Part 27 (2/2)
He was genially inclined to-night toward all the world. While he had been tying on his white cravat before the gla.s.s in preparation for the _veglione_, it had dawned on him, to his surprise and glimmering relief, that he felt something resembling pleasure in the prospect of the confused and promiscuous affair he was enlisted for. He had constated that something like normal responsiveness to the common exterior solicitations to enjoyment was returning to his spirit, his nerves. The tang of life was pleasant to his palate.
A dim gladness moved him, as at coming across a precious thing one had supposed lost, in remembering that he was young....
He laid all this to the mere pa.s.sage of time, and thanked the G.o.ds that unless one dies of one's hurts one finally recovers.
Under these circ.u.mstances it is conceivable that he should not momentarily feel hate or impatience toward any fellow-pa.s.senger on the amusing old s.h.i.+p of the World.
Sc.r.a.ps of poetry stirred in the wells of memory where they are dropped and lost sight of. ”I feel peaceful as old age,” he quoted.
But his eye falling on the white carnation which Giovanna, knowing her signorino was going _in serata_, had provided for his b.u.t.tonhole, lines less grey came to his lips: ”_Neque tu ch.o.r.eas_....” He fished for the half-forgotten words. ”_Donec virenti canities abest...._”
Because a positive sense of health pervaded him, he, with a philosophy founded upon observation, remarked that by this sign no doubt he was on the verge of an illness. But he absentmindedly neglected the practices preventive of misfortune, believed in not solely by the _popolino_ of Italy, but recommended to him in boyhood by the excellent physician who after curing his mumps had taught him to make horns with his fingers against calamity of any sort that might threaten.
So, being in a good humor, and made further contented by the uplifting privilege of a broad unmistakable wink from a lady, he did not dislike Charlie as usual; he even, as he looked at him, l.u.s.trous-eyed, clear-skinned, smooth, lighting his cigarette at a candle, wondered why one should not like him. He had his good qualities. Mere vitality is one. Those points of conduct that called upon him the disdain of persons more fastidious with regard to their actions, secret or revealed, than he, were not productive, after all, of much harm....
With eyes narrowed, as when he was examining a face to paint it, Gerald watched the handsome fellow in an animated cousinly dispute with Francesca--with the result, really against his hope, of finding himself, instead of aided by his effort of good-will to discover new virtues, confirmed in his previous disesteem. He could make himself almost love Charlie by picturing him afflicted, humiliated, sorrowful. But he could not picture him sorrowful except for narrowly personal misfortunes, such as poverty, sickness. One could not even be sure, with a face of so little generosity or moral consciousness as Charlie's, that he would under all circ.u.mstances be incapable of active malignity....
The latter thought Gerald had the justice to sweep aside with an unspoken apology.
”Of course, you, Charlie, never could admit that a cousin and a female might know better than you!” Francesca was contending noisily. ”It happens that I have lately looked up, with some care, the costumes of the _trecento_....”
”My dear girl!” interrupted Charlie. ”You will be insisting next that an _incroyable_ is a Greek, or that creature, that sort of Italian bandit who gave the disgusting roar, is a French marquis.... Lend me your gla.s.s, will you? I think I see some one I know.”
”It's Trix,” he said after a moment, ”making signs to us from the Sartorio's box. They want us to come over. Come on, let's go.”
Manlio and Gerald were again left alone in the silent company of the pale coffee-with-milk-colored maid, who unnoticed crept nearer and nearer the front of the box to peep at the brilliant house.
Gerald was beginning to think that Landini kept Mrs. Hawthorne rather longer than was fair when the door opened to let them in, with Estelle and Leslie and Percy and Doctor Baldwin, all laughing together.
”Well, have you intrigued any one?” Gerald asked Aurora.
”Me? Oh, _I_ wouldn't be up to any such pranks,” she said. ”Has any one been intriguing you?”
”I haven't been down, Mrs. Hawthorne. I have stayed quietly here, hoping to go down with you, if you will be so good, merely intriguing myself meanwhile--” he dropped his voice so as to be heard of her only,--”with wondering what kept you so awfully long.”
”Interesting company, funny sights.”
”Are you too tired to come down again and give me a dance?”
”Bless your soul, I'm not tired, but I'm going home.”
”_Going home?_”
”Man, do you know what time it is?”
”I know, of course. But you can't mean you are going home. You only came at midnight, and it's less than half-past two. Hosts of people stay until the big chandelier goes out.”
”Ah, don't try to talk me over! It's time I sought my downy, if I want to get up in the morning. We're going to begin Lent like good girls, Estelle and I, by going to church.”
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