Sybilla
—
for
the
first
time
in
her
life
really
a
little
neglected
—
alternately
runs
up
her
pulse
to
170
and
drops
it
to
40.
"
And
then
you
wonder
that
I
am
anxious
to
be
married
,
"
says
Cecilia
,
accompanying
her
future
brother-in-law
to
the
door
,
on
the
day
on
which
the
latter
phenomenon
has
occurred
,
and
wiping
the
angry
tears
from
her
plump
cheeks
.
"
I
make
no
secret
of
it
,
I
am
madly
anxious
,
I
would
marry
anyone
,
I
am
desperate
.
Just
think
what
my
life
will
be
when
Amelia
is
gone
;
and
though
of
course
I
shall
be
a
great
deal
with
her
—
she
has
promised
that
I
shall
be
almost
always
with
her
"
(
Jim
winces
)
—
"
yet
of
course
it
ca
n't
be
the
same
thing
as
having
a
home
of
your
own
.
"
"
We
will
do
our
best
for
you
,
"
replies
he
,
with
a
rather
rueful
smile
and
a
sense
of
degradation
;
"
but
you
know
,
my
dear
Cis
,
anybody
can
lead
a
horse
to
the
water
,
but
it
is
not
so
easy
to
make
him
drink
.
"
"
That
is
quite
true
,
"
replies
Cecilia
,
one
of
whose
most
salient
merits
is
an
extreme
unreadiness
to
be
affronted
,
wiping
her
eyes
as
she
speaks
,
"
and
I
have
no
luck
;
such
promising
things
turn
up
,
and
then
come
to
nothing
.
Now
,
that
clergyman
the
other
day
,
whom
we
met
at
the
Villa
Careggi
—
such
a
pleasant
gentlemanlike
man
—
he
was
on
the
look-out
for
a
wife
,
he
told
me
so
himself
,
and
I
know
so
much
about
the
working
of
a
parish
,
and
next
day
he
was
off
,
Heaven
knows
where
!
"
Jim
gives
a
slight
shudder
.
"
I
do
not
think
you
had
any
great
loss
in
him
,
"
he
says
hastily
;
then
,
seeing
her
surprised
air
,
"
I
mean
,
you
know
,
that
it
is
always
said
that
a
man
is
a
better
judge
of
another
man
than
a
woman
is
,
and
I
did
not
like
his
looks
;
give
us
time
,
and
we
will
do
better
for
you
than
that
.
"
Cecilia
can
no
longer
accuse
her
future
relation
of
any
slackness
in
the
matter
of
expeditions
.
There
is
something
of
fever
in
the
way
in
which
he
arrives
each
morning
,
armed
with
some
new
plan
for
the
day
,
giving
no
one
any
peace
until
his
project
is
carried
out
.
It
seems
as
if
he
must
crowd
into
the
last
fortnight
of
Amelia
's
stay
in
Florence
all
the
sight-seeing
,
all
the
junkets
,
all
the
enjoyment
which
ought
to
have
been
temperately
spread
over
the
eight
years
of
their
engagement
.
One
day
—
all
nearer
excursions
being
exhausted
—
they
drive
to
Monte
Senario
,
that
sweet
and
silent
spot
,
happily
too
far
from
Florence
for
the
swarm
of
tourists
to
invade
,
where
earth-weary
men
have
set
up
a
rest
scarcely
less
dumb
than
the
grave
in
a
lonely
monastery
of
the
Order
of
La
Trappe
.
Through
the
Porta
San
Gallo
,
along
the
Bologna
Road
they
go
.
It
is
a
soft
summer
morning
,
with
not
much
sun
.
Up
,
past
the
villas
and
gardens
,
where
the
Banksia
roses
and
wistarias
are
rioting
over
wall
,
and
berceau
and
pergola
,
climbing
even
the
tall
trees
.
Round
the
very
head
of
one
young
poplar
two
rose-trees
—
a
yellow
and
a
white
one
—
are
flinging
their
arms
;
flowered
so
lavishly
that
hardly
a
pin
's
point
could
be
put
between
the
blossoms
.
Up
and
up
,
a
white
wall
on
either
hand
.
The
dust
lies
a
foot
thick
on
the
road
;
thick
too
on
the
monthly
roses
,
just
breaking
into
full
pink
flush
;
thick
on
themselves
as
the
endless
mulecarts
come
jingling
down
the
hill
with
bells
and
red
tassels
,
and
a
general
air
of
what
would
be
jollity
were
not
that
feeling
so
given
the
lie
to
by
the
poor
jaded
,
suffering
beasts
.
Up
and
up
,
till
they
leave
stone
walls
and
villas
and
oliveyards
behind
them
,
and
are
away
among
the
mountains
.
At
a
very
humble
little
house
that
has
no
air
of
an
inn
they
leave
the
carriage
,
and
climb
up
a
rocky
road
,
and
through
a
perfumed
pine-wood
,
to
where
the
Trappist
Monastery
stands
,
in
its
perfect
silence
and
isolation
,
on
its
hilltop
,
looking
over
its
fir-woods
at
the
ranges
of
the
Apennines
,
lying
one
behind
the
other
in
the
stillness
of
the
summer-day
;
looking
to
distant
Florence
,
misty
and
indistinct
in
her
Arno
plain
;
looking
to
Fiesole
,
dwarfed
to
a
molehill
's
dimensions
.
"
I
am
told
that
one
of
the
brothers
is
an
Englishman
;
I
did
not
hear
his
name
,
but
he
is
certainly
English
,
"
says
Cecilia
,
as
they
mount
the
shallow
,
grass-grown
steps
to
the
monastery
door
.
"
If
I
send
up
word
that
I
am
a
fellow-countrywoman
,
perhaps
he
will
come
out
and
speak
to
me
;
I
am
sure
that
it
would
be
a
very
nice
change
for
him
,
poor
fellow
!
"
And
it
is
the
measure
of
the
amount
of
Cecilia
's
acquaintance
with
the
rules
of
the
Order
,
that
it
is
only
half
in
jest
that
she
makes
the
suggestion
.
But
she
does
not
repeat
it
to
the
lay-brother
who
stands
,
civil
yet
prohibitory
,
at
the
top
of
the
flight
,
and
who
,
in
answer
to
Burgoyne
's
halting
questions
as
to
where
they
may
go
,
politely
answers
that
they
may
go
anywhere
—
anywhere
,
bien
entendu
,
outside
.
So
they
wander
aimlessly
away
.
They
push
open
a
rickety
gate
,
and
passing
an
old
dog
,
barking
angry
remonstrances
at
them
from
the
retirement
of
a
barrel
,
step
along
a
grassy
path
that
leads
they
know
not
whither
.
Two
more
young
lay-brothers
meet
them
,
with
their
hands
full
of
leopard's-bane
flowers
,
which
they
have
been
gathering
,
probably
to
deck
their
altar
with
.
Amelia
has
passed
her
hand
through
Jim
's
arm
—
since
his
late
increased
kindness
to
her
she
has
been
led
to
many
more
little
freedoms
with
him
than
she
had
hitherto
permitted
herself
—
and
though
she
is
very
careful
not
to
lean
heavily
or
troublesomely
upon
him
,
yet
the
slight
contact
of
her
fingers
keeps
him
reminded
that
she
is
there
.
Perhaps
it
is
as
well
,
since
to-day
he
is
conscious
of
such
a
strange
tendency
to
forget
everything
,
past
,
present
,
and
to
come
.
Has
one
of
the
monks
'
numb
hands
been
laid
upon
his
heart
to
lull
it
into
so
frozen
a
quiet
?
To-day
he
feels
as
if
it
were
absolutely
impossible
to
him
to
experience
either
pleasure
or
pain
;
as
if
to
hold
Elizabeth
in
his
own
arms
,
or
see
her
in
Byng
's
,
would
be
to
him
equally
indifferent
.
His
apathy
in
this
latter
respect
is
to
be
put
to
the
test
sooner
than
he
expects
.
Not
indeed
that
Elizabeth
is
lying
in
Byng
's
arms
—
it
would
be
a
gross
misrepresentation
to
say
so
,
she
being
,
on
the
contrary
,
most
decorously
poised
on
a
camp-stool
—
least
romantic
of
human
resting
places
—
when
they
come
suddenly
upon
her
and
him
in
the
course
of
their
prowl
round
the
inhospitable
walls
.
She
is
sitting
on
her
camp-stool
,
and
he
is
lying
on
his
face
in
the
grass
,
just
not
touching
her
slim
feet
.
The
advancing
party
perceive
the
couple
advanced
upon
before
the
latter
are
aware
of
their
nearness
;
long
enough
for
the
former
to
realize
how
very
much
de
trop
they
will
be
,
yet
not
long
enough
to
enable
them
to
escape
unnoticed
.
Jim
becomes
aware
of
the
very
second
at
which
Amelia
recognises
the
unconscious
pair
,
by
an
involuntary
pinch
of
her
fingers
upon
his
arm
,
which
a
moment
later
she
hastily
drops
.
His
own
first
feeling
on
catching
sight
of
them
—
no
,
not
his
very
first
—
his
very
first
is
as
if
someone
had
run
a
darning-needle
into
his
heart
—
but
almost
his
first
is
to
shout
out
to
them
in
loud
warning
:
"
Be
on
your
guard
!
we
are
close
to
you
!
"
He
will
never
forgive
either
himself
or
them
if
they
ignorantly
indulge
in
any
endearment
under
his
very
eyes
.
But
they
do
not
.
There
are
no
interlacing
arms
to
disentwine
,
nothing
to
make
them
spring
apart
,
when
at
length
they
look
up
and
take
in
the
fact
—
an
unwelcome
fact
it
must
needs
be
—
of
their
invasion
.
On
hearing
approaching
footsteps
,
Byng
rolls
over
on
his
back
in
the
grass
;
on
perceiving
that
most
of
the
footsteps
are
those
of
ladies
,
he
springs
to
his
feet
.
Elizabeth
remains
sitting
on
her
camp-stool
.
"
What
a
coincidence
!
"
cries
Cecilia
,
breaking
into
a
laugh
.
They
are
all
grateful
to
her
for
the
remark
,
though
it
is
rather
a
silly
one
,
as
there
is
no
particular
coincidence
in
the
case
.
Burgoyne
is
irritatedly
conscious
that
Amelia
is
covertly
observing
him
,
and
before
he
can
check
himself
he
has
thrown
over
his
shoulder
at
her
one
of
those
snubbing
glances
from
which
,
for
the
last
ten
days
,
he
has
painstakenly
and
remorsefully
refrained
.
It
is
not
a
happy
moment
to
look
at
poor
Amelia
,
as
she
has
not
yet
cooled
down
from
the
heat
of
her
climb
through
the
fir-wood
—
a
heat
that
translates
itself
into
patchy
flushes
all
over
her
face
,
not
sparing
even
her
forehead
.
Elizabeth
is
flushed
too
.
She
has
not
met
Miss
Wilson
since
she
had
declined
Burgoyne
's
offer
of
bringing
his
betrothed
to
see
her
,
and
in
her
deprecating
eyes
there
is
a
guilty
and
tremulous
recollection
of
this
fact
.
But
below
the
guilt
and
the
deprecation
and
the
tremor
,
what
else
is
there
in
Elizabeth
's
eyes
?
What
of
splendid
and
startling
,
and
that
comes
but
once
in
a
lifetime
?
Rather
than
be
obliged
to
give
a
name
to
that
vague
radiance
,
Jim
turns
his
look
back
upon
his
own
too
glowing
dear
one
.
"
Did
you
come
here
all
alone
?
You
two
all
alone
?
What
fun
!
"
asks
Cecilia
,
with
an
air
of
delighted
curiosity
.
Again
her
companions
inwardly
thank
her
.
It
is
the
question
that
both
—
though
with
different
degrees
of
eagerness
—
have
been
thirsting
to
ask
.
"
Alone
?
—
oh
no
!
"
replies
Elizabeth
,
with
that
uneasy
,
frightened
look
that
Burgoyne
has
always
noticed
on
her
face
when
she
has
been
brought
into
unwilling
relation
with
strangers
.
"
My
mother
is
here
—
she
came
with
us
;
why
,
where
is
she
?
"
—
looking
round
with
a
startled
air
—
"
she
was
here
a
moment
ago
.
"
A
grim
smile
curves
Jim
's
mouth
.
It
is
evident
that
the
unhappy
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
,
worn
out
with
her
rôle
of
duenna
,
has
slipped
away
without
being
missed
by
either
of
her
companions
.
Would
they
have
even
discovered
her
absence
but
for
Cecilia
's
query
?
"
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
was
here
a
moment
ago
,
"
echoes
Byng
,
addressing
the
company
generally
;
"
but
"
—
dodging
his
friend
's
eyes
—
"
she
said
she
was
a
little
stiff
from
sitting
so
long
;
she
must
be
quite
close
by
.
"
"
I
will
go
and
look
for
her
,
"
says
Elizabeth
,
confused
,
and
rising
from
her
rickety
seat
as
she
speaks
;
but
Amelia
,
who
is
nearest
to
her
,
puts
out
a
friendly
hand
in
prohibition
.
"
Oh
,
do
not
stir
!
"
she
cries
,
smiling
kindly
and
admiringly
.
"
You
look
so
comfortable
.
Let
me
go
and
search
for
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
;
I
—
I
—
should
be
afraid
to
sit
down
,
I
am
so
hot
.
I
should
like
to
find
her
;
Cecilia
will
help
me
,
and
Mr.
Byng
will
show
us
the
way
.
"
It
is
not
always
that
generous
actions
meet
their
meed
of
gratitude
from
those
for
whose
sake
they
are
performed
;
and
,
though
Burgoyne
recognises
the
magnanimity
of
his
fiancée
's
line
of
conduct
,
thankfulness
to
her
for
it
is
not
the
feeling
uppermost
in
his
mind
when
,
a
few
moments
later
,
he
finds
himself
standing
in
uneasy
tête-à-tête
over
the
seated
Elizabeth
.
"
Will
not
you
sit
down
?
"
she
asks
presently
,
adding
,
with
a
low
,
timid
laugh
,
"
I
do
not
know
why
I
should
invite
you
,
as
if
"
—
glancing
round
at
the
sun-steeped
panorama
—
"
this
were
my
drawing-room
.
"
He
complies
,
taking
care
to
occupy
a
quite
different
six
feet
of
herbage
from
that
which
still
bears
the
imprint
of
Byng
's
lengthy
limbs
.
The
grass
grows
cool
and
fresh
,
full
of
buttercups
and
tall
blue
bugle
;
out
of
them
the
gray
monastery
wall
rises
,
in
its
utter
lifeless
silence
,
with
its
small
barred
windows
.
Was
ever
any
building
,
within
which
is
human
life
,
so
unutterably
still
?
As
he
leans
his
elbow
among
the
king-cups
,
Jim
says
to
himself
that
the
lovers
had
chosen
their
place
well
and
wisely
—
that
the
consciousness
of
the
austere
,
denied
lives
going
on
so
close
behind
them
,
in
their
entire
joylessness
,
must
have
given
an
added
point
,
a
keener
edge
to
the
poignancy
of
their
own
enjoyment
of
the
sweet
summer
day
outside
.
"
You
have
not
been
to
see
us
for
a
long
time
,
"
says
Elizabeth
presently
,
in
a
small
and
diffident
voice
,
after
having
waited
until
the
probability
of
his
speaking
first
has
become
a
mere
possibility
,
and
even
that
a
faint
one
.
He
replies
baldly
,
"
No.
"
His
look
is
fixed
on
a
knoll
,
whence
the
monks
must
have
gathered
their
leopard
's
bane
.
They
cannot
have
gathered
much
,
so
bounteously
do
the
gay
yellow
flowers
still
wave
on
the
hillock
.
Nearer
stands
a
colony
of
purple
orchises
,
and
from
them
the
eye
travels
away
to
the
silent
fir-wood
,
to
the
range
of
misty
hills
and
the
distant
plain
,
touched
now
and
again
by
a
vague
hint
of
sunshine
,
that
makes
one
for
the
moment
feel
sure
that
one
has
detected
Duomo
or
Campanile
.
How
many
hill
ranges
there
are
!
One
can
count
six
or
seven
,
like
the
ridges
in
a
gigantic
ploughed
field
,
one
behind
another
—
all
solemnly
beautiful
on
this
windless
day
of
grave
and
ungaudy
sweetness
.
Has
the
young
man
been
reckoning
the
ranks
of
the
Apennines
,
that
it
is
so
long
before
he
adds
a
low-voiced
,
mocking
question
to
his
monosyllable
?
"
Have
you
missed
me
very
much
?
"
The
woman
addressed
seems
in
no
hurry
to
answer
.
She
has
drawn
her
narrow
brown
brows
together
,
as
if
in
the
effort
to
hit
truth
in
her
nicest
shade
in
her
answer
.
Then
she
speaks
with
a
sort
of
soft
self-remonstrance
:
"
Oh
,
surely
!
I
must
have
missed
you
—
you
were
so
extraordinarily
,
so
unaccountably
kind
to
us
!
"
There
is
not
one
of
us
who
would
not
rather
be
loved
for
what
we
are
than
for
what
we
do
;
so
it
is
perhaps
no
wonder
if
the
young
woman
's
reply
strikes
with
an
unreasonable
chill
upon
the
asker
's
heart
.
"
You
must
have
been
very
little
used
to
kindness
all
your
life
,
"
he
says
,
with
some
brusqueness
,
"
to
be
so
disproportionately
grateful
for
my
trumpery
civilities
.
"
She
hesitates
a
moment
,
then
:
"
You
are
right
,
"
she
replies
;
"
I
have
not
received
any
great
kindness
in
my
life
—
justice
,
well
,
yes
,
I
suppose
so
—
but
no
,
not
very
much
mercy
.
"
Her
candid
and
composed
admission
of
a
need
for
mercy
whets
yet
farther
that
pained
curiosity
which
has
always
been
one
of
the
strongest
elements
in
his
uncomfortable
interest
in
her
.
But
the
very
sharpness
of
that
interest
makes
him
shy
away
awkwardly
from
the
subject
of
her
past
.
"
I
always
think
,
"
he
says
,
"
that
there
is
something
fatuous
in
a
man
's
apologizing
to
a
lady
for
not
having
been
to
see
her
,
as
if
the
loss
were
hers
,
and
not
his
.
"
"
Is
there
?
All
the
same
,
I
am
sorry
that
you
did
not
come
.
"
This
simple
and
unsophisticated
implication
of
a
liking
for
him
would
have
warmed
again
the
uneasy
heart
that
her
former
speech
had
chilled
had
not
he
,
under
the
superficial
though
genuine
regret
of
her
face
,
seen
,
still
shining
with
steady
lustre
,
that
radiance
which
has
as
little
been
called
forth
by
,
as
it
can
be
dimmed
by
him
or
anything
relating
to
him
.
And
so
he
passes
by
in
silence
the
expression
of
that
sorrow
which
he
bitterly
knows
to
be
so
supportable
.
The
still
spirit
of
the
day
seems
to
have
touched
the
very
birds
.
They
sing
a
few
low
notes
in
veiled
,
chastened
voices
from
the
fir-wood
,
and
again
are
silent
.
The
clock
tells
the
hours
in
quarters
to
the
doomed
lives
inside
the
monastery
,
self-doomed
to
suffering
and
penance
and
incarceration
,
even
with
the
winning
blue
of
the
Tuscan
sky
above
their
tonsured
heads
,
with
the
forget-me-nots
pressing
their
feet
,
and
the
nightingales
singing
endless
love-songs
to
them
from
the
little
dark
forest
nigh
at
hand
.
"
I
suppose
,
"
says
Elizabeth
presently
,
in
a
reflective
tone
,
"
that
the
fact
is
,
when
people
are
in
your
position
—
I
mean
on
the
brink
of
a
great
deep
happiness
—
they
forget
all
lesser
things
?
"
He
snatches
a
hasty
glance
of
suspicion
at
her
.
Is
this
her
revenge
for
his
neglect
of
her
?
But
nothing
can
look
more
innocent
or
less
ironical
than
her
small
profile
,
bent
towards
the
gigantic
forget-me-nots
and
the
pulmonaria
,
azure
as
gentians
.
"
Perhaps
.
"
"
The
big
fish
"
—
her
little
face
breaking
into
one
of
her
lovely
smiles
,
which
,
by
a
turn
of
her
head
from
side
to
full
,
she
offers
in
its
completeness
to
his
gaze
—
"
swallows
up
all
the
little
gudgeons
!
Poor
little
gudgeons
.
"
"
Poor
little
gudgeons
!
"
he
echoes
stupidly
,
and
then
begins
to
laugh
at
his
own
wool-gathering
.
"
And
now
I
suppose
you
will
be
going
directly
—
going
home
?
"
pursues
she
,
looking
at
him
and
his
laughter
with
a
soft
surprise
.
"
I
hope
so
;
and
—
and
—
you
too
?
"
She
gives
a
start
,
and
the
sky-coloured
nosegay
in
her
hand
drops
into
her
lap
.
"
We
—
we
?
Why
should
we
go
home
?
We
have
nothing
pleasant
to
go
to
,
and
"
—
looking
round
with
a
passionate
relish
at
mountain
,
and
suffused
far
plain
,
and
sappy
spring
grass
—
"
we
are
so
well
—
so
infinitely
well
here
!
"
Then
,
pulling
herself
together
,
and
speaking
in
a
more
composed
key
,
"
But
yes
,
of
course
we
,
too
,
shall
go
by-and-by
;
this
cannot
last
for
ever
—
nothing
lasts
for
ever
.
That
is
the
one
thought
that
has
kept
me
alive
all
these
years
;
but
now
—
—
"
She
breaks
off
.
"
But
now
?
"
Even
as
he
watches
her
,
putting
this
echoed
interrogation
,
he
sees
the
radiance
breaking
through
the
cloud
his
question
had
gathered
,
as
a
very
strong
sun
breaks
through
a
very
translucent
exhalation
.
"
But
now
?
"
she
repeats
vaguely
,
and
smiling
to
herself
,
forgetful
of
his
very
presence
beside
her
—
"
But
now
?
Did
I
say
'
But
now
?
'
Ah
,
here
they
are
back
again
!
"
CHAPTER
XXIII
.
"
I
am
going
to
turn
the
tables
on
you
,
"
says
Amelia
next
morning
to
her
lover
,
after
the
usual
endearments
,
which
of
late
he
has
been
conscientiously
anxious
not
to
scant
or
slur
,
have
passed
between
them
,
very
fairly
executed
by
him
,
and
adoringly
accepted
and
returned
by
her
;
"
you
are
always
arranging
treats
for
me
;
now
I
have
planned
one
for
you
!
"
She
looks
so
beaming
with
benevolent
joy
as
she
makes
this
statement
,
that
Jim
stoops
and
drops
an
extra
kiss
—
not
in
the
bond
—
upon
her
lifted
face
.
"
Indeed
,
dear
!
"
he
answers
kindly
,
"
I
do
not
quite
know
what
I
have
done
to
deserve
it
;
but
I
hope
it
is
a
nice
one
.
"
"
It
is
very
nice
—
delightful
.
"
"
Delightful
,
eh
?
"
echoes
he
,
raising
his
brows
,
while
a
transient
wonder
crosses
his
mind
as
to
what
project
she
or
anyone
else
could
suggest
to
him
that
,
at
this
juncture
of
his
affairs
,
could
merit
that
epithet
;
"
well
,
am
I
to
guess
what
it
is
?
or
are
you
going
to
tell
me
?
"
Amelia
's
face
still
wears
that
smile
of
complacent
confidence
in
having
something
pleasant
to
communicate
which
has
puzzled
her
companion
.
"
We
have
never
been
at
Vallombrosa
,
have
we
?
"
asks
she
.
"
Never
.
"
"
Well
,
we
are
going
there
to-morrow
.
"
"
Are
we
?
is
that
your
treat
?
"
inquires
he
,
wondering
what
of
peculiarly
and
distinctively
festal
for
him
this
expedition
may
be
supposed
to
have
above
all
their
former
ones
.
"
And
we
are
not
going
alone
.
"
"
There
is
nothing
very
exceptional
in
that
;
Cecilia
is
mostly
good
enough
to
lend
us
her
company
.
"
"
I
am
not
thinking
of
Cecilia
;
I
have
persuaded
"
—
the
benevolent
smile
broadening
across
her
cheeks
—
"
I
have
persuaded
some
friends
of
yours
to
join
us
.
"
It
does
not
for
an
instant
cross
his
mind
either
to
doubt
or
to
affect
uncertainty
as
to
who
the
friends
of
whom
she
speaks
may
be
;
but
the
suggestion
is
so
profoundly
unwelcome
to
him
,
that
not
even
the
certainty
of
mortifying
the
unselfish
creature
before
him
can
hinder
him
from
showing
it
.
Her
countenance
falls
.
"
You
are
not
glad
?
"
she
asks
crestfallenly
,
"
you
are
not
pleased
?
"
It
is
impossible
for
him
to
say
that
he
is
,
and
all
that
is
left
to
him
is
to
put
his
vexation
into
words
that
may
be
as
little
as
possible
fraught
with
disappointment
to
his
poor
hearer
's
ear
.
"
I
—
I
—
had
rather
have
had
you
to
myself
.
"
"
Would
you
really
?
"
she
asks
,
in
the
almost
awed
tones
of
one
who
,
from
being
quite
destitute
,
has
had
the
Koh-i-Noor
put
into
his
hand
,
and
whose
fingers
are
afraid
to
close
over
the
mighty
jewel
;
"
would
you
really
?
then
I
am
sorry
I
asked
them
;
but
"
—
with
intense
wistfulness
—
"
if
you
only
knew
how
I
long
to
give
you
a
little
pleasure
,
a
little
enjoyment
—
you
who
have
given
me
so
infinitely
much
.
"
If
Miss
Wilson
were
ever
addicted
to
the
figure
of
speech
called
irony
,
she
might
be
supposed
to
be
employing
it
now
;
but
one
glance
at
her
simple
face
would
show
that
it
expressed
nothing
but
adoring
gratitude
.
Her
one
good
fortnight
has
spread
its
radiant
veil
backwards
over
her
eight
barren
years
.
He
takes
her
hand
,
and
passes
the
fingers
across
his
lips
,
murmuring
indistinctly
and
guiltily
behind
them
:
"
Do
I
really
make
you
happy
?
"
"
Do
you
?
"
—
echoes
she
,
while
the
transfiguring
tears
well
into
her
glorified
pale
eyes
—
"
I
should
not
have
thought
it
possible
that
so
much
joy
could
have
been
packed
into
any
fortnight
as
I
have
had
crammed
into
mine
!
"
They
have
to
set
off
to
Vallombrosa
at
seven
o'clock
in
the
morning
,
an
hour
at
which
few
of
us
are
at
our
cleverest
,
handsomest
,
or
our
best
tempered
;
nor
is
the
party
of
six
,
either
in
its
proportion
of
women
to
men
—
four
to
two
—
or
in
its
component
parts
,
a
very
well
adjusted
one
.
They
are
too
numerous
to
be
contained
in
one
carriage
,
and
are
therefore
divided
into
two
separate
bands
—
three
and
three
.
Whether
by
some
manœuvre
of
the
well-meaning
Amelia
,
or
by
some
scarcely
fortunate
accident
,
Burgoyne
finds
himself
seated
opposite
to
his
betrothed
and
to
Elizabeth
;
while
Byng
follows
in
the
second
vehicle
as
vis-à-vis
to
Cecilia
and
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
.
There
is
a
general
feeling
of
wrongness
about
the
whole
arrangement
—
a
sense
of
mental
discomfort
equivalent
to
that
physical
one
of
having
put
on
your
clothes
inside
out
,
or
buttoned
your
buttons
into
unanswering
buttonholes
.
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
's
face
,
as
Burgoyne
catches
sight
of
it
now
and
then
,
as
some
turn
in
the
road
reveals
the
inmates
of
the
closely-following
second
carriage
to
his
view
,
wears
that
uneasy
and
disquieted
look
which
always
disfigures
it
when
there
is
any
question
of
her
being
brought
into
personal
relation
with
strangers
.
And
Elizabeth
,
of
whom
he
has
naturally
a
much
nearer
and
more
continuous
view
,
is
plainly
ill-at-ease
.
Miss
Wilson
has
not
thought
it
necessary
to
mention
to
her
lover
how
strong
had
been
the
opposition
to
her
plan
on
the
part
of
the
objects
of
it
;
nor
,
that
it
was
only
because
her
proposal
was
made
vivâ
voce
,
and
therefore
unescapable
,
that
it
had
been
reluctantly
accepted
at
last
.
At
first
Burgoyne
had
attributed
Elizabeth
's
evident
ill-at-easeness
to
her
separation
from
Byng
;
but
he
presently
discovers
that
it
is
what
she
possesses
,
and
not
what
she
lacks
,
that
is
the
chief
source
of
her
malaise
.
During
the
latter
part
of
his
own
personal
intercourse
with
her
she
had
been
,
when
in
his
company
,
sometimes
sad
,
sometimes
wildly
merry
;
but
always
entirely
natural
.
Strange
as
it
may
seem
,
it
is
obviously
the
presence
of
Amelia
that
puts
constraint
upon
her
.
Before
the
spirit
of
that
most
unterrifying
of
God
's
creatures
,
Elizabeth
's
"
stands
rebuked
.
"
Once
or
twice
he
sees
her
inborn
gaiety
—
that
gaiety
whose
existence
he
has
so
often
noted
as
it
struggles
up
from
under
the
mysterious
weight
of
sorrow
laid
upon
it
—
spurt
into
life
,
only
to
be
instantly
killed
by
the
reassumption
of
that
nervous
formal
manner
which
not
all
Amelia
's
gentle
efforts
can
break
through
.
A
very
grave
trio
they
drive
along
through
the
grave
day
.
For
it
is
,
alas
!
a
grave
day
—
overcast
,
now
turning
to
rain
,
now
growing
fair
again
awhile
.
Not
a
grain
of
Italy
's
summer
curse
,
her
choking
white
dust
,
assails
their
nostrils
.
It
must
have
rained
all
night
.
Through
the
suburbs
by
the
river
,
crossing
and
recrossing
that
ugly
iron
interloper
the
railway
;
by
the
river
flowing
at
the
foot
of
the
fair
green
hills
,
so
green
,
so
green
on
this
day
of
ripe
accomplished
spring
.
The
whole
country
is
one
giant
green
garland
,
of
young
wheat
below
and
endless
vine
necklaces
above
—
necklaces
of
new
juicy
,
just-born
,
yet
vigorous
vine-leaves
.
The
very
river
runs
green
with
the
reflection
of
the
endless
verdure
on
its
banks
.
The
road
is
level
as
far
as
Pontassieve
,
the
town
through
which
they
roll
,
and
then
it
begins
to
mount
—
mounts
between
garden-like
hills
,
dressed
in
vine
leaves
and
iris-flowers
,
and
the
dull
fire
of
red
clover
;
while
the
stream
twists
in
flowing
companionship
at
the
valley
bottom
,
until
they
turn
abruptly
away
from
it
,
up
into
a
steep
and
narrow
valley
,
almost
a
gorge
,
and
climb
up
and
up
one
side
of
it
,
turning
and
winding
continually
to
break
the
steepness
of
the
ascent
.
However
broken
,
it
is
steep
still
.
But
who
would
wish
to
pass
at
more
than
a
foot
's
pace
through
this
great
sheet
of
lilac
irises
wrapping
the
mountain
side
,
past
this
bean-field
that
greets
the
nostrils
with
its
homely
familiar
perfume
,
along
this
wealthy
bit
of
hedge
,
framed
wholly
of
honeysuckle
in
flower
?
At
sight
of
the
latter
Elizabeth
gives
a
little
cry
.
"
Oh
,
what
honeysuckle
!
I
must
have
some
!
I
must
get
out
!
Tell
him
to
stop
!
"
In
a
moment
her
commands
are
obeyed
;
in
another
moment
Byng
has
sprung
out
of
the
second
carriage
and
is
standing
beside
her
.
The
door
of
Byng
's
vehicle
is
stiff
apparently
,
and
a
sardonic
smile
breaks
over
the
elder
man
's
face
as
he
hears
the
noise
of
the
resounding
kicks
administered
to
it
by
the
younger
one
's
impatient
foot
.
But
he
need
not
have
been
in
such
a
hurry
—
no
one
interferes
with
his
office
of
rifling
the
hedge
of
its
creamy
and
coral
bugles
.
Burgoyne
gets
out
of
the
carriage
;
but
it
is
only
to
walk
to
the
other
one
and
assume
Byng
's
vacated
seat
.
"
Are
you
going
to
change
places
?
"
Amelia
has
asked
rather
chapfallenly
as
he
leaves
her
;
and
he
has
given
her
hand
a
hasty
pressure
,
and
answered
affectionately
—
"
It
will
not
be
for
long
,
dear
;
but
you
know
"
—
with
an
expressive
glance
,
and
what
he
rather
too
sanguinely
hopes
looks
like
a
smile
in
the
direction
of
the
flower-gatherers
—
"
fair
play
is
a
jewel
!
"
If
his
departure
from
the
one
vehicle
is
deplored
,
it
is
not
welcomed
at
the
other
.
Cecilia
asks
the
same
question
as
her
sister
had
put
,
though
the
intonation
is
different
.
"
Are
you
going
to
change
places
?
"
—
adding
—
"
do
not
you
think
we
did
very
well
as
we
were
?
"
But
probably
he
is
too
much
occupied
in
wrestling
with
the
stiff
door
to
hear
her
,
for
he
makes
no
answer
beyond
getting
in
.
The
only
reward
that
he
receives
for
his
piece
of
self-sacrifice
is
a
rapturous
look
of
gratitude
from
Byng
,
when
he
perceives
the
changed
position
of
his
affairs
,
and
that
recompense
Jim
had
far
rather
have
been
without
.
They
are
off
again
.
Being
now
second
in
the
little
procession
,
Burgoyne
has
but
meagre
and
difficult
views
of
the
