“Capisco!” cried Angelina joyfully.
“It is worse than Robinson Crusoe with his man Friday,” sighed Isabel, sinking, exhausted, into a chair. “These scenes are positively ruining my disposition. You know, Bianca, I used to have a very good temper, and the servants at home were always fond of me. But here I am becoming a scold and a fury. We must get settled in another apartment, and have a teacher right away.”
A cool summer apartment was found near the Esquiline, a teacher engaged, and our parting friends went their several ways, taking doleful leave of us.
And here it may not be amiss to make the reader better acquainted with the family who desire the pleasure of his acquaintance and company for a time.
Mr. Varney, the son of a Boston merchant, had, when he was young and venturesome, made a voyage to Spain in one of his father's ships. The ship came back without him; but, after six months' absence, he returned, bringing with him a young Spanish wife, whom he had wooed and won during that brief visit. She lived only ten years, pining ever for the sunny land of her birth, and dropped away finally before they had begun to fear that she was dying, leaving two daughters, Bianca and Isabel.
Her death quite uprooted her husband from his accustomed life, and gave him a shock from which he never recovered. He had always promised, and had meant, to take her back to Spain; but, between the calls of business and a habit of procrastination, had put off the visit from year to year till it was too late. Then the New England which had killed her became distasteful to him, and, after lingering a few years to settle up his business, he went abroad [pg 662] for an indefinite time, taking his daughters with him. He seemed to fancy that by this tardy journey he was proving to his wife his regret and the sincerity of his promises.
They avoided Spain, however, unwilling to hasten at once to that land which she had longed in vain to see. There was even an idea of self-exile and punishment in going so near without touching its beautiful shores. They visited England and France, then came directly to Rome.
“I do not believe that we shall ever go away from Italy for any length of time,” Bianca said. “It is the true land of the lotos, and we have eaten of the charmed plant.”
“Would you like to live here always?” her father asked, looking earnestly at her.
There was a certain pensive melancholy in her face and attitude which constantly drew his anxious regards.