And just then the bell rang from the drawing-room, and Francesca put down her work and bustled away to open the door for the young Englishmen whose company Kate had abandoned. The girl took up Francesca’s work, and made half a dozen stitches; and then went to her own room, where Maryanne was also at work. Kate gave a little sketch of the dresses at the ball to the handmaiden, who listened with breathless interest.
‘I don’t think anyone could have looked nicer than you and Miss Ombra in your fresh tarlatane, Miss,’ said Maryanne.
‘Nobody took the least notice of us,’ said Kate. ‘We are not worth noticing among so many handsome, well-dressed people. We were but a couple of girls out of the nursery in our white. I think I will choose a colour that will make some show if I ever go to a ball again.’
‘Oh! Miss Kate, you will go to a hundred balls!’ cried Maryanne, with fervour.
Kate shrugged her shoulders with sham disdain; but she felt, with a certain gentle complacency, that it was true. A girl who has once been to a ball must go on. She cannot be shut up again in any nursery and school-room; she is emancipated for ever and ever; the glorious world is thrown open to her. The tarlatane which marked her bread-and-butter days would no doubt yield to more splendid garments; but she could not go back—she had made her entry into life.
Lady Caryisfort called next day—an event which filled Mrs. Anderson with satisfaction. No doubt Kate was the chief object of her visit; and as it was the first time that Kate’s aunt and cousin had practically felt the great advantage which her position gave her over them, there was, without doubt, some difficulty in the situation. But, fortunately, Ombra’s attention was otherwise occupied; and Mrs. Anderson, though she was a high-spirited woman, and did not relish the idea of deriving consequence entirely from the little girl whom she had brought up, had yet that philosophy which more or less is the accompaniment of experience, and knew that it was much better to accept the inevitable graciously, than to fight against it. And if anything could have neutralised the wound to her pride, it would have been the ‘pretty manners’ of Lady Caryisfort, and the interest which she displayed in Ombra. Indeed, Ombra secured more of her attention than Kate did—a consoling circumstance. Lady Caryisfort showed every inclination to ‘take them up.’ It was a thing she was fond of doing; and she was so amiable and entertaining, and so rich, and opened up such perfectly good society to her protégées, that few people at the moment of being taken up realised the fact that they must inevitably be let down again by-and-by—a process not so pleasant.
At this moment nothing could be more delightful than their new friend. She called for them when she went out driving, and took them to Fiesole, to La Pioggia, to the Cascine—wherever fashion went. She lent them her carriage when she was indolent, as often happened, and did not care to go out. She asked them to her little parties when she had ‘the best people’—a compliment which Mrs. Anderson felt deeply, and which was very different from the invitation to the big ball at the Embassy, to which everybody was invited. In short, Lady Caryisfort launched the little party into the best society of English at Florence, such as it is. And the pretty English heiress became as well known as if she had gone through a season at home previous to this Italian season. Poor Uncle Courtenay! Had he seen Antonio Buoncompagni, who danced like an angel, leading his ward through the mazes of a cotillon, what would that excellent guardian’s feelings have been?
CHAPTER XL.
We have said that Ombra’s attention was otherwise occupied. Had it not been so, it is probable that she would have resented and struggled against the new and unusual and humiliating consciousness of being but an appendage to her cousin; but fortunately all such ideas had been driven out of her head. A new life, a new world, seemed to have begun for Ombra. All the circumstances of their present existence appeared to lend themselves to the creation of this novel sphere. Old things seemed to have passed away, and all had become new. From the moment of the first call, made in doubt and tribulation, by the two Berties, they had resumed again, in the most natural manner, the habits of their former acquaintance, but with an entirely new aspect. Here there was at once the common bond which unites strangers in a new place—a place full of beauty and wonder, which both must see, and which it is so natural they should see together. The two young men fell into the habit of constant attendance upon the ladies, with a naturalness which defeated all precautions; and an intercourse began to spring up, which combined that charming flavour of old friendship, and almost brotherhood, with any other sentiment that might arise by the way. This conjunction, too, made the party so independent and so complete. With such an escort the ladies could go anywhere; and they went everywhere accordingly—to picture-galleries, to all the sights of the place, and even now and then upon country excursions, in the bright, cold Winter days. ‘The boys,’ as Kate called them, came and went all day long, bringing news of everything that was to be seen or heard, always with a new plan or suggestion for the morrow.
The little feminine party brightened up, as women do brighten always under the fresh and exhilarating influence of that breath from outside which only ‘the boys’ can bring. Soon Mrs. Anderson, and even Ombra herself, adopted that affectionate phrase—to throw another delightful, half-delusive veil over all possibilities that might be in the future. It gave a certain ‘family feeling,’ a mutual right to serve and be served; and at times Mrs. Anderson felt as if she could persuade herself that ‘the boys,’ who were so full of that kindly and tender gallantry which young men can pay to a woman old enough to be their mother, were in reality her own as much as the girls were—if not sons, nephews at the least. She said this to herself, by way, I fear, of excusing herself, and placing little pleasant shields of pretence between her and the reality. To be sure, she was the soul of propriety, and never left the young people alone together; but, as she said, ‘at whatever cost to herself,’ bore them company in all their rambles. But yet sometimes a recollection of Mr. Courtenay would cross her mind in an uncomfortable way. And sometimes a still more painful chill would seize her when she thought of Kate, who was thus thrown constantly into the society of the Berties. Kate treated them with the easiest friendliness, and they were sincerely (as Mrs. Anderson believed) brotherly to her. But, still, they were all young; and who could tell what fancies the girl might take into her head? These two thoughts kept her uncomfortable. But yet the life was happy and bright; and Ombra was happy. Her cloud of temper had passed away; her rebellions and philosophies had alike vanished into the air. She was brighter than ever she had been in her life—more loving and more sympathetic. Life ran on like a Summer day, though the Tramontana sometimes blew, and the dining-room was cold as San Lorenzo; but all was warm, harmonious, joyous within.