‘A distinction must be made,’ said Lady Caryisfort, ‘especially as it is now known who you are. For Miss Anderson it is quite different, and her mother, of course, must not neglect her interests.’
‘How funny that anyone’s interests should be affected by an invitation!’ said Kate, with one of those unintentional revelations of her sense of her own greatness which were so amusing to her friends. And Count Buoncompagni came to her side of the carriage when they got to the Cascine. It was entirely under Lady Caryisfort’s wing that their acquaintance had been formed, and nobody, accordingly, could have a word to say against it. Though she could not quite get Bertie (as she said) out of her head after the incident of the morning, the young Italian was still a very pleasant companion. He talked well, and told her about the people as none of the English could do. ‘There is Roscopanni, who was the first out in ’48, he said. ‘He was nearly killed at Novara. But perhaps you do not care to hear about our patriots?’
‘Oh! but I do,’ cried Kate, glowing into enthusiasm; and Count Antonio was nothing loth to be her instructor. He confessed that he himself had been ‘out,’ as Fergus MacIvor, had he survived it, might have confessed, to the ’45. Kate had her little prejudices, like all English girls—her feeling of the inferiority of ‘foreigners,’ and their insincerity and theatrical emotionalness. But Count Antonio took her imagination by storm. He was handsome; he had the sonorous masculine voice which suits Italian best, and does most justice to its melodious splendour; yet he did not speak much Italian, but only a little now and then, to give her courage to speak it. Even French, however, which was their general medium of communication, was an exercise to Kate, who had little practice in any language but her own. Then he told her about his own family, and that they were poor, with a frankness which went to Kate’s heart; and she told him, as best she could, about Francesca, and how she had heard the history of the Buoncompagni—‘before ever I saw you,’ Kate said, stretching the fact a little.
Thus the young man was emboldened to propose to Lady Caryisfort a visit to his old palace and its faded glories. There were some pictures he thought that ces dames would like to look at. ‘Still some pictures, though not much else,’ he said, ending off with a bit of English, and a shrug of his shoulders, and a laugh at his own poverty; and an appointment was made before the carriage drove off.
‘The Italians are not ashamed of being poor,’ said Kate, with animation, as they went home.
‘If they were, they might as well give in at once, for they are all poor,’ said Lady Caryisfort, with British contempt. But Kate, who was rich, thought all the more of the noble young Florentine, with his old palace and his pictures. And then he had been ‘out.’
CHAPTER XLIII.
Kate took it upon herself to make unusual preparations for the supper on that particular evening. She decorated the table with her own hands, and coaxed Francesca to the purchase of various dainties beyond the ordinary.
‘They will be tired; they will want something when they come back,’ she said.