“Certainly. I shall look in upon you now and then to see how you and la Zia are getting on in your new surroundings. And now let us go and look at the apartments I have chosen. Perhaps you will not like my choice.”
La Zia protested that this was out of the question. His choice must be perfection. It was not possible for so noble a gentleman to err in taste or judgment.
Fiordelisa was dressed for going out. She was poorly clad in her well-worn black gown and a little cheap black net bonnet, with pale pink roses in it, but her dress was neater than usual. La Zia had also dressed herself tidily, and looked more reputable than he would have thought possible, remembering the flaunting ruby plush and coppery gold chain in Venice. The little boy had been committed to the care of the landlady, who was prodigiously fond of him, Lisa told Vansittart.
The drive by St. James’s Park, Buckingham Palace, and Eton Square was a delight to the Venetians. They exclaimed at every new feature of the way. The houses, the soldiers, the trees, the palace, and even the long, solemn, unbeautiful square impressed them. The magnitude of everything was so astounding after Venice. The wide expanses and seemingly illimitable distances filled them with wonder. They had been surprised at the extent of Milan; but this London looked as if it could swallow twenty Milans.
The brougham drove along the King’s Road, turned into Oakley Street, and brought them suddenly face to face with the Thames in one of its pleasantest aspects. The sun was shining on the river, the trees were purple with swelling leaf-buds, the old houses of Cheyne Walk looked bright and gay in the sunlight.
“Oh, how pretty!” cried Lisa, and Lisa’s aunt was quite as enthusiastic.
“There is one thing I must ask you,” said Vansittart, “before we come to business with the house-agent. I don’t know the surname of either of you ladies.”
“My name is Vivanti,” said the aunt, “and Lisa’s is the same. She is my brother’s daughter.”
“Then Lisa shall be Madame Vivanti, and you—shall we say Mademoiselle?”
“As you will. I have never been married. The man I loved and was to have married was a fisherman, and his boat was wrecked one stormy night between Venice and Chioggia. I never cared for any one else; so I lived with my brother and his wife, and worked for them and with them. He has a swarm of children, of whom Lisa is the eldest.”