Emily, on the contrary, plunged at once in médias res, and related how all last winter she had been rendered wretched by “Alessandro’s” attentions to the Marchese Giulia di B———ani (she revealed the blank in an agitated whisper), and what all her particular friends had said to her on the subject, and how she had jointly and severally replied to them that the dignity of her sex supported her; whence, warming with her subject, she went on to state how she in her turn had supported this dignity by repulsing the advances of Captain Augustus (familiarly and affectionately reduced, for colloquial purposes, into Gus) Travers, who, having been her first love, and retired vice Alessandro Conte de Portici promoted to the rank of husband, considered that it was again his innings, and had diligently sought to become platonically her third love and disputed the post of cavalier servente with all and sundry, in spite of which constancy and devotion she had persevered in her repulsiveness until, between her cruelty and a reckless indifference to malaria, poor Gus was attacked with a brain fever, and then of course when he grew a little better she could not continue unkind to him, for she might have had his life to answer for, and that was a serious consideration; and so by degrees he took to coming to the Palazzo Portici constantly and went about to places with her, and somehow she got accustomed to him, and Alessandro did not seem to mind, and poor Gus always behaved very well, and only asked to be allowed the privilege of her friendship, and everybody did the same sort of thing—“It’s their way over there, you know, Annie dear;” till at last Belle-field came, and he had never been able to endure Gus because he was so handsome, poor fellow, so Bellefield made a great fuss and said all sorts of shocking things, and set Alessandro at her; and worse than all, quarrelled with Gus and wanted to horsewhip him, and it almost came to a duel, only she wrote Gus a little note, imploring him not to fight, but to go away and forget her; and he had done the first directly, and she dared say he had done the second, for she’d never seen him since, which of course she was very glad of. And here she heaved a deep sigh and caressed a comic and unnatural transalpine poodle, which by reason of its flowing locks looked like an animated carriage mat, as though it had been a pet lamb, the sole prop of some heart-broken and dishevelled shepherdess, to which picture of pastoral pathos did Emily, Countess di Portici, then and there mentally assimilate herself.
And to all this history of loves, and hates, and platonic friendships, whatever they might be, simple innocent Annie listened with much interest and more perplexity. She had a vague notion that Emily had behaved foolishly, if not wrongly; but she was very fond of her cousin, who, from the difference in their respective ages, had acquired a degree of ascendency over her which their natural characters scarcely warranted. Then Annie’s deep ignorance of foreign manners and customs threw a mist of uncertainty around the whole affair, beneath the shadow of which she was able to put the most charitable construction on Emily’s conduct without “stultifying her moral sense” (to speak as a logician); still she felt called upon to give her cousin a little good advice in regard to striving entirely to forget, and scrupulously to avoid for the future, the too fascinating Gus, for which Emily kissed her and called her a dear, silly, little prude; then twining their arms round each other’s taper waists, the girls descended to the dining-room, united for the time being, literally and figuratively, by the closest bonds of amity and affection. Standing rather in awe of her brother, Emily conducted herself during the meal with so much gravity and decorum that she quite threw a shade over Annie’s usual lightheartedness, and by the time they reached their opera box a more sombre trio (not even excepting the soprano, the tenor, and the baritone, of whom the first two were prepared to be poisoned, and the third to stab himself on their marble tomb before the evening should be over) could not have been found beneath the roof of Her Majesty’s theatre.
Between the acts of the opera a divertissement was introduced, in which a danseuse, who had acquired an Italian reputation, but who was as yet unknown in England, was to make her first appearance. Emily was conversing volubly about her various merits, when a fashionably-dressed young man with delicate features, a profusion of dark waving curls, and a pair of the most interesting little black moustachios imaginable, lounged into one of the stalls and began lazily to scrutinise the company through a richly-mounted opera-glass. He was undeniably handsome, but the expression of his face was disagreeable, and his whole demeanour blasé and puppyish in the extreme. As he entered, Annie perceived her cousin to give a violent start, and, as she met her glance, to colour slightly; then, evidently unwilling to attract her brother’s notice, she made a successful effort to recover herself, and appeared completely absorbed in the terpsi-chorean prodigies of the new opera-dancer. Just at the conclusion of the divertissement some one knocked at the door of the box, and on Lord Bellefield’s opening it, Annie heard a man’s voice say, in a hurried manner, “Can your Lordship allow me two minutes’ conversation? My business is of the utmost importance.” Lord Bellefield replied in the affirmative and quitted the box, closing the door behind him. As he did so, Emily, laying her finger on her cousin’s arm, said in a hurried whisper: “Annie, do you see that gentleman in the fourth row of stalls, the sixth from this end? That’s Gus; isn’t he handsome, poor fellow? Ah!” she continued, as the object of her scrutiny suddenly brought his opera-glass to bear upon their box, “he has made me out, and he does not know that Bellefield is here. Oh! I hope he won’t think of coming up!”
As she spoke, Gus, having become aware of her presence, made an almost imperceptible sign of recognition, and in the same quiet manner telegraphed an entreaty to be allowed to join her; upon which Emily frowned and shook her head by way of prohibition, favouring Gus afterwards with a pensive smile, to show that her refusal proceeded less from choice than from necessity. Almost as she did so Lord Bellefield returned, looking annoyed and anxious. “I am obliged to leave you for half-an-hour,” he said, “but you will be perfectly safe here, and I shall return in plenty of time to escort you home. You may depend upon my coming to fetch you.” And almost before he finished speaking he had quitted the box and was gone.
Confused and half-frightened at his sudden departure, Annie remained for a minute or two with her eyes fixed on the door through which he had as it were vanished; when she again glanced towards the stage the stall lately occupied by Augustus Travers was vacant.
CHAPTER XLI.—ANNIE GRANT FALLS INTO DIFFICULTIES.
Lewis, according to agreement, accompanied Frere to the Palaeontological, and added to the circle of his acquaintance those mysterious beings, the “Relations of the Earlier Zoophytes.” When the lecture was over, Frere, who had an order to admit two into the House of Commons, took Lewis with him to hear the speaking. The debate proved interesting: the Premier addressed the House at length; a well-known satirist rose to reply to him, remarking on various points in the speech with much talent and more ill-nature, and the minister was again on his legs to answer his opponent, when Lewis, glancing at his watch, discovered to his annoyance that it was considerably past eleven; and aware that General Grant had a particular objection to his servants being kept up late, communicated this fact to his companion, and wished him goodnight.
“What! can’t you stay and hear —————‘s answer?” was the reply, “and then I’d come away, too.”