Chapter VIII: Complications

ENID continued to enjoy her lessons with Adela Ravani. The pleasing impression made on her when first she saw her young teacher did not wear off. She was charmed with the girl's beauty and grace, and the almost childish confidence and simplicity she displayed in their talks together.

Enid was quick at languages, and she soon began to understand what was said to her in Italian. The lesson usually ended with a confidential talk between the girls. Adela would confide to Enid some of the troubles of her life. She often spoke of the brother, many years older than herself, whom she seemed to regard with fear rather than love. This brother and his wife shared the home with Adela and her mother, and it was clear to Enid, from what the girl said, that he was the head of the house, and everyone else had to bend to his will. Adela appeared to have no affection for her sister-in-law, whom she described as full of deceit, and capable of the most spiteful actions.

"She is a spy," she said once; "she is always watching me; and she tells Francesco all she sees. I have the greatest difficulty in hiding things from her."

Enid was startled by the light thus thrown on Adela's life.

"But what can you have to conceal?" she asked. "Why should you mind your sister-in-law knowing all you do?"

"Oh, you do not understand," said Adela. "I should never be able to do anything if I let them know about it. Francesco would have me live the life of a nun. You cannot think how angry he was when he found out that I was giving lessons, for mamma and I kept it from him as long as we could."

"But why should he be angry?" asked Enid in surprise.

"He thought it beneath the dignity of our family. The Ravanis are one of the oldest families in Rome, and the daughters of such houses do not earn money," said Adela, with considerable dignity. "But we are so poor, mamma and I, and Francesco is not generous. Look at my slipper, signorina—do you see how I have had to mend it? That will show you I have not much money to spend on my attire."

Enid glanced down at the dainty velvet slipper, and admired not only the skill with which it was mended, but the beauty of the perfect little foot it adorned.

"I wish I could sew like that," she said; "but I think your brother is mistaken in deeming it beneath anyone's dignity to teach. In England, women are proud of being able to support themselves, and teachers are held in honour. At least they are by all but vulgar-minded people," she added.

"Are they?" said Adela. "I like teaching—or should if all my pupils were like you. But Francesco will not be happy till he puts an end to it. He is looking out for a husband for me; but it is not so easy to find one, you see, because I have no dowry."

"Looking out for a husband for you!" exclaimed Enid, startled, as well she might be, for the idea is shocking to English notions.

"Yes; it is his duty, you know," said Adela calmly; but Enid saw that a cloud had fallen on her face.

"But surely not without respect to your wishes in the matter!" protested Enid. "You would not take a husband of his choosing merely."

"It is our custom," said Adela. "Of course," she added, with a quick blush, "I have read in books that people sometimes marry for love, and I should think myself that that was the happier way. But my mother says one should not think of love till one is married."

"And my mother would say it was very wrong of any woman to marry a man whom she did not truly love and reverence," said Enid, with some warmth.

"Would she?" said Adela, with sudden interest. "I wish my mother thought so. And oh, I do hope, it will be long, long ere my brother finds me a husband!"

Enid did not wonder that she spoke with such energy and in so troubled a tone.

"Well," said Enid later, as she repeated to her cousin what had passed, "I never felt more inclined to—

"Thank the goodness and the grace
That on my birth has smiled."

"I would not be an Italian girl for the world. How dreadful for Adela to feel that her brother can hand her over, to any man who is willing to take her without a dowry!"

Maud shrugged her shoulders. "It is the way here," she said. "A well-born Roman girl never dreams choosing a husband for herself. She has no voice in the matter; it is her duty to obey the will of her parents."

"But if she should love someone else?" said Enid.

"Then she would commit a grave indiscretion. My dear Enid, a well-bred girl would never allow herself to fall in love."

"Perhaps not; but suppose she found it impossible to love the gentleman her father had chosen for her?"

Maud shrugged her shoulders again. "She would have to make the best of it, I am afraid. There is one thing to be said—Italian girls are not allowed friendly intercourse with gentlemen as we are, so there is less risk of their forming unsuitable attachments. They go nowhere unattended. An Italian mother is rarely seen without her daughters; they drive with her, they pay calls with her, they receive with her, till they attain freedom by marriage."

"Like those three girls we are always seeing about with their mother," said Enid; "all three dressed exactly alike, even to their shoe-strings, and all wearing the same bored expression. I have noticed that if a gentleman approaches their carriage on the Pincio, they appear to say only two or three words to him. It is mamma who does the talking."

"Just so. Still, I believe the life of Italian girls is beginning to improve. They are being better educated than they used to be, and a higher mental culture must inevitably bring in for them a freer life."

"Poor things! I trust it may speedily," said Enid. "It is deplorable to see how poor Adela's spirit is crushed by the tyranny of her brother and his wife; and I am afraid she practises deception to evade it."

"Likely enough," said Maud, with scorn in her tone; "most Italian girls have a talent for dissimulation."

The next time Enid went to the Casa Ravani to take her lesson in Italian, Adela's countenance as she entered the room plainly showed that she had been weeping violently. Her voice was so tremulous, her manner so agitated, that Enid could see that it was only by a strong effort that she could maintain composure. Wishing to help her to gain control of herself, Enid for a while took no notice of her evident distress. The pupil's exercises were examined and corrected almost in silence; the reading which followed was scarcely interrupted, though Enid was conscious that she made one or two slips in pronunciation. But when the time came which they usually devoted to conversation, Enid could no longer rest in ignorance of what was troubling her companion.

"Now, Adela, what is it?" she said, as soon as the books were closed. "You are in trouble, and I insist upon knowing the cause, unless it is something I really may not know."

But it seemed more than Adela could bear even to speak of her trouble. In a moment her large dark eyes were full of tears, her lips quivered when she tried to speak, and she could only sob.

"Now don't—don't," said Enid soothingly. "Just tell me all about it, and then perhaps it will not seem so bad. What has happened to distress you so?"

"It has come," sobbed Adela; "I knew it must come some day; but oh, I hoped it would not be for a long time yet."

"What has come?" asked Enid, full of wonder.

"My doom," said Adela, with a tragic gesture. "Oh, signorina, if only I were an English girl! If I were free, like you!"

Light was beginning to break upon Enid's bewildered mind.

"Free," she said; "do you mean free to marry or not, as one likes? Is that your trouble, Adela? Does your brother want to make you marry someone against your will?"

"Ah, yes, you have guessed," said Adela with another sob; "my brother has found a husband for me!"

"Who is he? You do not care for him?"

"Care for him! How should I? I have only seen him once. He is old and he is ugly; but he is rich. My mother says I shall have my own carriage, and drive on the Pincio every day. But what of that? Oh, Enid, can you not guess? My heart is breaking."

"But why should you marry this man if you do not wish to do so?" asked Enid, with indignation in her tones. "It is preposterous to think of such a thing. You must refuse to yield to your brother, Adela; you have surely a right to a will of your own in this matter."

"I dare not," said Adela; "it would be a most unheard-of thing. Indeed, I could not be so undutiful; I should break my mother's heart. She is so pleased, my poor mother, to think that I shall have a home of my own; and she will live with me, for he has agreed to that."

Enid looked grave.

"It is not already a settled thing, Adela?"

"Not quite; but in a few days it will be," said Adela gloomily. "I see no way of escape. And it is not only that—oh, Enid, how shall I tell you? Can you not guess the rest?"

"The rest!" said Enid. "Have you not told me all the trouble? Indeed, it seems bad enough."

"Unhappily," said Adela—and the rich colour which suddenly suffused her face was more significant than her words—"we Italian girls also have hearts."

"Oh!" exclaimed Enid in a startled tone. "Is it as bad as that—there is someone else you care for?"

"I could not help it," murmured Adela, her face crimson with shame. "I saw him at Montepulciano last summer; we were there for three months, and he was there too, making sketches—for he is an artist. We were living outside the town; and the place was so quiet and countrified that mamma was less particular about me. I could walk out alone, or go into the vineyards with the good countrywoman at whose house we lodged. And I often saw him. He had a way of finding out where I was likely to be. He liked to talk to me, and I—I liked to see him too, I suppose. Once he made a sketch of me. Ah, signorina, you are shocked!"

"No, not shocked," said Enid, smiling; "and please do not call me signorina. It was all very natural. I am sure I do not wonder that he wanted to see you; but it is a pity you could only meet in that stolen sort of way. But if he really loves you, Adela, as I suppose he does, why does he not come forward and ask your brother's permission to marry you?"

"That would never do!" exclaimed Adela, looking frightened at the very idea. "Oh, how angry my brother would be! Lucio is only an artist, and an unknown one. He has no money. Do you think Francesco would consider him a fit match for a Ravani?"

There was a curious ring of pride in Adela's tones. It seemed as if she too were inclined to disparage her lover's calling, and deem him unworthy on account of it to wed with one of her ancient name.

"I do not know what your brother's opinion may be," said Enid, warmly; "but it seems to me that every true artist has a rank of his own, and that ordinary mortals, whatever their birth may be, must look up to such a one. Surely you agree with me, Adela?"

"I don't know; I never thought about it," said Adela, opening her eyes. "But of course I think Lucio is very clever, and I can assure you his family is not to be despised. He has an uncle who is a rich banker at Florence. He has no children, and Lucio was to have been his heir; but his uncle grew angry with him because he was determined to be an artist, and would not work in the bank. Now he will have nothing to do with Lucio, and the poor fellow must make his own way in the world."

"Well, that is not such a bad thing," said Enid. "If he has talent and works hard, he will succeed in time, you may be sure. You must be content to wait a few years for your happiness—that is all."

"Ah, how you talk, Enid! As if it could ever be! You forget that my brother is determined to marry me soon as possible, and has already found a husband for me."

"Adela, I shall lose all patience with you if you talk in that way. I begin to think that you do not really love Lucio. If you do, you will not dream of letting yourself be married to someone else."

"What a thing to say!" exclaimed Adela, raising her hands in protest. "But you do not understand; it is because you are English that the affair seems to you so simple. How can I set myself in opposition to my mother? You would not like to make your mother unhappy."

"I should not, indeed," said Enid; "yet I hope I should have strength to withstand my mother if she wanted me to do something wrong; though really I find it impossible to imagine such a thing in connection with my mother."

"And my mother would say it was right; it was my duty to obey her," said Adela. "Don't you see how difficult it is?"

"It is perplexing, certainly," said Enid; "yet I feel convinced in my own mind that you will be doing a wrong, even a wicked thing, if you marry this man whom your brother has chosen for you, when your heart is given to Lucio. Surely, if you tell your mother the whole truth, she will not continue to urge you to this marriage. Be brave, Adela. Don't be afraid to oppose your brother. He cannot drag you to the church by main force."

"Oh, I dare not think what he may not do," said Adela with a shudder.

It was but too evident that she lacked courage, and Enid's efforts to inspire her with the same were not apparently attended with much success. They talked for some time longer, and when Enid rose to go away, Adela timidly asked if she would do her a kindness.

"By all means," said Enid, heartily; "what is it?"

"I should like to go to-morrow to the Villa Borghese; and you know my mother does not allow me to walk out alone. Could you accompany me?"

"Certainly; I shall be delighted if it is a fine afternoon. I have not been to the villa yet, but I have seen it from the Pincio, and the walks look very inviting."

"They are prettier in the spring, when the anemones are in flower; but it will be pleasant there to-morrow if the weather keeps like this. Thank you so much for consenting; it is so good of you."

Enid went away wondering that Adela should profess so much gratitude over what promised to be a mutual pleasure.

It wanted but a week to Christmas, but the next day was as bright and beautiful as a day could be. The sky was of a soft, deep blue, the sunshine brilliant, and the air delightfully fresh. Enid called for Adela at the hour appointed. She found her already dressed for the walk, and looking charming. There was no cloud on her face to-day, nor did her beautiful dark eyes show any sign of tears. She chatted so gaily as they walked towards the villa that Enid wondered if her prospects had brightened, but refrained from asking any question, for fear she should only remind her of her trouble.

There were but few persons at the villa this afternoon. Enid was delighted with the secluded, romantic walks, winding amid groves of ilex, or shaded by tall pines breaking into green umbrella-shaped foliage, which contrasted vividly with the blue of the sky. Presently they approached an old fountain guarded by a stone nymph with a broken nose.

Enid's eyes were on the feathery fern fronds clustering about the base of the fountain when she became aware that a young man had stepped from the back of the fountain and was greeting Adela. She looked at him, and recognised with some surprise a young Italian artist who had a studio in the house in the Via Sistina, in which was the Studio Mariano. She had once or twice encountered him on the stairs, and had been struck with the exceeding courtesy of his manner as he bowed to her. Now, as she noted the flush on Adela's cheek and the sparkle in her eyes, it occurred to her that this could be none other than Lucio.

"May I introduce Signor Torlono?" said Adela.

And Enid returned the young man's bow, half amused and half annoyed by this revelation of Adela's purpose in bringing her to the Villa Borghese. It was by no means agreeable to Enid to play the part of a third at such a rendezvous, and she felt vexed with Adela for having beguiled her into doing so. Yet as they strolled on together, Enid had so much consideration for the lovers that she occasionally paused to examine a statue or to gather a few of the daisies which studded the turf, thus giving the two an opportunity of exchanging confidences. At the same time she felt thoroughly uncomfortable in the position in which she found herself. She hated concealments and deceptions of all kinds. Had she been asked, she would never have agreed to help Adela to meet her lover clandestinely.

For more than an hour they walked about the villa. The time seemed rather long to Enid, but doubtless it passed rapidly enough with the other two.

"Do you not think it is time we turned homewards?" asked Enid at length. "It is getting damp under these trees."

"I suppose we must go," said Adela, reluctantly.

Signor Torlono did not pass through the gates in their company, but parted from them ere they reached the entrance, and strolled back into the shade of the trees alone.

"I know you are vexed with me, Enid," said Adela, when they had walked for some minutes in silence.

"Well, yes," said Enid, frankly; "I hate such ways, Adela. Don't ask me to go with you to meet Signor Torlono again unless your mother knows that you are going to see him."

"You will not tell anyone about it? You will keep my secret?" said Adela, imploringly.

"No, I will not tell anyone that you met Signor Torlono this afternoon," said Enid, after a moment's reflection.

"Do not be hard on me!" pleaded Adela. "I was obliged to see him—I wanted to tell him all about it."

"How did you let him know that you would be at the villa this afternoon?"

Adela coloured and looked confused. It was evident she was ashamed of the means she had adopted. "Oh, I managed it," was all she said.

"And what does he say?"

"Oh, he is in despair—poor Lucio! But he says as you do, that I must not yield, and that my brother cannot make me marry if I refuse to do so."

"Of course not," said Enid. "Now take my advice; go home and tell your mother all about it. Let her know how you and Lucio care for each other; let her know that you have seen him this afternoon. Keep nothing back. Depend upon it that is the best way. You will only make more trouble for yourself if you hide things."

"But she will be so angry," said Adela.

"Never mind if she is," returned Enid. "Perhaps you deserve a little scolding. Be brave, and make a bold stand, and the worst will soon be over."

"I will try to be brave," said Adela, "but I have not your spirit, Enid—I wish I had."

Then they parted at the end of the street in which Adela lived, and Enid went home to her "pension."