“Well, Arthur, how d’ye do?” but as Hugh uttered this commonplace greeting his hand was as cold as ice. They exchanged half-a-dozen words as to Arthur’s journey and the weather, and separated in two minutes to dress; and the much-dreaded meeting was over.
Everyone was eager to talk at dinner, and a little bit afraid of home topics, and soon Frederica started what she conceived to be a delightfully safe and interesting subject.
“Oh, Arthur, we have heard of you lately from someone you met in Italy.”
“Really; who is that?”
“Why, a young lady who teaches us Italian—she was at a place called Caletto.”
“Miss Rosa Mattei?” said Arthur. “Has she come here?”
“No—it is her sister. Oh, she is the dearest little thing—her name is Violante—do you remember?”
“Violante! You don’t say so! I remember her perfectly. Is she at Miss Venning’s? Well, that is the most extraordinary chance!” exclaimed Arthur, much interested. “I never thought she would really go to school!”
“Oh, yes; Miss Venning knows her aunt, I believe.”
“Poor little thing!” said Arthur. “I was so sorry for her. She—she lost her voice, you know.”