Eleanor | Page 9

room for her to pass. The girl felt
almost as though she had been struck. She moved hurriedly,
appealingly towards Miss Manisty, who took her arm kindly as they
left the room.
'Don't let my nephew frighten you, my dear'--she said--'He never thinks
like anybody else.'
'I read so much at Florence--and on the journey'--said Lucy, while her
hand trembled in Miss Manisty's--'Mrs. Browning--Mazzini--many
things. I could not put that time out of my head!'
CHAPTER II
On the way back to the salon the ladies passed once more through the
large book-room or library which lay between it and the dining-room.
Lucy Foster looked round it, a little piteously, as though she were

seeking for something to undo the impression--the disappointment--she
had just received.
'Oh! my dear, you never saw such a place as it was when we arrived in
March'--said Miss Manisty. 'It was the billiard-room--a ridiculous
table--and ridiculous balls--and a tiled floor without a scrap of
carpet--and the cold! In the whole apartment there were just two
bedrooms with fireplaces. Eleanor went to bed in one; I went to bed in
the other. No carpets--no stoves--no proper beds even. Edward of
course said it was all charming, and the climate balmy. Ah, well!--now
we are really quite comfortable--except in that odious dining-room,
which Edward will have left in its sins.'
Miss Manisty surveyed her work with a mild satisfaction. The table
indeed had been carried away. The floor was covered with soft carpets.
The rough uneven walls painted everywhere with the interlaced M's of
the Malestrini were almost hidden by well-filled bookcases; and, in
addition, a profusion of new books, mostly French and Italian, was
heaped on all the tables. On the mantelpiece a large recent photograph
stood propped against a marble head. It represented a soldier in a
striking dress; and Lucy stopped to look at it.
'One of the Swiss Guards--at the Vatican'--said Mrs. Burgoyne kindly.
'You know the famous uniform--it was designed by Michael Angelo.'
'No--I didn't know'--said the girl, flushing again.--'And this head?'
'Ah, that is a treasure! Mr. Manisty bought it a few months ago from a
Roman noble who has come to grief. He sold this and a few bits of
furniture first of all. Then he tried to sell his pictures. But the
Government came down upon him--you know your pictures are not
your own in Italy. So the poor man must keep his pictures and go
bankrupt. But isn't she beautiful? She is far finer than most of the things
in the Vatican--real primitive Greek--not a copy. Do you know'--Mrs.
Burgoyne stepped back, looked first at the bust, then at Miss
Poster--'do you know you are really very like her--curiously like her!'
'Oh!'--cried Miss Foster in confusion--'I wish--'

'But it is quite true. Except for the hair. And that's only arrangement.
Do you think--would you let me?--would you forgive me?--It's just this
band of hair here, yours waves precisely in the same way. Would you
really allow me--I won't make you untidy?'
And before Miss Poster could resist, Mrs. Burgoyne had put up her deft
hands, and in a moment, with a pull here, and the alteration of a hairpin
there, she had loosened the girl's black and silky hair, till it showed the
beautiful waves above the ear in which it did indeed resemble the
marble head with a curious closeness.
'I can put it back in a moment. But oh--that is so charming! Aunt
Pattie!'
Miss Manisty looked up from a newspaper which had just arrived.
'My dear!--that was bold of you I But indeed it is charming! I think I
would forgive you if I were Miss Foster.
The girl felt herself gently turned towards the mirror that rose behind
the Greek head. With pink cheeks she too looked at herself for a
moment. Then in a shyness beyond speech, she lifted her hands.
'Must you'--said Mrs. Burgoyne appealingly. 'I know one doesn't like to
be untidy. But it isn't really the least untidy--It is only
delightful--perfectly delightful!'
Her voice, her manner charmed the girl's annoyance.
'If you like it'--she said, hesitating--'But it will come down!'
'I like it terribly--and it will not think of coming down! Let me show
you Mr. Manisty's latest purchase.'
And, slipping her arm inside Miss Foster's, Mrs. Burgoyne dexterously
turned her away from the glass, and brought her to the large central
table, where a vivid charcoal sketch, supported on a small easel, rose
among the litter of books.

It represented an old old man carried in a chair on the shoulders of a
crowd of attendants and guards. Soldiers in curved helmets, courtiers in
short velvet cloaks and ruffs, priests in floating vestments pressed
about him--a dim vast multitude stretched into the distance. The old
man wore a high cap with three