Mrs. Willoughby was in her room at
the hotel in Milan, when the door opened, and Minnie
came in. She looked around the room, drew a long
breath, then locked the door, and flinging herself
upon a sofa, she reclined there in silence for some
time, looking hard at the ceiling. Mrs. Willoughby
looked a little surprised at first; but after waiting
a few moments for Minnie to say something, resumed
her reading, which had been interrupted.
“Kitty,” said Minnie at last.
“What?” said her sister, looking up.
“I think you’re horrid.”
“Why, what’s the matter?”
“Why, because when you see and
know that I’m dying to speak to you, you go
on reading that wretched book.”
“Why, Minnie darling,”
said Mrs. Willoughby, “how in the world was I
to know that you wanted to speak to me?”
“You might have known,”
said Minnie, with a pout “you saw
me look all round, and lock the door; and you saw
how worried I looked, and I think it a shame, and
I’ve a great mind not to tell you any thing
about it.”
“About it what it?”
and Mrs. Willoughby put down her book, and regarded
her sister with some curiosity.
“I’ve a great mind not
to tell you, but I can’t help it. Besides,
I’m dying to ask your advice. I don’t
know what to do; and I wish I was dead there!”
“My poor Minnie! what is
the matter? You’re so incoherent.”
“Well, Kitty, it’s all my accident.”
“Your accident!”
“Yes; on the Alps, you know.”
“What! You haven’t
received any serious injury, have you?” asked
Mrs. Willoughby, with some alarm.
“Oh! I don’t mean
that, but I’ll tell you what I mean;” and
here Minnie got up from her reclining position, and
allowed her little feet to touch the carpet, while
she fastened her great, fond, pleading, piteous eyes
upon her sister.
“It’s the Count, you know,” said
she.
“The Count!” repeated Mrs. Willoughby,
somewhat dryly. “Well?”
“Well don’t you know what I
mean? Oh, how stupid you are!”
“I really can not imagine.”
“Well he he he
pro proposed, you know.”
“Proposed!” cried the other, in a voice
of dismay.
“Now, Kitty, if you speak in
that horrid way I won’t say another word.
I’m worried too much already, and I don’t
want you to scold me. And I won’t have
it.”
“Minnie darling, I wish you
would tell me something. I’m not scolding.
I merely wish to know what you mean. Do you really
mean that the Count has proposed to you?”
“Of course that’s what I mean.”
“What puzzles me is, how he
could have got the chance. It’s more than
a week since he saved you, and we all felt deeply grateful
to him. But saving a girl’s life doesn’t
give a man any claim over her; and we don’t
altogether like him; and so we all have tried, in a
quiet way, without hurting his feelings, you know,
to prevent him from having any acquaintance with you.”
“Oh, I know, I know,”
said Minnie, briskly. “He told me all that.
He understands that; but he doesn’t care, he
says, if I only consent. He will forgive
you, he says.”
Minnie’s volubility was suddenly
checked by catching her sister’s eye fixed on
her in new amazement.
“Now you’re beginning
to be horrid,” she cried. “Don’t,
don’t ”
“Will you have the kindness
to tell me,” said Mrs. Willoughby, very quietly,
“how in the world the Count contrived to tell
you all this?”
“Why why several times.”
“Several times!”
“Yes.”
“Tell me where?”
“Why, once at the amphitheatre.
You were walking ahead, and I sat down to rest, and
he came and joined me. He left before you came
back.”
“He must have been following us, then.”
“Yes. And another time
in the picture-gallery; and yesterday in a shop; and
this morning at the Cathedral.”
“The Cathedral!”
“Yes, Kitty. You know we
all went, and Lady Dalrymple would not go up.
So Ethel and I went up. And when we got up to
the top I walked about, and Ethel sat down to admire
the view. And, you know, I found myself off at
a little distance, when suddenly I saw Count Girasole.
And then, you know, he he proposed.”
Mrs. Willoughby sat silent for some time.
“And what did you say to him?” she asked
at length.
“Why, what else could I say?”
“What else than what?”
“I don’t see why you should
act so like a grand inquisitor, Kitty.
You really make me feel quite nervous,” said
Minnie, who put her little rosy-tipped fingers to
one of her eyes, and attempted a sob, which turned
out a failure.
“Oh, I only asked you what you told him, you
know.”
“Well,” said Minnie, gravely,
“I told him, you know, that I was awfully grateful
to him, and that I’d give any thing if I could
to express my gratitude. And then, you know oh,
he speaks such darling broken English he
called me his ‘mees,’ and tried to make
a pretty speech, which was so mixed with Italian that
I didn’t understand one single word. By-the-way,
Kitty, isn’t it odd how every body here speaks
Italian, even the children?”
“Yes, very odd; but, Minnie dear, I want to
know what you told him.”
“Why, I told him that I didn’t know, you
know.”
“And then?”
“And then he took my hand.
Now, Kitty, you’re unkind. I really can
not tell you all this.”
“Yes, but I only ask so as to
advise you. I want to know how the case stands.”
“Well, you know, he was so urgent ”
“Yes?”
“And so handsome ”
“Well?”
“And then, you know, he saved
my life didn’t he, now? You must
acknowledge that much, mustn’t you?”
“Oh yes.”
“Well ”
“Well?”
Minnie sighed.
“So what could I say?”
Minnie paused.
Mrs. Willoughby looked troubled.
“Kitty, I wish you wouldn’t
look at me with that dreadful expression. You
really make me feel quite frightened.”
“Minnie,” said the other,
in a serious voice, “do you really love
this man?”
“Love this man! why no, not
particularly; but I like him; that is, I think
I do, or rather I thought I did; but really I’m
so worried about all my troubles that I wish he had
never come down after me. I don’t see why
he did, either. I didn’t ask him to.
I remember, now, I really felt quite embarrassed when
I saw him. I knew there would be trouble about
it. And I wish you would take me back home.
I hate Italy. Do, Kitty darling. But then ”
Minnie paused again.
“Well, Minnie dear, we certainly
must contrive some plan to shake him off without hurting
his feelings. It can’t be thought of.
There are a hundred objections. If the worst
comes to the worst we can go back, as you say, to
England.”
“I know; but then,” said
Minnie, “that’s the very thing that I can’t
do ”
“Can’t do what?”
“Go back to England.”
“Back to England! Why not? I don’t
know what you mean.”
“Well, you see, Kitty, that’s
the very thing I came to see you about. This
dreadful man the Count, you know has
some wonderful way of finding out where I go; and
he keeps all the time appearing and disappearing in
the very strangest manner; and when I saw him on the
roof of the Cathedral it really made me feel quite
giddy. He is so determined to win me that
I’m afraid to look round. He takes the
commonest civility as encouragement. And then,
you know there it is I really
can’t go back to England.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Why there’s a a
dreadful person there,” said Minnie, with an
awful look in her eyes.
“A what?”
“A person,” said Minnie.
“A man?”
Minnie nodded. “Oh yes of
course. Really when one thinks of one’s
troubles it’s enough to drive one distracted.
This person is a man. I don’t know why
it is that I should be so worried and so
distracted by men. I do not like them,
and I wish there were no such persons.”
“Another man!” said Mrs.
Willoughby, in some surprise. “Well, Minnie,
you certainly ”
“Now don’t, don’t not
a word; I know all you’re going to say, and I
won’t stand it;” and Minnie ran over to
her sister and held her hand over her mouth.
“I won’t say a word,”
said Mrs. Willoughby, as soon as she had removed Minnie’s
hand; “so begin.”
Minnie resumed her place on the sofa,
and gave a long sigh.
“Well, you know, Kitty darling,
it happened at Brighton last September. You were
in Scotland then. I was with old Lady Shrewsbury,
who is as blind as a bat and where’s
the use of having a person to look after you when
they’re blind! You see, my horse ran away,
and I think he must have gone ever so many miles,
over railroad bridges and hedges and stone walls.
I’m certain he jumped over a small cottage.
Well, you know, when all seemed lost, suddenly there
was a strong hand laid on the reins, and my horse
was stopped. I tumbled into some strange gentleman’s
arms, and was carried into a house, where I was resuscitated.
I returned home in the gentleman’s carriage.
“Now the worst of it is,”
said Minnie, with a piteous look, “that the
person who stopped the horse called to inquire after
me the next day. Lady Shrewsbury, like an old
goose, was awfully civil to him; and so there I was!
His name is Captain Kirby, and I wish there were no
captains in the world. The life he led me!
He used to call, and I had to go out riding with him,
and old Lady Shrewsbury utterly neglected me; and
so, you know, Kitty darling, he at last, you know,
of course, proposed. That’s what they all
do, you know, when they save your life. Always!
It’s awful!”
Minnie heaved a sigh, and sat apparently
meditating on the enormous baseness of the man who
saved a lady’s life and then proposed; and it
was not until Mrs. Willoughby had spoken twice that
she was recalled to herself.
“What did you tell him?” was her sister’s
question.
“Why, what could I tell him?”
“What!” cried Mrs. Willoughby; “you
don’t ”
“Now, Kitty, I think it’s
very unkind in you, when I want all your sympathy,
to be so horrid.”
“Well, tell it your own way, Minnie dearest.”
Minnie sat for a time regarding vacancy
with a soft, sad, and piteous expression in her large
blue eyes; with her head also a little on one side,
and her delicate hands gently clasped in front of her.
“You see, Kitty darling, he
took me out riding, and he took me to the
place where I had met him, and then he proposed.
Well, you know, I didn’t know what to say.
He was so earnest, and so despairing.
And then, you know, Kitty dearest, he had saved my
life, and so ”
“And so?”
“Well, I told him I didn’t
know, and was shockingly confused, and then we got
up quite a scene. He swore that he would go to
Mexico, though why I can’t imagine; and I really
wish he had; but I was frightened at the time, and
I cried; and then he got worse, and I told him not
to; whereupon he went into raptures, and began to
call me no end of names spooney names,
you know; and I oh, I did so want
him to stop! I think I must have promised
him all that he wanted; and when I got home I was
frightened out of my poor little wits, and cried all
night.”
“Poor dear child!” exclaimed
Mrs. Willoughby, with tender sympathy. “What
a wretch!”
“No, he wasn’t a wretch
at all; he was awfully handsome, only, you know, he was so awfully
persevering, and kept so at my heels; but I
hurried home from Brighton, and thought I had got rid
of him.”
“And hadn’t you?”
“Oh dear, no,” said Minnie,
mournfully. “On the day after my arrival
there came a letter; and, you know, I had to answer
it; and then another; and so it went on ”
“Oh, Minnie! why didn’t you tell me before?”
“How could I when you were off
in that horrid Scotland? I always hated
Scotland.”
“You might have told papa.”
“I couldn’t. I think
papa’s cruel too. He doesn’t
care for me at all. Why didn’t he find
out our correspondence and intercept it, the way papas
always do in novels? If I were his papa
I’d not let him be so worried.”
“And did he never call on you?”
“Yes; he got leave of absence
once, and I had a dreadful time with him. He
was in a desperate state of mind. He was ordered
off to Gibraltar. But I managed to comfort him;
and, oh dear, Kitty dear, did you ever try
to comfort a man, and the man a total stranger?”
At this innocent question Mrs. Willoughby’s
gravity gave way a little.
Minnie frowned, and then sighed.
“Well, you needn’t be
so unkind,” said she; and then her little hand
tried to wipe away a tear, but failed.
“Did he go to Gibraltar?”
asked Mrs. Willoughby at length.
“Yes, he did,” said Minnie, with a little
asperity.
“Did he write?”
“Of course he wrote,” in the same tone.
“Well, how did it end?”
“End! It didn’t end
at all. And it never will end. It’ll
go on getting worse and worse every day. You
see he wrote, and said a lot of rubbish about his
getting leave of absence and coming to see me.
And then I determined to run away; and you know I
begged you to take me to Italy, and this is the first
time I’ve told you the real reason.”
“So that was the real reason?”
“Yes.”
“Well, Minnie, my poor child,”
said Mrs. Willoughby, after a pause, “you’re
safe from your officer, at any rate; and as to Count
Girasole, we must save you from him. Don’t
give way.”
“But you can’t save me.
They’ll come after me, I know. Captain Kirby,
the moment he finds out that I am here, will come flying
after me; and then, oh dear! the other one will come,
and the American, too, of course.”
“The what? who?” cried
Mrs. Willoughby, starting up with new excitement.
“Who’s that? What did you say, Minnie?
The American? What American?”
Minnie threw a look of reproach at
her sister, and her eyes fell.
“You can’t possibly mean that there are
any more ”
“There is one more,”
said Minnie, in a low, faint voice, stealing a glance
at her sister, and looking a little frightened.
“One more!” repeated her sister, breathless.
“Well, I didn’t come here
to be scolded,” said Minnie, rising, “and
I’ll go. But I hoped that you’d help
me; and I think you’re very unkind; and I wouldn’t
treat you so.”
“No, no, Minnie,” said
Mrs. Willoughby, rising, and putting her arm round
her sister, and drawing her back. “I had
no idea of scolding. I never scolded any one
in my life, and wouldn’t speak a cross word to
you for the world. Sit down now, Minnie darling,
and tell me all. What about the American?
I won’t express any more astonishment, no matter
what I may feel.”
“But you mustn’t feel
any astonishment,” insisted Minnie.
“Well, darling, I won’t,” said her
sister.
Minnie gave a sigh.
“It was last year, you know,
in the spring. Papa and I were going out to Montreal,
to bring you home. You remember?”
Mrs. Willoughby nodded, while a sad expression came
over her face.
“And, you remember, the steamer was wrecked.”
“Yes.”
“But I never told you how my life was saved.”
“Why, yes, you did. Didn’t
papa tell all about the heroic sailor who swam ashore
with you? how he was frantic about you, having been
swept away by a wave from you? and how he fainted
away with joy when you were brought to him? How
can you suppose I would forget that? And then
how papa tried to find the noble sailor to reward him.”
“Oh yes,” said Minnie,
in a despondent tone. “That’s all
very true; but he wasn’t a noble sailor at all.”
“What!”
“You see, he wasn’t going
to have a scene with papa, and so he kept out of his
way. Oh dear, how I wish he’d been as considerate
with me! But that’s the way always; yes,
always.”
“Well, who was he?”
“Why, he was an American gentleman,
returning home from a tour in Europe. He saved
me, as you have heard. I really don’t remember
much about it, only there was a terrible rush of water,
and a strong arm seized me, and I thought it was papa
all the time. And I found myself carried, I don’t
know how, through the waves, and then I fainted; and
I really don’t know any thing about it except
papa’s story.”
Mrs. Willoughby looked at Minnie in silence, but said
nothing.
“And then, you know, he traveled
with us, and papa thought he was one of the passengers,
and was civil; and so he used to talk to me, and at
last, at Montreal, he used to call on me.”
“Where?”
“At your house, dearest.”
“Why, how was that?”
“You could not leave your room, darling, so
I used to go down.”
“Oh, Minnie!”
“And he proposed to me there.”
“Where? in my parlor?”
“Yes; in your parlor, dearest.”
“I suppose it’s not necessary for me to
ask what you said.”
“I suppose not,” said
Minnie, in a sweet voice. “He was so grand
and so strong, and he never made any allusions to
the wreck; and it was the the very
first time that any body ever proposed;
and so, you know, I didn’t know how to take
it, and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings,
and I couldn’t deny that he had saved my life;
and I don’t know when I ever was so confused.
It’s awful, Kitty darling.
“And then, you know, darling,”
continued Minnie, “he went away, and used to
write regularly every month. He came to see me
once, and I was frightened to death almost. He
is going to marry me next year. He used an awful
expression, dearest. He told me he was a struggling
man. Isn’t that horrid? What is it,
Kitty? Isn’t it something very, very dreadful?”
“He writes still, I suppose?”
“Oh dear, yes.”
Mrs. Willoughby was silent for some time.
“Oh, Minnie,” said she
at last, “what a trouble all this is! How
I wish you had been with me all this time!”
“Well, what made you go and get married?”
said Minnie.
“Hush,” said Mrs. Willoughby,
sadly, “never mind. I’ve made up my
mind to one thing, and that is, I will never leave
you alone with a gentleman, unless ”
“Well, I’m sure I don’t
want the horrid creatures,” said Minnie.
“And you needn’t be so unkind. I’m
sure I don’t see why people will come always
and save my life wherever I go. I don’t
want them to. I don’t want to have my life
saved any more. I think it’s dreadful to
have men chasing me all over the world. I’m
afraid to stop in Italy, and I’m afraid to go
back to England. Then I’m always afraid
of that dreadful American. I suppose it’s
no use for me to go to the Holy Land, or Egypt, or
Australia; for then my life would be saved by an Arab,
or a New Zealander. And oh, Kitty, wouldn’t
it be dreadful to have some Arab proposing to me,
or a Hindu! Oh, what am I to do?”
“Trust to me, darling.
I’ll get rid of Girasole. We will go to
Naples. He has to stop at Rome; I know that.
We will thus pass quietly away from him, without giving
him any pain, and he’ll soon forget all about
it. As for the others, I’ll stop this correspondence
first, and then deal with them as they come.”
“You’ll never do it, never!”
cried Minnie; “I know you won’t. You
don’t know them.”