My Friend Prospero | Page 9

breathed Lady Blanchemain, and for a little while appeared
lost in thought. By-and-by she got up and went to the window, and
stood looking out. "I never saw a lovelier landscape," she said,
musingly. "With the grey hills, and the snow-peaks, and the brilliant
sky, with the golden light and the purple shadows, and the cypresses
and olives, with the river gleaming below there amongst the
peach-blossoms, and--isn't that a blackcap singing in the mimosa? It
only needs a pair of lovers to be perfect--it cries for a pair of lovers.
And instead of them, I find--what? A hermit and celibate. Look here.
Make a clean breast of it. Are you cold-blooded?" she asked from over
her shoulder.
John merely giggled.
"It would serve you right," said she, truculently, "if some one were to
rub your eyes with love-in-idleness, to make you dote upon the next
live creature that you see."

John merely chuckled.
"I'll tell you what," she proceeded, "I'm a bit of an old witch, and I'll
risk a soothword. As there isn't already a woman, there'll shortly be
one--my thumbs prick. The stage is set, the scene is too appropriate, the
play's inevitable. It was never in the will of Providence that a youth of
your complexion should pass the springtime in a spot all teeming with
romance like this, and miss a love adventure. A castle in a garden, a
flowering valley, and the Italian sky--the Italian sun and moon! Your
portraits of these smiling dead women too, if you like, to keep your
imagination working. And blackcaps singing in the mimosa. No, no.
The lady of the piece is waiting in the wings--my thumbs prick. Give
her but the least excuse, she'll enter, and ... Good Heavens, my
prophetic soul!" she suddenly, with a sort of catch in her throat, broke
off.
She turned and faced him, cheeks flushed, eyes flashing.
"Oh, you hypocrite! You monstrous fibber!" she cried, on a tone of
jubilation, looking daggers.
"Why? What's up? What's the matter?" asked John, at fault.
"How could you have humbugged me so?" she wailed, in delight,
reverting to the window. "Anyhow, she's charming. She's made for the
part. I couldn't pray for a more promising heroine."
"She? Who?" asked he, crossing to her side.
"Who? Fie, you slyboots!" she crowed with glee.
"Ah, I see," said John.
For, below them, in the garden, just beyond the mimosa (all powdered
with fresh gold) where the blackcap was singing, stood a woman.

IX

She stood in the path, beside a sun-dial, from which she appeared to be
taking the time of day, a crumbling ancient thing of grey stone, green
and brown with mosses; and she was smiling pleasantly to herself the
while, all unaware of the couple who watched her from above. She
wore a light-coloured garden-frock, and was bare-headed, as one
belonging to the place. She was young--two or three and twenty, by her
aspect: young, slender, of an excellent height, and, I hope you would
have agreed, a beautiful countenance. She studied the sun-dial, and
smiled; and what with her dark eyes and softly chiselled features, the
pale rose in her cheeks and the deeper rose of her mouth, with her hair
too, almost black in shadow, but where the sun touched it turning to
sombre red,--yes, I think you would have agreed that she was beautiful.
Lady Blanchemain, at any rate, found her so.
"She's quite lovely," she declared. "Her face is exquisite--so sensitive,
so spiritual; so distinguished, so aristocratic. And so clever," she added,
after a suspension.
"Mm!" said John, his forehead wrinkled, as if something were puzzling
him.
"She has a figure--she holds herself well," said Lady Blanchemain.
"Mm!" said John.
"I suppose," said she, "you're too much a mere man to be able to
appreciate her frock? It's the work of a dressmaker who knows her
business. And that lilac muslin (that's so fashionable now) really does,
in the open air, with the country for background, show to immense
advantage. Come--out with it. Tell me all about her. Who is she?"
"That's just what I'm up a tree to think," said John. "I can't imagine.
How long has she been there? From what direction did she come?"
"Don't try to hoodwink me any longer," remonstrated the lady,
unbelieving.
"I've never in my life set eyes on her before," he solemnly averred.

She scrutinized him sharply.
"Hand on heart?" she doubted.
And he, supporting her scrutiny without flinching, answered, "Hand on
heart."
"Well, then," concluded she, with a laugh, "it looks as if I were even
more of an old witch than I boasted--and my thumbs pricked to some
purpose. Here's the lady of the piece already arrived. There, she's going
away. How well she walks! Have after her--have after her quick,