“The Colonel asked if the signora was alone. I told him Sna. Altezza Reale was with the signora. The signore then said, Give this card to the signora. That is all, ladies.”
It was then near five, the hour of departure of the train. The servant was sent to inquire if the Colonel left that evening. He returned with the message—“Il Colonello è partito già”—“the Colonel is already gone.”
Evelyn’s disappointment turned to anger. Her pride was offended, and she determined to punish Melville by encouraging the visits of her Royal admirer—a very dangerous game!
“For slander’s mark was ever yet the fair,
The ornament of beauty is suspect,
A crow that flies in heaven’s sweetest air.”
Her charms and success had made our heroine many enemies, especially among her own sex, and envious tongues were busy with her fair fame. She was termed a heartless jilt, and her conduct towards Melville was commented on in the severest terms.
In Italy no woman ought to permit any marked attention from one of the opposite sex, if she would preserve an unblemished reputation. The innocent frankness of my countrywomen, and of the American ladies, is liable to be sadly misconstrued by the idle and languid Italian “lions,” who lounge away their time at the doors of the different cafes, and discuss the appearance and character of the ladies, as they pass in their carriages toward the Lungo L’Arno and Cascines.
Evelyn, whose conduct had been, and still was, most indiscreet, being, moreover, without a protector, was especially the mark for scandal. Women who would have given the world to have been able to do as she did, were the first to blame her imprudence; and the young Florentine exquisites, who had never yet succeeded in winning a smile from “la bella Inglese,” now invented all kinds of cruel and false reports concerning her. The frequent visits of the Count Syracuse were reported to the Grand Duchess, who henceforth looked coldly upon Evelyn, and the ladies of society were only too happy to have it in their power to mortify one who had excited their jealousy. And Melville, too—the good, the kind, the loving—had he also deserted the woman he once held so dear? The next chapter may perhaps throw some light on this subject.
