If only she cared for any of the things I do! But no! She is one of the useless daughters of the rich, who expect to be petted, pampered and provided for in the way they have been accustomed, forgetting that the old man struggled a lifetime to give them that limousine and the house on Fifth Avenue. She is one of the great army of women who think men should sweat that women may spend. I have always maintained that it was a woman’s place to do her share of the work; and here I was, marrying a pleasure-seeker, an idler.
Better, I thought, some daughter of democracy; yea, even such a one as but a little ago tidied my apartment, that dark-haired damsel with the melancholy mouth and the eyes of an odalisque.
As I pretended to work I had often watched my charming chambermaid; but my interest was purely professional, till one day it was stimulated by an unusual incident. There was a villainous-looking valet-de-chambre who brought me my coffee and rolls in the morning, and who presided over a little pantry from which they seemed to emanate. Passing this pantry, I witnessed a brisk scuffle between the chambermaid and the valet. He made an effort to kiss her, and she repulsed him with evident disgust. From then on I could see the two were at daggers drawn, and that the man only waited a chance to take his revenge.
After that, it may not be deemed strange that I should have taken a more personal interest in my hand-maid; that I should have practised my Italian on her on every opportunity; that I should have found her name to be Lucrezia Poppolini, and that of her tormentor, Victor. A spirit of protection glowed in me; I half hoped for dramatic developments, pitied her in her evident unhappiness, and vowed that if she were persecuted any more I would take a hand in the game.
In a rhapsodic vein I had begun an article on Naples, and ranged far and wide in search of impressions. It was one evening I had pleaded work to escape from Guinivere (who was getting on my nerves), and I had sought the quarter of the town down by the fish-market. Frequently had I been moved to remark that in Naples there seemed to be no danger of depopulation, and the appearance of a good woman approaching strengthened my conviction. Then as she came close I saw that she was only a girl, very poor, and intensely miserable. But something else made me start and stare: she was the exact counterpart of my interesting chambermaid.
“Perhaps they are twin sisters,” thought I. “This girl’s trouble would account for the worry and sadness on the face of Lucrezia. Here is material for drama.”
So taken was I by my twin-sister theory, that I ended by half-convincing myself I was right. Then, by a little play of fancy, I allowed for the following dramatis personæ:
“Victor, the Villainous Valet.
Lucrezia, the Chaste Chambermaid.
Twin Sister in trouble.