“I’m sure you are,” Nancy said. “And och, I wish I could ever tell you how grateful I am to you.”
“There is no need of words, dear child,” said the nun, smiling. “You prove it to us all the time. I heard from the Reverend Mother yesterday, and she inquired most affectionately after you.”
That afternoon Nancy went to Mr. Kenrick’s flat in Adelphi Terrace. He was so kind that she reproached herself for having refused so brusquely to let him meet her at Paddington.
“Well, it’s all arranged with Maestro Gambone. He’s really the kindest old man, though he may seem a little fierce before you know him. Should he, on hearing your voice, decide it’s not worth training, you’ll have to forgive me for rousing your ambitions and let me see you through any difficulties you may have about getting another engagement in England. I have taken a room for you with some people called Arcucci who have a pensione in the Via Virgilio which is close to Santa Lucia. Arcucci himself was a singer; but he lost his voice through illness, poor chap. He never earned more than a local reputation at the San Carlo Opera House; but he is full of stories about famous singers, and you’ll get the right atmosphere from him. His wife is a capable and homely woman who will make you as comfortable as Neapolitans know how, which, to tell the truth, is not saying much.”
While her patron was speaking, Nancy was gazing out of his study window at the Thames and letting her imagination drift down on the fast-flowing ebb with the barges that all seemed like herself bound for some adventure far from this great city of London. Away on the horizon beyond Lambeth the domes of the Crystal Palace sparkled in the clearer sunshine. Even so, on an horizon much farther south than Sydenham flashed the elusive diamonds of success and fame.
“Tuesday is no day to set out on a journey,” said Kenrick. “So, I’ve taken your ticket for Wednesday. You’ll leave Paris that night from the Gare de Lyon in the Rome express, and you’ll be at Naples on Friday afternoon.”
He went to a drawer in his desk and took out the tickets.
“Good luck,” he said, holding Nancy’s hand.
She was again the prey of an embarrassment against which she tried hard to struggle, because it seemed to smirch the spirit in which she wanted to set out. This constraint prevented her from thanking him except in clumsy conventional phrases.
“Now, will you dine with me to-night?”