A Heart-Song of To-day Part 44

"Where's my truant cavalier? You have never come without him? That would be too cruel."

"We have; simply because he has left Rome and Italy."

"Left Rome without bidding me _adieu_," screamed Posey, "how cruel!

Eveline, ring for my drops; the shock makes me feel quite faint. Tell me how, and why, Lady Esmondet?"

"His uncle, Sir Vincent was dying,--is now probably over the border."

"To a death-bed! how unfortunate! What shall I do without him for my tableaux?" she was moved to tears--for the tableaux.

"What a pity the mighty Angel of Death would not stay his hand even for the tableaux of an English d.u.c.h.ess!" said Lady Esmondet, with veiled cynicism.

"Yes, I think he was very cruel," sobbed the d.u.c.h.ess.

"Never mind, mamma," said Eveline, soothingly "Some one else can take his place, and perhaps Capt. Trevalyon will now be a baronet, and that will be so nice. You like him, so it will make it all right."

"So it will," said Posey, drying her eyes, "if it's so, is it, Lady Esmondet?"

"Yes, Lady Wyesdale, Capt. Trevalyon succeeds to the baronetcy."

Lady Esmondet's remark was carried with different variations to the end of the _salon_, where Vaura sat. She was immediately besieged with questions.

"What is this rumour, Miss Vernon," asked an Englishman; "is Trevalyon to be raised to the peerage?"

"For his looks of an Adonis and many fascinations," cried one.

"No, for his many _affaires de coeur_," laughed another.

"Or that his 'hidden wife' is coming forth," said a London man, who read the news.

"More likely for some knightly act, by his Queen rewarded," echoed a soft-voiced Italian.

"Or his vote is promised for the war supply," said the London man.

"_Carita, carita_!" said Vaura, laughingly, and turning to the London man, "You forget the party motto, 'no bribery,' Mr. Howard, and if you all lend an ear, I shall tell you that instead of a peerage, our friend, as far as I know, is plain Capt. Trevalyon."

"Heresy, Miss Vernon, for he is not 'plain,' and you women will have it that he is a peer in our age."

"A peerless way of putting it, Mr. Howard," laughed Vaura.

"Luncheon is served, my lady," said the butler.

"Somebody take in everybody," said the d.u.c.h.ess. "We always go to luncheon _sans ceremonie_."

And so fate willed Signor Castenelli (the young Italian who had accompanied them to the landau) to Vaura. The table was gay with Sevres china and _majolica_ ware, but the viands were poor and scanty, and the victuals few and far between. One man of healthy appet.i.te could easily have laid bare dishes that had been prepared for seven, when five morning callers having been invited to remain, so lessened the _morceau_ for each guest. The d.u.c.h.ess having decided on getting all her wardrobe from the magic scissors of Worth, had determined to retrench in the matter of wines, etc., not putting faith in the adage that "the way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

"Believe me," she would say to her b.u.t.terfly friends, "I know men's tastes, and they would rather feast their eyes than their stomachs."

You may be very wise, Posey Wyesdale, but trust me, a man has no eyes for either you or your gown, if after a long ride or much calling he finally, in an evil hour, succ.u.mbs to your invitation to lunch and you give him a mouthful of chicken and one slice of wafer-like bread and b.u.t.ter, the mighty whole washed down with a cup of weak tea or thin wine; rather would he (curled darling though he be) return to the primitive custom of his forefathers and feed the inner man at the much-despised mid-day dinner on steaming slices of venison or beef, while he slaked his thirst in a b.u.mper of British beer. But as O'Gormon said to Castenelli, on dining with him on that same evening: "Faith, all that was on the table of Lady Wyesdale wouldn't add to the hips of a gra.s.shopper."

"No, a fellow wouldn't have to try your larding system to get himself into waltzing shape; did your little. English d.u.c.h.ess cater for him,"

had laughed Castenelli.

But let us return to the d.u.c.h.ess of Wyesdale and her guests.

It seemed to Lady Esmondet, who was seated near her hostess, who plied her with questions as to Captain Trevalyon's whereabouts and possible doings, an insufferable bore to be there. To Vaura, who was more pleasantly placed; it seemed as though a few sentences were said, a few mouthfuls eaten, and the feast over.

"How is your n.o.ble king; Signor Castenelli," inquired Vaura.

"Our beauteous flowers will not bloom, nor our sweet-song birds sing another summer for him; my heart weeps as I say it, Signora."

"Yes; he is a fit king for so fair a land, and I sincerely trust for your sake and Italy, your fears will not be realized. The gentle Pius IX. is also stricken down."

"Yes, Signora, but our Holy Father's loss could be more easily replaced than that of our beloved temporal sovereign."

"Yes; a few solitary closetings of the Cardinals, a few ballots taken, a few volumes of smoke, and the Pope lives again."

"You like my city, Signora?"

"I love it. Ah! how much have you here to en.o.ble, to refine, to educate; what great souls have expanded in an atmosphere laden with the breath of a long, never-dying line of poets, orators, sculptors and painters. Yes, Signor Castenelli, it is a n.o.ble heritage to be Roman-born."

"Thanks, Signora Vernon, for your gracious tribute to my country. But alas, we are fast becoming inoculated with the progressive spirit of the age; the American is among us."

"You should extol him, Signor Castenelli, it is the fashion with us to welcome him, his note-book and his gold."

"He is too energetic for me," said the Italian, as Vaura taking his arm followed others to the salons and from the feast.

"He is a man of his time; you and I, Signor, are old-fashioned in regretting that many of the old land-marks are doomed; the spirit of the age is insatiable and his votaries are never idle in sacrificing in his honour, and if we'd be happy we must not weep. I confess I regret that your historic, not over clean, but picturesque Jews quarter, the Ghetto, is to give place to your new palace of justice; it is rather an incongruity (to me) that it should rise as if from the ashes of hearth-stones round which in days of yore figures sat to whom justice had been very imperfectly meted out."

"True, true, Signora Vernon, and I don't like to see them all go, and your sympathy is sweet. The American is a giant in his time; but we are not as they, he is literally a man of to-day; he has to be always in a hurry to make his name tell. We have done all that, but he is wrong to say we are dreamers," and his eyes flashed; "our blood is as full of fire as in the days of the Gracchi, the Caesars."

"Theirs was a grand age, but ours is gay, and could we be promoted backwards, I fear me," she added gaily, "we would long for our telephone, our electric light, our novels, our mutual club life, our great Worth, our lounging chairs, and many other pet luxuries."

"True, Signora," answered Castenelli, in the same tone, "and I can answer for myself; were a _belle_ of those days to step from the canvas for my approval, I should tell her to sleep on, and give place to her more beautiful and gay sister of my own day."

"In the name of the b.u.t.terflies of to-day, I thank you," said Vaura gaily.

"How long do you grace Rome with your presence?"

"One short week and a day, Signor; and I shall not leave your sun-warm Italia without regret, replete as it is with so much that charms the mind and senses, none so soulless I hope, but would feel as I shall on bidding adieu to one of the choicest gardens Dame Nature revels in."

"Why leave us so soon?"

"Fate wills it, and there are home revels to which we are bid, and the crush of the season after, where we shall only see our wings glisten by Edisons or the now doomed gas-shine, for fog reigns supreme in the day-time, and poor old Sol is hid from us."

"London belles would shine by their own beauty even in Egyptian darkness."

For the Italian took pleasure in the beauty of the fair woman beside him, her expressive face changing as some word touched her heart, or again gay, reflecting a nature ever ready to respond in sympathy with the feeling of those who pleased her.