Part 6 (2/2)
”We have come to pay you a visit, Aunt Octavia,” called a boyish voice; its owner was evidently mounting the stairs three at a time: now he was in the room. ”They're all down at the door--Freemantle and Gates and Beckett. And what do you think--we've got Griff!”
”Griff himself?” said Aunt Octavia, benevolently, as the lad, with a very pretty gallantry, bent to kiss her hand.
”Yes, Griff himself; you may be sure we're drawing like mad. Griff has come down from Paris for only three weeks, and he says he will go with us to Paestum, and all about here--to Amalfi, Ravello, and everywhere.
But of course Paestum's the stunner.”
”Yes, of course Paestum's the stunner,” repeated Aunt Octavia, as if trying it in Shakespearian tones.
”I say, may they come up?” Arthur went on.
They came up--three boys of seventeen and eighteen, and Griffith Carew, who was ten years older. These three youths, with Arthur Abercrombie, were studying architecture at the Beaux-Arts, Paris; this spring they had given to a tour in Italy for the purpose of making architectural drawings. Griffith Carew was also an architect, but a full-fledged one.
His indomitable perseverance and painstaking accuracy caused all the younger men to respect him; the American students went further; they were sure that Griff had only to ”let himself go,” and the United States would bloom from end to end with City Halls of beauty unparalleled. In the mean time Griff, while waiting for the City Halls perhaps, was so kind-hearted and jovial and unselfish that they all adored him for that too. It was a master-treat, therefore, to Arthur and his companions, to have their paragon to themselves for a while on this temple-haunted sh.o.r.e.
Griff sat down placidly, and began to talk to Aunt Octavia. He was of medium height, his figure heavy and strong; he had a dark complexion and thick features, lighted by pleasant brown eyes, and white teeth that gleamed when he smiled.
Aunt Octavia was gracious to Griff; she had always distinguished him from ”Arthur's horde.” This was not in the least because the horde considered him the architect of the future. Aunt Octavia did not care much about the future; her tests were those of the past. She had known Griff's mother, and the persons whose mothers Aunt Octavia had known--ah, that was a certificate!
II
In the meanwhile Pauline Graham had left Salerno behind her, and was flying over the plain with John Ash.
Pauline all her life had had a pa.s.sion for riding at breakneck speed; one of the explanations of her fancy for Ash lay in the fact that, having the same pa.s.sion himself, he enabled her to gratify her own.
Whenever she had felt in the mood during the past five weeks there had always been a horse and a mounted escort at her door. Upon this occasion, after what they called an inspiring ride (to any one else a series of mad gallops), they had dismounted at a farm-house, and leaving their horses, had strolled down to the sh.o.r.e. It was a lovely day, towards the last of March; the sea, of the soft misty blue of the southern Mediterranean, stretched out before them without a sail; at their feet the same clear water laved the sh.o.r.e in long smooth wavelets, hardly a foot high, whose gentle roll upon the sands had an indescribably caressing sound. There was no one in sight. It is a lonely coast. Pauline stood, gazing absently over the blue.
”Sit down for a moment,” suggested Ash.
”Not now.”
”Not now? When do you expect to be here again?”
She came back to the present, laughing. ”True; but I did not mean that; I meant that you were not the ideal companion for sea-side musing; you never meditate. I venture to say you have never quoted poetry in your life.”
”No; I live my poetry,” John Ash responded.
”But for a ride you are perfect; for a rush over the plain, in the teeth of the wind, I have never had any one approaching you. You are a cavalier of the G.o.ds.”
”Have you had many?”
”Cavaliers?--plenty. Of the G.o.ds?--no.”
”Plenty! I reckon you have,” said Ash, half to himself.
”Would you wish me to have had few? You must remember that I have been in many countries and have seen many peoples. I shouldn't have appreciated _you_ otherwise; I should have thought you dangerous--horrible!
There is Isabella, who has not been in many countries; Isabella is sure that you are 'so dissipated.'”
”Dissipated!--mild term!”
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