“And you really, honestly believe you could be happy as his wife, Pamela?” asked Mildred gravely.
“I know that I can never be happy with any one else. I don’t consider myself particularly clever, aunt, but I believe I have the artistic temperament. Life without art would be a howling wilderness for me.”
“Life means a long time, dear. Think what a difference it must make whether you lead it with a good or a bad man!”
“All the goodness in the world would not make me happy with a husband who was not musical; not John Howard, nor John Wesley, nor John Bunyan, nor any of your model Johns. John Milton was,” added Pamela rather vaguely, “and handsome into the bargain; but I’m afraid he was a little dry.”
“Promise me at least this much, Pamela. First, that you will take no step without your uncle’s knowledge and advice; and next, that if ever you marry Mr. Castellani, you will have your fortune strictly settled upon yourself.”
“O, aunt, how sordid! But perhaps it would be best. If I had the money, I should give it all to him: but if he had the money, with his artistic temperament he would be sure to lavish it all upon other people. He would not be able to pass a picturesque beggar without emptying his pockets. Do you remember how he was impressed by the four old men on the church steps the other day?”
“Yes, but I don’t think he gave them anything.”
“Not while we were with him; but you may be sure he did afterwards.”
After this conversation Mrs. Greswold made up her mind on two points. She would arrange for a prompt departure to Venice or Naples, whichever might be advised for the spring season; and she would sound Mr. Castellani as to his intentions. It was not fair to Pamela that she should be kept in the dark any longer, that the gentleman should be allowed to sing duets with her, and advise her studies, and join her in her walks, and yet give no definite expression to his regard.
Mildred tried to think the best of him as a suitor for her husband’s niece. She knew that he was clever; she knew that he was fairly well born. On his mother’s side he sprang from the respectable commercial classes; on his father’s side he belonged to the art-world. There was nothing debasing in such a lineage. From neither her friend Mrs. Tomkison nor from Miss Fausset had she heard anything to his discredit; and both those ladies had known him long. There could therefore be no objection on the score of character. Pamela ought to make a much better marriage in the way of means and position; but those excellent and well-chosen alliances dictated by the wisdom of friends are sometimes known to result in evil; and, in a word, why should not Pamela be happy in her own way?