“I can’t bear this any
longer!” exclaimed Mrs. Willoughby. “Here
you are getting into all sorts of difficulties, each
one worse than the other. I’m sure I don’t
see why you should. You’re very quiet, Minnie
dearest, but you have more unpleasant adventures than
any person I ever heard of. You’re run
away with on horseback, you’re shipwrecked,
you’re swept down a precipice by an avalanche,
and you fall into the crater of a burning volcano.
Every time there is some horrid man who saves you,
and then proposes. As for you, you accept them
all with equal readiness, one after another, and what
is worse, you won’t give any of them up.
I’ve asked you explicitly which of them you’ll
give up, and you actually refuse to say. My dear
child, what are you thinking of? You can’t
have them all. You can’t have any of them.
None of them are agreeable to your family. They’re
horrid. What are you going to do? Oh, how
I wish you had dear mamma to take care of you!
But she is in a better world. And here is poor
dear papa who can’t come. How shocked he
would be if he knew all. What is worst, here is
that dreadful American savage, who is gradually killing
me. He certainly will be my death. What
am I to do, dear? Can’t you possibly
show a little sense yourself only a little,
dear and have some consideration for your
poor sister? Even Ethel worries about you, though
she has troubles of her own, poor darling; and aunty
is really quite ill with anxiety. What are
we going to do? I know one thing. I’m
not going to put up with it. My mind is made up.
I’ll leave Rome at once, and go home and tell
papa.”
“Well, you needn’t scold
so,” said Minnie. “It’s my trouble.
I can’t help it. They would come.
I’m sure I don’t know what to do.”
“Well, you needn’t be
so awfully kind to them all. That’s what
encourages them so. It’s no use for me to
try to keep them away if you make them all so welcome.
Now there’s that dreadful Italian. I’m
positive he’s going to get up some unpleasant
plot. These Italians are so very revengeful.
And he thinks you’re so fond of him, and I’m
so opposed. And he’s right, too. You
always act as if you’re fond of him, and all
the rest. As to that terrible American savage,
I’m afraid to think of him; I positively am.”
“Well, you needn’t be
so awfully unkind to him. He saved my life.”
“That’s no reason why
he should deprive me of mine, which he will do if
he goes on so much longer.”
“You were very, very rude to
him, Kitty,” said Minnie, severely, “and
very, very unkind ”
“I intended to be so.”
“I really felt like crying, and running out
and explaining things.”
“I know you did, and ran back
and locked the door. Oh, you wretched little
silly goose, what am I ever to do with
such a child as you are! You’re really
not a bit better than a baby.”
This conversation took place on the
day following the Baron’s last eventful call.
Poor Mrs. Willoughby was driven to desperation, and
lay awake all night, trying to think of some plan
to baffle the enemy, but was unsuccessful; and so
she tried once more to have some influence over Minnie
by a remonstrance as sharp as she could give.
“He’s an American savage. I believe
he’s an Indian.”
“I’m sure I don’t
see any thing savage in him. He’s as gentle
and as kind as he can be. And he’s so awfully
fond of me.”
“Think how he burst in here,
forcing his way in, and taking possession of the house.
And then poor dear aunty! Oh, how she was
shocked and horrified!”
“It’s because he is so
awfully fond of me, and was so perfectly crazy
to see me.”
“And then, just as I was beginning
to persuade him to go away quietly, to think of you
coming down!”
“Well, I couldn’t bear
to have him so sad, when he saved my life, and so
I just thought I’d show myself, so as to put
him at ease.”
“A pretty way to show yourself to
let a great, horrid man treat you so.”
“Well, that’s what they
all do,” said Minnie, plaintively.
“I’m sure I can’t help it.”
“Oh dear! was there ever such
a child! Why, Minnie darling, you must know that
such things are very, very ill-bred, and very, very
indelicate and unrefined. And then, think how
he came forcing himself upon us when we were driving.
Couldn’t he see that he wasn’t wanted?
No, he’s a savage. And then, how he kept
giving us all a history of his life. Every body
could hear him, and people stared so that it was really
quite shocking.”
“Oh, that’s because he
is so very, very frank. He has none of the deceit
of society, you know, Kitty darling.”
“Deceit of society! I should
think not. Only think how he acted yesterday forcing
his way in and rushing up stairs. Why, it’s
actually quite frightful. He’s like a madman.
We will have to keep all the doors locked, and send
for the police. Why, do you know, Ethel says
that he was here before, running about and shouting
in the same way: ‘Min!’ ‘Min!’
’Min!’ that’s what the
horrid wretch calls you ’Min! it’s
me.’ ‘Come, Min!’”
At this Minnie burst into a peal of
merry, musical laughter, and laughed on till the tears
came to her eyes. Her sister looked more disgusted
than ever.
“He’s such a boy,”
said Minnie; “he’s just like a boy.
He’s so awfully funny. If I’m
a child, he’s a big boy, and the awfullest, funniest
boy I ever saw. And then he’s so
fond of me. Why, he worships me. Oh, it’s
awfully nice.”
“A boy! A beast, you mean a
horrid savage. What can I do? I must
send for a policeman. I’ll certainly have
the doors all locked. And then we’ll all
be prisoners.”
“Well, then, it’ll all
be your own fault, for I don’t want to
have any doors locked.”
“Oh dear!” sighed her sister.
“Well, I don’t. And I think you’re
very unkind.”
“Why, you silly child, he’d
come here some day, carry you off, and make you marry
him.”
“Well, I do wish he would,”
said Minnie, gravely. “I wish somebody
would, for then it would put a stop to all this worry,
and I really don’t know what else ever will.
Do you, now, Kitty darling?”
Mrs. Willoughby turned away with a gesture of despair.
An hour or two after some letters
were brought in, one of which was addressed to
MISS FAY,
Poste Restante,
Roma.
Minnie opened this, and looked over
it with a troubled air. Then she spoke to her
sister, and they both went off to Minnie’s room.
“Who do you think this is from?” she asked.
“Oh, I don’t know! Of course it’s
some more trouble.”
“It’s from Captain Kirby.”
“Oh, of course! And of course he’s
here in Rome?”
“No, he isn’t.”
“What! Not yet?”
“No; but he wrote this from
London. He has been to the house, and learned
that we had gone to Italy. He says he has sent
off letters to me, directed to every city in Italy,
so that I may be sure to get it. Isn’t
that good of him?”
“Well?” asked Mrs. Willoughby, repressing
an exclamation of vexation.
“Well, he says that in three
days he will leave, and go first to Rome, as he thinks
we will be most likely to be there this season.
And so, you see, he’s coming on; and he will
be here in three days, you know.”
“Minnie,” said her sister, after some
moments’ solemn thought.
“Well, Kitty darling?”
“Do you ever think?”
“I don’t know.”
“Would you like one of these
gentlemen of yours to blow one of the others’
brains out, or stab him, or any thing of that sort?”
“How shocking you are, Kitty dear! What
a dreadful question!”
“Well, understand me now.
One of them will do that. There will be
trouble, and your name will be associated with it.”
“Well,” said Minnie, “I know who
won’t be shot.”
“Who?”
“Why, Rufus K. Gunn,”
said she, in the funny, prim way in which she always
pronounced that name. “If he finds it out,
he’ll drive all the others away.”
“And would you like that?”
“Well, you know, he’s
awfully fond of me, and he’s so like a boy:
and if I’m such a child, I could do better with
a man, you know, that’s like a boy, you know,
than than ”
“Nonsense! He’s a madman, and you’re
a simpleton, you little goose.”
“Well, then, we must be well suited to one another,”
said Minnie.
“Now, child, listen,”
said Mrs. Willoughby, firmly. “I intend
to put a stop to this. I have made up my mind
positively to leave Rome, and take you home to papa.
I’ll tell him all about it, put you under his
care, and have no more responsibility with you.
I think he’d better send you back to school.
I’ve been too gentle. You need a firm hand.
I’ll be firm for a few days, till you can go
to papa. You need not begin to cry. It’s
for your own good. If you’re indulged any
more, you’ll simply go to ruin.”
Mrs. Willoughby’s tone was different
from usual, and Minnie was impressed by it. She
saw that her sister was resolved. So she stole
up to her and twined her arms about her and kissed
her.
“There, there,” said her
sister, kissing her again, “don’t look
so sad, Minnie darling. It’s for your own
good. We must go away, or else you’ll have
another of those dreadful people. You must trust
to me now, dearest, and not interfere with me in any
way.”
“Well, well, you mustn’t
be unkind to poor Rufus K. Gunn,” said Minnie.
“Unkind? Why, we won’t be any thing
to him at all.”
“And am I never to to see
him again?”
“No!” said her sister, firmly.
Minnie started, and looked at Mrs.
Willoughby, and saw in her face a fixed resolution.
“No, never!” repeated
Mrs. Willoughby. “I am going to take you
back to England. I’m afraid to take any
railroad or steamboat. I’ll hire a carriage,
and we’ll all go in a quiet way to Florence.
Then we can take the railroad to Leghorn, and go home
by the way of Marseilles. No one will know that
we’ve gone away. They’ll think we
have gone on an excursion. Now we’ll go
out driving this morning, and this afternoon we must
keep the outer door locked, and not let any one in.
I suppose there is no danger of meeting him in the
morning. He must be on duty then.”
“But mayn’t I see him at all before we
go?”
“No!”
“Just once only once?”
“No, not once. You’ve seen that horrid
man for the last time.”
Minnie again looked at her sister,
and again read her resolution in her face. She
turned away, her head dropped, a sob escaped from her,
and then she burst into tears.
Mrs. Willoughby left the room.