Part 64 (2/2)
”Ah--ha!” laughed Ashe. ”Some extravagance you want to keep to yourself, I'll be bound. I've a good mind to see!”
And he teasingly held it up above her head. But she gave a little jump, caught it, and ran off with it to her room.
”Much regret impossible stop publication. Fifty copies distributed already. Writing.”
She dropped speechless on the edge of her bed, the crumpled telegram in her hand. The minutes pa.s.sed.
”When will you be ready?” said Ashe, tapping at the door.
”Is the gondola there?”
”Waiting at the steps.”
”Five minutes!” Ashe departed. She rose, tore the telegram into little bits, and began with deliberation to put on her mantle and hat.
”You've got to go through with it,” she said to the white face in the gla.s.s, and she straightened her small shoulders defiantly.
They were bound for the Armenian convent. It was a misty day, with shafts of light on the lagoon. The storm had pa.s.sed, but the water was still rough, and the clouds seemed to be withdrawing their forces only to marshal them again with the darkness. A day of sudden bursts of watery light, of bands of purple distance struck into enchanting beauty by the red or orange of a sail, of a wild salt breath in air that seemed to be still suffused with spray. The Alps were hidden; but what sun there was played faintly on the Euganean hills.
”I say, Margaret, at last she does us some credit!” said Ashe, pointing to his wife.
Margaret started. Was it rouge?--or was it the strong air? Kitty's languor had entirely disappeared; she was more cheerful and more talkative than she had been at any time since their arrival. She chattered about the current scandals of Venice--the mysterious contessa who lived in the palace opposite their own, and only went out, in deep mourning, at night, because she had been the love of a Russian grand-duke, and the grand-duke was dead; of the Carlist pretender and his wife, who had been very popular in Venice until they took it into their heads to require royal honors, and Venice, taking time to think, had lazily decided the game was not worth the candle--so now the sulky pair went about alone in a fine gondola, turning gla.s.sy eyes on their former acquaintance; of the needy marchese who had sold a t.i.tian to the Louvre, and had then found himself boycotted by all his kinsfolk in Venice who were not needy and had no t.i.tians to sell--all these tales Kitty reeled out at length till the handsome gondoliers marvelled at the little lady's vivacity and the queer brightness of her eyes.
”Gracious, Kitty, where do you get all these stories from?” cried Ashe, when the chatter paused for a moment.
He looked at her with delight, rejoicing in her gayety, the slight touches of white which to-day for the first time relieved the sombreness of her dress, the return of her color. And Margaret wondered again how much of it was rouge.
At the Armenian convent a handsome young monk took charge of them. As George Sand and Lamennais had done before them, they looked at the printing-press, the garden, the cloister, the church; they marvelled lazily at the cleanliness and brightness of the place; and finally they climbed to the library and museum, and the room close by where Byron played at grammar-making. In this room Ashe fell suddenly into a political talk with the young monk, who was an ardent and patriotic son of the most unfortunate of nations, and they pa.s.sed out and down the stairs, followed by Margaret French, not noticing that Kitty had lingered behind.
Kitty stood idly by the window of Byron's room, thinking restlessly of verses that were not Byron's, though there was in them, clothed in forms of the new age, the spirit of Byronic pa.s.sion, and more than a touch of Byronic affectation--thinking also of the morning's telegram. Supposing Darrell's prophecy, which had seemed to her so absurd, came true, that the book did William harm, not good--that he ceased to love her--that he cast her off?...
... A plash of water outside, and a voice giving directions. From the lagoon towards Malamocco a gondola approached. A gentleman and lady were seated in it. The lady--a very handsome Italian, with a loud laugh and brilliant eyes--carried a scarlet parasol. Kitty gave a stifled cry as she drew back. She fled out of the room and overtook the other two.
”May we go back into the garden a little?” she said, hurriedly, to the monk who was talking to William. ”I should like to see the view towards Venice.”
William held up a watch, to show that there was but just time to get back to the Piazza, for lunch. Kitty persisted, and the monk, understanding what the impetuous young lady wished, good-naturedly turned to obey her.
”We must be _very_ quick!” said Kitty. ”Take us please, to the edge, beyond the trees.”
And she herself hurried through the garden to its farther side, where it was bounded by the lagoon.
The others followed her, rather puzzled by her caprice.
”Not much to be seen, darling!” said Ashe, as they reached the water--”and I think this good man wants to get rid of us!”
And, indeed, the monk was looking backward across the intervening trees at a party which had just entered the garden.
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