This mere study of a delightful English temperament should develop into the most serious of all his affairs.
A girl as beautiful and as innocent with such a command of so compliant a parent (for little homes in the country for sick children must involve an elastic pocket on the part of Mr. Pinsent) struck Léon as a rare and favorable opportunity.
After all, he meant to settle down some day. His mother wanted it, and his father’s extravagance had done much to make a good match difficult in France, and Léon liked Rose, he appreciated her. She was innocent, but she wasn’t eager--she made no advances towards him--she was modest without being in any danger of striking him as a fool. She knew, for instance, when to hold her tongue.
She was the only one of the Pinsent family who had the good taste to ignore an awkward little episode which took place at about this time.
Léon had been very fortunate hitherto, he had also been skilful. Rome is not a large town, nor one in which it is easy to keep one’s acquaintances definitely apart.
Léon was at this time carrying on two perfectly different affairs. There was the Pinsent affair--which hadn’t arrived and which took up a good deal of time, and for which he chose a certain type of occupation, but there was another affair--which had arrived some time ago, very much less serious, of course, but also requiring time and a background from which he had so far succeeded in eliminating any appearance on the part of the Pinsent family.
Mr. Pinsent upset this arrangement by altering at the last moment, and without notifying Léon--the program prepared in advance by Léon and Mrs. Pinsent. Mr. Pinsent decided that he would go to Frascati and walk up a hill to a place called Tusculum. There wasn’t much to be seen when you got there--but what he suddenly felt was that he needed more exercise and they could get lunch at the Grand Hotel coming back.
It was at the Grand Hotel that the incident happened. Léon saw them coming inexorably across the garden in close formation, waving parasols and shouting their unfettered greetings.
He notified the brilliant lady who was his companion that they must instantly retire in the opposite direction. His companion stared, not at him--a glance had explained him to her quick intelligence--but at the Pinsent family. She said under her breath, “The English have no families--they have tribes--this appears to be a savage one.”
Léon never moved a muscle of his face--he turned his back resolutely upon the approaching Pinsents, and took his companion into the hotel--where he asked for a private room. If the Pinsents chose to follow him there--it would be a pity--but everything would be at an end. There are forms that must be preserved even in the face of self-interest. Léon knew that he would never forgive Rose if the Pinsents went any further. But they didn’t go any further--Rose diverted their attention--she loudly declared that it wasn’t Léon--and insisted on remaining in the garden. She owned when pressed that the walk had been too much for her. She felt not exactly faint, but that she would rather not go indoors. The Pinsents had their lunch under a magnolia tree in the garden. It was very like a picnic, and Agatha and Edith prepared a splendid method of “roasting Léon” when they got hold of him once more. They effected this seizure in the hall of the hotel that evening. They upbraided him roundly with the exception of Rose. Léon denied steadily that he was ever at Frascati, but of course not--how could he have been there and not rushed to greet them? It wasn’t conceivable--they had seen his double! Agatha and Edith described with much wealth of detail the lady he was with (only the English could walk so merrily into dangerous places).