rythebabytothehotel.Ofcourseyoumusttipherforit.Andtry,ifyoucan,togetpoorLilia’ssilverbangles.Theywerenicequietthings,andwilldoforIrma.AndthereisaninlaidboxIlenther—lent,notgave—tokeepherhandkerchiefsin.It’sofnorealvaluebutthisisouronlychance.Don’taskforitbutifyouseeitlyingabout,justsay—”
“No,HarrietI’lltryforthebaby,butfornothingelse.Ipromisetodothattomorrow,andtodoitinthewayyouwish.Buttonight,aswe’realltired,wewantachangeoftopic.Wewantrelaxation.Wewanttogotothetheatre.”
“Theatreshere?Andatsuchamoment?”
“Weshouldhardlyenjoyit,withthegreatinterviewimpending,”saidMissAbbott,withananxiousglanceatPhilip.
Hedidnotbetrayher,butsaid,“Don’tyouthinkit’sbetterthansittinginalltheeveningandgettingnervous?”
Hissistershookherhead.“Motherwouldn’tlikeit.Itwouldbemostunsuitable—almostirreverent.Besidesallthat,foreigntheatresarenotorious.Don’tyourememberthoselettersinthe‘ChurchFamilyNewspaper’?”
“Butthisisanopera—‘LuciadiLammermoor’—SirWalterScott—classical,youknow.”
Harriet’sfacegrewresigned.“Certainlyonehassofewopportunitiesofhearingmusic.Itissuretobeverybad.Butitmightbebetterthansittingidlealltheevening.Wehavenobook,andIlostmycrochetatFlorence.”
“Good.MissAbbott,youarecomingtoo?”
“Itisverykindofyou,Mr.Herriton.InsomewaysIshouldenjoyitbut—excusethesuggestion—Idon’tthinkweoughttogotocheapseats.”
“Goodgraciousme!”criedHarriet,“Ishouldneverhavethoughtofthat.Aslikelyasnot,weshouldhavetriedtosavemoneyandsatamongthemostawfulpeople.OnekeepsonforgettingthisisItaly.”
“UnfortunatelyIhavenoeveningdressandiftheseats—”
“Oh,that’llbeallright,”saidPhilip,smilingathistimorous,scrupulouswomen-kind.“We’llgoasweare,andbuythebestwecanget.Monterianoisnotformal.”
Sothisstrenuousdayofresolutions,plans,alarms,battles,victories,defeats,truces,endedattheopera.MissAbbottandHarrietwerebothalittleshame-faced.TheythoughtoftheirfriendsatSawston,whoweresupposingthemtobenowtiltingagainstthepowersofevil.WhatwouldMrs.Herriton,orIrma,orthecuratesattheBackKitchensayiftheycouldseetherescuepartyataplaceofamusementontheveryfirstdayofitsmission?Philip,too,marvelledathiswishtogo.HebegantoseethathewasenjoyinghistimeinMonteriano,inspiteofthetiresomenessofhiscompanionsandtheoccasionalcontrarinessofhimself.
Hehadbeentothistheatremanyyearsbefore,ontheoccasionofaperformanceof“LaZiadiCarlo.”Sincethenithadbeenthoroughlydoneup,inthetintsofthebeet-rootandthetomato,andwasinmanyotherwaysacredittothelittletown.Theorchestrahadbeenenlarged,someoftheboxeshadterra-cottadraperies,andovereachboxwasnowsuspendedanenormoustablet,neatlyframed,bearinguponitthenumberofthatbox.Therewasalsoadrop-scene,representingapinkandpurplelandscape,whereinsportedmanyaladylightlyclad,andtwomoreladieslayalongthetopoftheprosceniumtosteadyalargeandpallidclock.Sorichandsoappallingwastheeffect,thatPhilipcouldscarcelysuppressacry.ThereissomethingmajesticinthebadtasteofItalyitisnotthebadtasteofacountrywhichknowsnobetterithasnotthenervousvulgarityofEngland,ortheblindedvulgarityofGermany.Itobservesbeauty,andchoosestopassitby.Butitattainstobeauty’sconfidence.ThistinytheatreofMonterianospraddledandswaggeredwiththebestofthem,andtheseladieswiththeirclockwouldhavenoddedtotheyoungmenontheceilingoftheSistine.
Philiphadtriedforabox,butallthebestweretaken:itwasratheragrandperformance,andhehadtobecontentwithstalls.Harrietwasfretfulandinsular.MissAbbottwaspleasant,andinsistedonpraisingeverything:heronlyregretwasthatshehadnoprettyclotheswithher.
“Wedoallright,”saidPhilip,amusedatherunwontedvanity.
“Yes,Iknowbutprettythingspackaseasilyasuglyones.WehadnoneedtocometoItalylikeguys.”
Thistimehedidnotreply,“Butwe’reheretorescueababy.”Forhesawacharmingpicture,ascharmingapictureashehadseenforyears—thehotredtheatreoutsidethetheatre,towersanddarkgatesandmediaevalwallsbeyondthewallsolive-treesinthestarlightandwhitewindingroadsandfirefliesanduntroubleddustandhereinthemiddleofitall,MissAbbott,wishingshehadnotcomelookinglikeaguy.Shehadmadetherightremark.Mostundoubtedlyshehadmadetherightremark.Thisstiffsuburbanwomanwasunbendingbeforetheshrine.
“Don’tyoulikeita