Part 40 (1/2)

Estelle went on, in a tone that did not disguise the fact of her glorying in this prodigality while being justly frightened by it. ”It's not just the ordinary charities, churches, hospitals, etc.,--all of those send in their regular bills, as you might say. It's a Swiss music-box for the crippled son of the _spazzaturaio_, or street-cleaner; it's a marriage-portion for this one and funeral expenses for that one; it's filling the mendicant nuns' coal-cellar, it's clothing a whole orphan-school in a cheerfuller color! Clotilde and Italo call her attention to every deserving case, and are guided in this by the simple knowledge that Nell can't hold on to her money. Of course it's her good heart. She's done a lot for them and their family, too, I've discovered. I don't know just how much, but I can guess by their look of licking their chops. I'm not saying they aren't all right--honest, sincere, and so forth--or that I don't like them. It's Nell's own fault that she's imposed on. I don't doubt that they're as devoted as they seem, it's only right they should be. It's right the whole city of Florence should be. I was thinking only the other day as we drove through Viale Lorenzo the Magnificent that it would be appropriate for a grateful city to rechristen our street Viale Aurora the Magnificent.”

Tom Bewick laughed, nodding to himself with an effect of relish. He murmured, ”Aurora the Magnificent!”

”Aurora the Magnificent--Aurora the Magnificent is all very well,”

Estelle took up again with animation, ”but she's already spending her capital.”

Bewick did not allow himself to appear startled or troubled; still, he was made pensive by this. His look at Estelle invited her to go on and tell him the rest, just how bad it was. She was leaning forward, with her elbows on the table, one hand slipping the rings on and off a finger of the other, in her quick way.

”You know what her income is. It would have provided for all this,”--she took in the luxury around them by a gesture of the head,--”but no income can suffice to set up in housekeeping all the picturesque paupers in Florence. That's why I was so anxious for you to come, and wrote you as I did. You can curb her; I can't. I have no influence with her in that way, and I simply can't sit still and see her throw away all this good money that was intended to provide her with comforts for the rest of her life. Unless somebody looks after it, she won't have a penny left. You must talk to her, Doctor Bewick. Don't let her know, though, that I put you up to it. You can ask a plain question, as it's right and natural for you to do, then when she answers you can lecture her. She'll take it from you.”

Bewick, with his sensible face, looked as if he saw justice and reason in all Miss Madison had said to him; yet he did not go on with the subject. It might be that he felt delicate, in a masculine way, about uttering to a lady's best friend any criticism of that lady's mode of doing or being--criticism which he might feel no difficulty perhaps in voicing to herself. Estelle took this into consideration and, his reticence notwithstanding, relied on him to do his duty.

A diversion occurred in the shape of a knock at the door--the door leading to the kitchen-stairs. It was but the scratch of one fingernail on the wood. Tiny as the sound was, it did not have to be repeated before Estelle ran to open. A small four-footed person entered, the bigness of a baby's m.u.f.f and the whiteness of a marquis's powdered wig.

Estelle caught him up from the floor and with a coo of affection, ”What um doing in the kitchen, little rogums?” set him on the table, under the lamp, for Doctor Tom to see how utterly beautiful he was and have the points and characteristics of a Maltese terrier explained to him.

Busteretto was reaching dog's estate, his shape had taken on a degree of subtlety, his hair was growing long and straight and like leaves of the weeping willow. Estelle lifted the white fringe depending from his brow, and exposed to the light two great limpid brown eyes, incredibly sweet and intelligent. It was as wonderful, in its way, as if a blind beggar, insignificant and easy to pa.s.s by as he stood at the street-corner, should take off black goggles suddenly, and you should perceive that he was a masking angel come to test the hearts of men.

”Did you ever see such a little sweetheart?” gasped Estelle.

”A pretty little fellow,” spoke the doctor commendingly. With the instinct to relieve discomfort he raised the veil of hair again as soon as Estelle had let it drop, and looking further into the beautiful eyes, that with the neat nose made a triangle of dark spots effective as mouches on Columbine's cheek,--”Why don't you tie up his hair like this to keep it out of the way?” he asked.

”We mustn't! Mr. Fane, who gave him to Nell, says it would be bad for him, he might go blind. They're that kind of eyes and need the s.h.i.+eld from the light. Mr. Fane knows all about this Maltese breed of dogs.”

”Is he the same one who painted her portrait?” Dr. Tom deviated from the subject of the dog, over whose eyes the curtain was allowed to drop again.

”Yes, he's an artist.”

”And the same one she nursed through an illness?” asked Dr. Tom after a moment, with the mere amount of interest apparently of one asking for a topographical detail, so that he may get his bearings.

”Yes. You'd know, wouldn't you, that she'd have to, if she thought he wasn't getting the right care and didn't see any other way of providing it.”

”Well, Skip,” Dr. Tom returned his attention to the dog, ”you're a fine little fellow. Yes, sir.” He held out a large pink hand and received in it immediately a wee gentlemanly hand of fur and horn, rather smaller than any of his fingers. ”Good dog,” he said, and regarded their friends.h.i.+p as sealed. But next minute, because Estelle had whispered to him, ”Make believe to strike me,” he lifted his fist menacingly against her, and on the instant, with the courage of a David, there dashed against him a little wild white flurry, not to bite--the skin of man is sacred--but by a show of pearly teeth and the growlings of a lion to frighten the giant off.

”Good dog!” cheered Tom and leaned back laughing, ”Well done!”

Because it was very late when Dr. Bewick left the ladies to return to his hotel they immediately repaired to their respective rooms; but before Estelle had got to bed, Aurora, half undressed, came strolling into her maidenly bower of temperate green and white.

A vague depression of spirits had overtaken Aurora, reaction, perhaps, from the excitements of the day, and she sought her friend with the instinct to make herself feel better by talking it off.

She dropped on a chair, and in silence continued to braid her hair for the night.

”Isn't he the nicest fellow!” began Estelle, setting the keynote for joyous confidences.

”Isn't he just!” replied Aurora. ”I want him to have the best time in the three weeks he's going to spend here. We've got to show him all the beauties of Florence, and then I want him to know all our friends. We must have some tea-parties and some dinners. I want it to be just as gay. Who is there I ought to lay myself out for, if not Tom Bewick?”

”I quite agree with you. Let's plan.”

”No, to-morrow'll do. It's too late. I'm tired.” The motions of Aurora's fingers were suspended among the strands of her hair. She fell into a muse. ”Seeing Tom”--she came out of it again, and went on braiding--”has brought back, along with some things I never want to forget, such a lot of things I don't want to think of!”

”I suppose it would.”