“It was just like her, mamma,” said Nelly.
“My dear, none of you are just to poor Mrs. Everard,” said the mother, driven back upon herself. She dared not grumble ever so little at this friend of her bosom without giving occasion, so to speak, to the Adversary to blaspheme. Therefore for the sake of peace she gulped down a great many of her friend’s opinions without venturing to say how much she disagreed with them. The two were sitting there, consulting over the fire, when Frederick came in. There were no lights in the room, the shutters were not closed, nor even the blinds drawn, and the trees were dimly discernible like processions of ghosts in the dim air outside. That still world outside, looking in through the window, was somewhat eerie and dreary; when it caught Mrs. Eastwood’s eye she was apt to get nervous, and declare that there was somebody in the grounds, and that she saw a face looking in. But this evening she had other things to think of. Frederick, however, as he came in, felt a shadow of his mother’s superstitions and alarms. The glimmering dark outside seemed to him full of possible dangers. “Why don’t you have the lamps lighted, and shut up the windows?” he said. “I can’t understand your liking for the firelight, mother. One can’t see to do anything, and anybody that chooses can see in.”
“We don’t want to do anything, and we don’t care who sees us,” said Nelly, who was sometimes saucy to her elder brother.
“Don’t wrangle, children: we were discussing something which will startle you very much, Frederick, as it did me. It will make quite a change in everything. Perhaps Frederick will feel it least, being out all day; but we must all feel it,” said Mrs. Eastwood. Frederick seated himself with his face to the window with a certain air of endurance. He did not like the firelight flashing over him, and revealing what he might happen to be thinking. Frederick liked to keep his thoughts to himself; to tell just as much as he liked, and no more. He put his hands into his pockets, and gave a half perceptible shrug to his shoulders. He did not expect to be at all startled. “A change in the fashion, I suppose,” he said to himself. He was supposed to be very fond of home, and a most domestic young man; and this was one of the ways in which he indemnified himself for the good character which he took pains to keep up.
They told him the story from beginning to end, and he was not startled; but he was interested, which was a great deal more than he expected to be. When the lamp was brought in he got the letter; but did not make very much of that, for to Ellinor’s great gratification he could not read it. It was written in Italian, as we have said. Now, Mrs. Eastwood was the only person in the house who knew Italian, though Nelly herself could spell it out. The mother was rather proud of her accomplishment. She had lived in Italy in her youth, and had never ceased to regard that fact as one of the great things in her life. It was with a thrill of pleasure that she read the letter over, translating it word by word. And it was something to have moved Frederick to such interest. He entered into the discussion afterwards with warmth, and gave his advice with that practical good sense which his mother always admired, though she was not unaware that it sometimes failed him in his own affairs. “She cannot come here by herself,” he said; “some one must go and fetch her. You can’t allow a girl of that age to travel alone.”
“That is quite true, Frederick,” said Mrs. Eastwood; “how odd I should never have thought of it before. Of course, she could not travel alone. Dear, dear, what must we do? I cannot go myself, and leave you all to your own devices. Could I send Brownlow, I wonder; or old Alice——?”
“Brownlow would never find his way to Pisa. He would break down long before he got there. And old Alice, what good could she do—an old woman?”
“She travelled with me,” said Mrs. Eastwood, with modest pride. “Wherever I went she went. She learned a little of the language too. She would take very good care of her. Whom else can I send? Dick is too young, and too busy about his examination.”
“If you will pay me well I don’t mind going myself,” said Frederick, stroking his moustache, and thus concealing a smile which lurked about the corners of his mouth.
“You, Frederick? It is very good of you to think of it. I never thought of you. What a pity we cannot make a party, and all go!” said Mrs. Eastwood. “To be sure that would cost a good deal. I would pay your expenses, of course, my dear, if you could make up your mind to go. That would, no doubt, be the nicest way of all. Yes; and although it is a melancholy occasion, it would be a little change for you too. You have been looking rather pale lately, Frederick.”