Chapter 7

Ataboutnineo’clocknextmorningPerfettawentoutontotheloggia,nottolookattheview,buttothrowsomedirtywateratit.“Scusitanto!”shewailed,forthewaterspatteredatallyoungladywhohadforsometimebeentappingatthelowerdoor. “IsSignorCarellain?”theyoungladyasked.ItwasnobusinessofPerfetta’stobeshocked,andthestyleofthevisitorseemedtodemandthereception-room.Accordinglysheopeneditsshutters,dustedaroundpatchononeofthehorsehairchairs,andbadetheladydoherselftheinconvenienceofsittingdown.ThensheranintoMonterianoandshoutedupanddownitsstreetsuntilsuchtimeasheryoungmastershouldhearher. Thereception-roomwassacredtothedeadwife.Hershinyportraithunguponthewall—similar,doubtless,inallrespectstotheonewhichwouldbepastedonhertombstone.Alittlepieceofblackdraperyhadbeentackedabovetheframetolendadignitytowoe.Buttwoofthetackshadfallenout,andtheeffectwasnowrakish,asofadrunkard’sbonnet.Acoonsonglayopenonthepiano,andofthetwotablesonesupportedBaedeker’s“CentralItaly,”theotherHarriet’sinlaidbox.Andovereverythingtherelayadepositofheavywhitedust,whichwasonlyblownoffonemomenttothickenonanother.Itiswelltoberememberedwithlove.Itisnotsoverydreadfultobeforgottenentirely.Butifweshallresentanythingonearthatall,weshallresenttheconsecrationofadesertedroom. MissAbbottdidnotsitdown,partlybecausetheantimacassarsmightharbourfleas,partlybecauseshehadsuddenlyfeltfaint,andwasgladtoclingontothefunnelofthestove.Shestruggledwithherself,forshehadneedtobeverycalmonlyifshewasverycalmmightherbehaviourbejustified.ShehadbrokenfaithwithPhilipandHarriet:shewasgoingtotryforthebabybeforetheydid.Ifshefailedshecouldscarcelylooktheminthefaceagain. “Harrietandherbrother,”shereasoned,“don’trealizewhatisbeforethem.Shewouldblusterandberudehewouldbepleasantandtakeitasajoke.Bothofthem—eveniftheyofferedmoney—wouldfail.ButIbegintounderstandtheman’snaturehedoesnotlovethechild,buthewillbetouchyaboutit—andthatisquiteasbadforus.He’scharming,buthe’snofoolheconqueredmelastyearheconqueredMr.Herritonyesterday,andifIamnotcarefulhewillconquerusalltoday,andthebabywillgrowupinMonteriano.HeisterriblystrongLiliafoundthatout,butonlyIrememberitnow.” Thisattempt,andthisjustificationofit,weretheresultsofthelongandrestlessnight.MissAbbotthadcometobelievethatshealonecoulddobattlewithGino,becauseshealoneunderstoodhimandshehadputthis,asnicelyasshecould,inanotewhichshehadleftforPhilip.Itdistressedhertowritesuchanote,partlybecausehereducationinclinedhertoreverencethemale,partlybecauseshehadgottolikePhilipagooddealaftertheirlaststrangeinterview.Hispettinesswouldbedispersed,andasforhis“unconventionality,”whichwassomuchgossipedaboutatSawston,shebegantoseethatitdidnotdiffergreatlyfromcertainfamiliarnotionsofherown.Ifonlyhewouldforgiveherforwhatshewasdoingnow,theremightperhapsbebeforethemalongandprofitablefriendship.Butshemustsucceed.Noonewouldforgiveherifshedidnotsucceed.Shepreparedtodobattlewiththepowersofevil. Thevoiceofheradversarywasheardatlast,singingfearlesslyfromhisexpandedlungs,likeaprofessional.HereinhedifferedfromEnglishmen,whoalwayshavealittlefeelingagainstmusic,andsingonlyfromthethroat,apologetically.Hepaddedupstairs,andlookedinattheopendoorofthereception-roomwithoutseeingher.Herheartleaptandherthroatwasdrywhenheturnedawayandpassed,stillsinging,intotheroomopposite.Itisalarmingnottobeseen. Hehadleftthedoorofthisroomopen,andshecouldseeintoit,rightacrossthelanding.Itwasinashockingmess.Food,bedclothes,patent-leatherboots,dirtyplates,andkniveslaystrewnoveralargetableandonthefloor.Butitwasthemessthatcomesoflife,notofdesolation.Itwaspreferabletothecharnel-chamberinwhichshewasstandingnow,andthelightinitwassoftandlarge,asfromsomegracious,nobleopening. Hestoppedsinging,andcried“WhereisPerfetta?” Hisbackwasturned,andhewaslightingacigar.HewasnotspeakingtoMissAbbott.Hecouldnotevenbeexpectingher.Thevistaofthelandingandthetwoopendoorsmadehimbothremoteandsignificant,likeanactoronthestage,intimateandunapproachableatthesametime.ShecouldnomorecallouttohimthanifhewasHamlet. “Youknow!”hecontinued,“butyouwillnottellme.Exactlylikeyou.”Hereclinedonthetableandblewafatsmoke-ring.“Andwhywon’tyoutellmethenumbers?Ihavedreamtofaredhen—thatistwohundredandfive,andafriendunexpected—hemeanseighty-two.ButItryfortheTernothisweek.Sotellmeanothernumber.” MissAbbottdidnotknowoftheTomb