Part One
Chapter 1: The Bertolini
(continued)
Charlotte's energy! And her unselfishness! She had been thus all
her life, but really, on this Italian tour, she was surpassing
herself. So Lucy felt, or strove to feel. And yet--there was a
rebellious spirit in her which wondered whether the acceptance
might not have been less delicate and more beautiful. At all
events, she entered her own room without any feeling of joy.
"I want to explain," said Miss Bartlett, "why it is that I have
taken the largest room. Naturally, of course, I should have given
it to you; but I happen to know that it belongs to the young man,
and I was sure your mother would not like it."
Lucy was bewildered.
"If you are to accept a favour it is more suitable you should be
under an obligation to his father than to him. I am a woman of
the world, in my small way, and I know where things lead to. How-ever,
Mr. Beebe is a guarantee of a sort that they will not
presume on this."
"Mother wouldn't mind I'm sure," said Lucy, but again had the
sense of larger and unsuspected issues.
Miss Bartlett only sighed, and enveloped her in a protecting
embrace as she wished her good-night. It gave Lucy the sensation
of a fog, and when she reached her own room she opened the window
and breathed the clean night air, thinking of the kind old man
who had enabled her to see the lights dancing in the Arno and the
cypresses of San Miniato, and the foot-hills of the Apennines,
black against the rising moon.
Miss Bartlett, in her room, fastened the window-shutters and
locked the door, and then made a tour of the apartment to see
where the cupboards led, and whether there were any oubliettes or
secret entrances. It was then that she saw, pinned up over the
washstand, a sheet of paper on which was scrawled an enormous
note of interrogation. Nothing more.
|