ement.Theheat,thefatigue,andtheenjoymenthadmountedintohishead.
“Totheleft!”thepeoplecried.“Theinnamoratoistotheleft.”
Hedesertedhisladiesandplungedtowardsthebox.Ayoungmanwasflungstomachdownwardsacrossthebalustrade.Philiphandedhimupthebouquetandthenote.Thenhisownhandswereseizedaffectionately.Itallseemedquitenatural.
“Whyhaveyounotwritten?”criedtheyoungman.“Whydoyoutakemebysurprise?”
“Oh,I’vewritten,”saidPhiliphilariously.“Ileftanotethisafternoon.”
“Silence!silence!”criedtheaudience,whowerebeginningtohaveenough.“Letthedivinecreaturecontinue.”MissAbbottandHarriethaddisappeared.
“No!no!”criedtheyoungman.“Youdon’tescapemenow.”ForPhilipwastryingfeeblytodisengagehishands.Amiableyouthsbentoutoftheboxandinvitedhimtoenterit.
“Gino’sfriendsareours—”
“Friends?”criedGino.“Arelative!Abrother!FraFilippo,whohascomeallthewayfromEnglandandneverwritten.”
“Ileftamessage.”
Theaudiencebegantohiss.
“Comeintous.”
“Thankyou—ladies—thereisnottime—”
Thenextmomenthewasswingingbyhisarms.Themomentafterheshotoverthebalustradeintothebox.Thentheconductor,seeingthattheincidentwasover,raisedhisbaton.Thehousewashushed,andLuciadiLammermoorresumedhersongofmadnessanddeath.
Philiphadwhisperedintroductionstothepleasantpeoplewhohadpulledhimin—tradesmen’ssonsperhapstheywere,ormedicalstudents,orsolicitors’clerks,orsonsofotherdentists.ThereisnoknowingwhoiswhoinItaly.Theguestoftheeveningwasaprivatesoldier.HesharedthehonournowwithPhilip.Thetwohadtostandsidebysideinthefront,andexchangecompliments,whilstGinopresided,courteous,butdelightfullyfamiliar.Philipwouldhaveaspasmofhorroratthemuddlehehadmade.Butthespasmwouldpass,andagainhewouldbeenchantedbythekind,cheerfulvoices,thelaughterthatwasnevervapid,andthelightcaressofthearmacrosshisback.
Hecouldnotgetawaytilltheplaywasnearlyfinished,andEdgardowassingingamongstthetombsofancestors.HisnewfriendshopedtoseehimattheGaribalditomorrowevening.HepromisedthenherememberedthatiftheykepttoHarriet’splanhewouldhaveleftMonteriano.“Atteno’clock,then,”hesaidtoGino.“Iwanttospeaktoyoualone.Atten.”
“Certainly!”laughedtheother.
MissAbbottwassittingupforhimwhenhegotback.Harriet,itseemed,hadgonestraighttobed.
“Thatwashe,wasn’tit?”sheasked.
“Yes,rather.”
“Isupposeyoudidn’tsettleanything?”
“Why,nohowcouldI?Thefactis—well,Igottakenbysurprise,butafterall,whatdoesitmatter?There’snoearthlyreasonwhyweshouldn’tdothebusinesspleasantly.He’saperfectlycharmingperson,andsoarehisfriends.I’mhisfriendnow—hislong-lostbrother.What’stheharm?Itellyou,MissAbbott,it’sonethingforEnglandandanotherforItaly.Thereweplanandgetonhighmoralhorses.Herewefindwhatassesweare,forthingsgooffquiteeasily,allbythemselves.Myhat,whatanight!Didyoueverseeareallypurpleskyandreallysilverstarsbefore?Well,asIwassaying,it’sabsurdtoworryhe’snotaporkyfather.HewantsthatbabyaslittleasIdo.He’sbeenraggingmydearmother—justasheraggedmeeighteenmonthsago,andI’veforgivenhim.Oh,buthehasasenseofhumour!”
MissAbbott,too,hadawonderfulevening,nordidsheeverremembersuchstarsorsuchasky.Herhead,too,wasfullofmusic,andthatnightwhensheopenedthewindowherroomwasfilledwithwarm,sweetair.Shewasbathedinbeautywithinandwithoutshecouldnotgotobedforhappiness.Hadsheeverbeensohappybefore?Yes,oncebefore,andhere,anightinMarch,thenightGinoandLiliahadtoldheroftheirlove—thenightwhoseevilshehadcomenowtoundo.
Shegaveasuddencryofshame.“Thistime—thesameplace—thesamething”—andshebegantobeatdownherhappiness,knowingittobesinful.Shewasheretofightagainstthisplace,torescuealittlesoul—whowasinnocentasyet.Shewasheretochampionmoralityandpurity,andtheholylifeofanEnglishhome.Inthespringshehadsinnedthroughignoranceshewasnotignorantnow.“Helpme!”shecried,andshutthewindowasiftherewasmagicintheencirclingair.Butthetuneswouldnotgooutofherhead,andallnightlongshewastroubledbytorrentsofmusic,andbyapplauseandlaughter,andangryyoungmenwhoshoutedthedistichoutofBaedeker:—
Poggibonizzifattiinla,
CheMonterianosifacitta!
Poggibonsiwasrevealedtoherastheysang—ajoyless,stragglingplace,fullofpeoplewhopretended.WhenshewokeupsheknewthatithadbeenSawston.