Part 11 (1/2)
”Why?”
”Oh! Somebody in the hotel has put her off. An old Englishwoman who lives in Florence told her that there's nothing to see beyond the Galleries, and that the place is very catty.”
Hugh laughed and replied:
”All British colonies in Continental cities are catty, my dear Dorise.
They say that for scandal Florence takes the palm. I went there for two seasons in succession before the war, and found the place delightful.”
”The Marchesa is a charming woman. Her husband was an attache at the Italian Emba.s.sy in Paris. But he has been transferred to Was.h.i.+ngton, so she has gone back to Florence. I like her immensely, and I do so want to visit her.”
”Oh, you must persuade your mother to take you,” he said. ”She'll be easily persuaded.”
”I don't know. She doesn't like travelling in Italy. She once had her dressing-case stolen from the train between Milan and Genoa, so she's always horribly bitter against all Italians.”
”There are thieves also on English railways, Dorise,” Hugh remarked.
”People are far too p.r.o.ne to exaggerate the shortcomings of foreigners, and close their eyes to the faults of the British.”
”But everybody is not so cosmopolitan as you are, Hugh,” the girl laughed, raising her eyes to those of her lover.
”No,” he replied with a sigh.
”Why do you sigh?” asked the girl, having noticed a change in her companion ever since they had met in the Rooms. He seemed strangely thoughtful and preoccupied.
”Did I?” he asked, suddenly pulling himself together. ”I didn't know,”
he added with a forced laugh.
”You don't look yourself to-day, Hugh,” she said.
”I've been told that once before,” he replied. ”The weather--I think!
Are you going over to the _bal blanc_ at Nice to-night?”
”Of course. And you are coming also. Hasn't mother asked you?” she inquired in surprise.
”No.”
”How silly! She must have forgotten. She told me she intended to ask you to have a seat in the car. The Comte d'Autun is coming with us.”
”Ah! He admires you, Dorise, hence I don't like him,” Hugh blurted forth.
”But, surely, you're not jealous, you dear old thing!” laughed the girl, tantalizing him. Perhaps she would not have uttered those words which cut deeply into his heart had she known the truth concerning the tragedy at the Villa Amette.
”I don't like him because he seems to live by gambling,” Hugh declared.
”I know your mother likes him very much--of course!”
”And she likes you, too, dear.”
”She may like me, but I fear she begins to suspect that we love each other, dearest,” he said in a hard tone. ”If she does, she will take care in future to keep us apart, and I--I shall lose you, Dorise!”
”No--no, you won't.”