Part 30 (1/2)
”Evening meeting?” repeated Mrs. Erwin.
”Yes,--the church to-night.”
”Why, child, there isn't any church to-night! What _are_ you talking about?”
”Didn't uncle--didn't Mr. Erwin say he would go with us to-night?”
Mrs. Erwin seemed about to laugh, and then she looked embarra.s.sed. ”Why, Lydia,” she cried at last, ”he didn't mean church; he meant--opera!”
”Opera! Sunday night! Aunt Josephine, do you go to the theatre on Sabbath evening?”
There was something appalling in the girl's stern voice. Mrs. Erwin gathered herself tremulously together for defense. ”Why, of course, Lydia, I don't approve of it, though I never _was_ Orthodox. Your uncle likes to go; and if everybody's there that you want to see, and they will give the best operas Sunday night, what are you to do?”
Lydia said nothing, but a hard look came into her face, and she shut her lips tight.
”Now you see, Lydia,” resumed her aunt, with an air of deductive reasoning from the premises, ”the advantage of having a bonnet on, even if it's only a make-believe. I don't believe a soul knew it. All those Americans had hats. You were the only American girl there with a bonnet.
I'm sure that it had more than half to do with Lady Fenleigh's speaking to you. It showed that you had been well brought up.”
”But I never wore a bonnet to church at home,” said Lydia.
”That has nothing to do with it, if they thought you did. And Lydia,”
she continued, ”I was thinking while you were singing there that I wouldn't say anything at once about your coming over to cultivate your voice. That's got to be such an American thing, now. I'll let it out little by little,--and after Lady Fenleigh's quite taken you under her wing. Perhaps we may go to Milan with you, or to Naples,--there's a conservatory there, too; and we can pull up stakes as easily as not.
Well!” said Mrs. Erwin, interrupting herself, ”I'm glad Henshaw wasn't by to hear _that_ speech. He'd have had it down among his Americanisms instantly. I don't know whether it _is_ an Americanism; but he puts down all the outlandish sayings he gets hold of to Americans; he has no end of English slang in his book. Everything has opened _beautifully_, Lydia, and I intend you shall have the _best_ time!” She looked fondly at her brother's child. ”You've no idea how much you remind me of your poor father. You have his looks exactly. I always thought he would come out to Europe before he died. We used to be so proud of his looks at home! I can remember that, though I was the youngest, and he was ten years older than I. But I always did wors.h.i.+p beauty. A perfect Greek, Mr. Rose-Black calls me: you'll see him; he's an English painter staying here; he comes a _great_ deal.”
”Mrs. Erwin, Mrs. Erwin!” called a lady's voice from a gondola behind them. The accent was perfectly English, but the voice entirely Italian.
”Where are you running to?”
”Why, Miss Landini!” retorted Mrs. Erwin, looking back over her shoulder. ”Is that you? Where in the world are _you_ going?”
”Oh, I've been to pay a visit to my old English teacher. He's awfully ill with rheumatism; but awfully! He can't turn in bed.”
”Why, poor man! This is my niece whom I told you I was expecting!
Arrived last night! We've been to church!” Mrs. Erwin exclaimed each of the facts.
The Italian girl stretched her hand across the gunwales of the boats, which their respective gondoliers had brought skillfully side by side, and took Lydia's hand. ”I'm glad to see you, my dear. But my G.o.d, how beautiful you Americans are! But you don't look American, you know; you look Spanis.h.!.+ I shall come a great deal to see you, and practice my English.”
”Come home with, us now, Miss Landini, and have lunch,” said Mrs. Erwin.
”No, my dear, I can't. My aunt will be raising the devil if I'm not there to drink coffee with her; and I've been a great while away now.
Till tomorrow!” Miss Landini's gondolier pushed his boat away, and rowed it up a narrow ca.n.a.l on the right.
”I suppose,” Mrs. Erwin explained, ”that she's really her mother,--everybody says so; but she always calls her aunt. Dear knows who her father was. But she's a very bright girl, Lydia, and you'll like her. Don't you think she speaks English wonderfully for a person who's never been out of Venice?”
”Why does she swear?” asked Lydia, stonily.
”_Swear_? Oh, I know what you mean. That's the funniest thing about Miss Landini. Your uncle says it's a shame to correct her; but I do, whenever I think of it. Why, you know, such words as G.o.d and devil don't sound at all wicked in Italian, and ladies use them quite commonly. She understands that it isn't good form to do so in English, but when she gets excited she forgets. Well, you can't say but what _she_ was impressed, Lydia!”
After lunch, various people came to call upon Mrs. Erwin. Several of them were Italians who were learning English, and they seemed to think it inoffensive to say that they were glad of the opportunity to practice the language with Lydia. They talked local gossip with her aunt, and they spoke of an approaching visit to Venice from the king; it seemed to Lydia that the king's character was not good.
Mr. Rose-Black, the English artist, came. He gave himself the effect of being in Mrs. Erwin's confidence, apparently without her authority, and he bestowed a share of this intimacy upon Lydia. He had the manner of a man who had been taken up by people above him, and the impudence of a talent which had not justified the expectations formed of it. He softly reproached Mrs. Erwin for running away after service before he could speak to her, and told her how much everybody had been enchanted by her niece's singing. ”At least, they said it was your niece.”