“I have seen those young ladies,” he said, after a moment’s consideration. “I joined my brother last May in Civita Bella, and I saw Mademoiselle Mattei make her first appearance.”
“Indeed, did you really? Ah, poor child! Her health failed and she lost her voice. Such a destruction to her prospects! Everything seemed turning out well for her. However, we hope she may ultimately return to Italy and to her profession.”
“Does that mean the manager?” thought Jem, while one of the girls said:
“Do tell us what she is like.”
“I only saw her once off the stage,” said Jem, in a dry way, unlike his usual effusive manner. “Her voice was very beautiful.”
“Oh, but you will be quite an old friend among strangers. And your brother—but he doesn’t live in London, I think?”
“No; in the country,” said Jem, for once incommunicative. “My people don’t often come to London, and lately we have been in trouble at home. But I shall be in your way if there is any chance of their arriving to-night. Mrs Grey, let me wish you good evening.”
“Well, you must look in some day and talk about Italy to my nieces.”
“Oh, thanks—very happy—I’m sure,” said Jem, getting away as fast as he could, in a much-disturbed frame of mind.
If the story had concerned anyone but his brother he would have liked nothing better than an encounter with a beautiful girl with this semi-sentimental tie between them—with half-allusions to the past, sympathy, confidence, mutual recollections—the shadowy lover would have made the flirtation both safe and interesting. “But,” as he said to himself, “there was never any knowing how old Hugh would take things!” he had not seen him for some time, as Hugh had declined various invitations to London, and had remained entirely by himself at the Bank House. It was Mrs Spencer Crichton’s intention to spend Christmas at Bournemouth, where George and Frederica were to join her for the holidays, Hugh preferring to remain at Oxley; but directly afterwards she had determined to return to Redhurst and begin home life again.