“Where’s Jem?”
“In London, to-day, I believe, but we did not travel back together. He wanted to see some other places.”
“And Civita Bella was charming? You are sunburnt, Hugh.”
“Civita Bella is a very charming place, with sun enough to burn anyone. How d’ye do, Mysie? I did not see you.”
Mysie put her hand into Hugh’s and felt her courage sink to her toes.
“I’m very well, Hugh, thank you,” she said, in a small voice; and then she perceived that Arthur had caught sight of his cousin, found himself “out,” he hardly knew how, and came over towards them with his face much more crimson than exertion need have made it.
“Well, Arthur, I congratulate you,” said Hugh. “On your degree,” he added, as Arthur started and looked blank.
“Oh, I forgot,” said Arthur, as he turned his back on Hugh and Mysie, in an awkward boyish way, and began to talk vehemently to the two Miss Dickensons, daughters of the Oxley doctor, with whom he had been sometimes accused of flirting; while Hugh turned to receive various greetings. To all this he had looked forward, and his manner and look did him credit, for, as his mother said, “he seemed as if he had never been away.”
Poor Hugh! When miles away from Civita Bella he had come to himself, as it were, after the passion of rage and grief in which he had left the city, he had resolved to cut the past seven weeks out of his life and to let them leave no trace behind. No one knew anything about them but James, who could well be trusted to keep the secret at home; they were utterly apart from all the rest of his life, and they should remain so. All their joy and all their pain should be buried for ever. These few short days should not influence all the rest of his life. What difference could it make to Redhurst and Oxley that a little Italian girl had made a fool of him? He had plenty of interests which remained unaltered, and this thing should be, what James had called it, a foolish holiday incident that was over and done. This resolution, though prompted by resentment, was agreeable to common-sense; and Hugh was not likely to betray himself. He knew that he must suffer a certain amount of pain, and then he supposed it would be over; if not he must bear it. What was there to see here while he waited for the train? A cathedral: he would go and see it.
And a girl offered him a great bouquet of roses and oleanders, such as Violante had put in the china bowl. Hugh turned off with a sharp refusal; but suddenly thought: “What, if after all I was mistaken! If I had waited one moment longer—” and the torment of that doubt, which yet was not strong enough to prompt any measure for its own satisfaction, haunted him and fretted him as the actual sorrow could not do, for it was a doubt of himself.