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came partly from her lover. Mr. Vyse was a teaseā€”something worse than a tease: he took a malicious pleasure in thwarting people. The clergyman, knowing this, looked at Miss Honeychurch with more than his usual kindness.

When she exclaimed, ā€œBut Cecilā€™s Emersonsā€”they canā€™t possibly be the same onesā€”there is thatā€”ā€ he did not consider that the exclamation was strange, but saw in it an opportunity of diverting the conversation while she recovered her composure. He diverted it as follows:

ā€œThe Emersons who were at Florence, do you mean? No, I donā€™t suppose it will prove to be them. It is probably a long cry from them to friends of Mr. Vyseā€™s. Oh, Mrs. Honeychurch, the oddest people! The queerest people! For our part we liked them, didnā€™t we?ā€ He appealed to Lucy. ā€œThere was a great scene over some violets. They picked violets and filled all the vases in the room of these very Miss Alans who have failed to come to Cissie Villa. Poor little ladies! So shocked and so pleased. It used to be one of Miss Catharineā€™s great stories. ā€˜My dear sister loves flowers,ā€™ it began. They found the whole room a mass of blue ā€”vases and jugsā€”and the story ends with ā€˜So ungentlemanly and yet so beautiful.ā€™ It is all very difficult. Yes, I always connect those Florentine Emersons with violets.ā€

ā€œFiascoā€™s done you this time,ā€ remarked Freddy, not seeing that his sisterā€™s face was very red. She could not recover herself. Mr. Beebe saw it, and continued to divert the conversation.

ā€œThese particular Emersons consisted of a father and a sonā€”the son a goodly, if not a good young man; not a fool, I fancy, but very immatureā€”pessimism, et cetera. Our special joy was the fatherā€”such a sentimental darling, and people declared he had murdered his wife.ā€

In his normal state Mr. Beebe would never have repeated such gossip, but he was trying to shelter Lucy in her little trouble. He repeated any rubbish that came into his head.

ā€œMurdered his wife?ā€ said Mrs. Honeychurch. ā€œLucy, donā€™t desert usā€”go on playing bumble-puppy. Really, the Pension Bertolini must have been the oddest place. Thatā€™s the second murderer Iā€™ve heard of as being there. Whatever was Charlotte doing to stop? By-the-by, we really must ask Charlotte here some time.ā€

Mr. Beebe could recall no second murderer. He suggested that his hostess was mistaken. At the hint of opposition she warmed. She was perfectly sure that there had been a second tourist of whom the same story had been told. The name escaped her. What was the name? Oh, what was the name? She clasped her knees for the name. Something in Thackeray. She struck her matronly forehead.

Lucy asked her brother whether Cecil was in.

ā€œOh, donā€™t go!ā€ he cried, and tried to catch her by the ankles.

ā€œI must go,ā€ she said gravely. ā€œDonā€™t be silly. You always overdo it when you play.ā€

As she left them her motherā€™s shout of ā€œHarris!ā€ shivered the tranquil air, and reminded her that she had told a lie and had never put it right. Such a senseless lie, too, yet it shattered her nerves and made her connect these Emersons, friends of Cecilā€™s, with a pair of nondescript tourists. Hitherto truth had come to her naturally. She saw that for the future she must be more vigilant, and beā€”absolutely truthful? Well, at all events, she must not tell lies. She hurried up the garden, still flushed with shame. A word from Cecil would soothe her, she was sure.

ā€œCecil!ā€

ā€œHullo!ā€ he called, and leant out of the smoking-room window. He seemed in high spirits. ā€œI was hoping youā€™d come. I heard you all bear-gardening, but thereā€™s better fun up here. I, even I, have won a great victory for the Comic Muse. George Meredithā€™s rightā€” the cause of Comedy and the cause of Truth are really the same; and I, even I, have found tenants for the distressful Cissie Villa. Donā€™t be angry! Donā€™t be angry! Youā€™ll forgive me when you hear it all.ā€

He looked very attractive when his face was bright, and he dispelled her ridiculous forebodings at once.

ā€œI have heard,ā€ she said. ā€œFreddy has told us. Naughty Cecil! I suppose I must forgive you. Just think of all the trouble I took for nothing! Certainly the Miss Alans are a little tiresome, and Iā€™d rather have nice friends of yours. But you oughtnā€™t to tease one so.ā€

ā€œFriends of mine?ā€ he laughed. ā€œBut, Lucy, the whole joke is to come! Come here.ā€ But she remained standing where she was. ā€œDo you know where I met these desirable tenants? In the National Gallery, when I was up to see my mother last week.ā€

ā€œWhat an odd place to meet people!ā€ she said nervously. ā€œI donā€™t quite understand.ā€

ā€œIn the Umbrian Room. Absolute strangers. They were admiring Luca Signorelliā€”of course, quite stupidly. However, we got talking, and they refreshed me notā€”a little. They had been to Italy.ā€

ā€œBut, Cecilā€”ā€ proceeded hilariously.

ā€œIn the course of conversation they said that they wanted a country cottageā€”the father to live there, the son to run down for week-ends. I thought, ā€˜What a chance of scoring off Sir Harry!ā€™ and I took their address and a London reference, found they werenā€™t actual blackguardsā€”it was great sportā€”and wrote to him, making outā€”ā€

ā€œCecil! No, itā€™s not fair. Iā€™ve probably met them beforeā€”ā€

He bore her down.

ā€œPerfectly fair. Anything is fair that punishes a snob. That old man will do the neighbourhood a world of good. Sir Harry is too disgusting with his ā€˜decayed gentlewomen.ā€™ I meant to read him a lesson some time. No, Lucy, the classes ought to mix, and before long youā€™ll agree with me. There ought to be intermarriageā€”all sorts of things. I believe in democracyā€”ā€

ā€œNo, you donā€™t,ā€ she snapped. ā€œYou donā€™t know what the word means.ā€

He stared at her, and felt again that she had failed to be Leonardesque. ā€œNo, you donā€™t!ā€

Her face was inartisticā€”that of a peevish virago.

ā€œIt isnā€™t fair, Cecil. I blame youā€”I blame you very much indeed. You had no business to undo my work about the Miss Alans, and make me look ridiculous. You call it scoring off Sir Harry, but do you realize that it is all at my expense? I consider it most disloyal of you.ā€

She left him.

ā€œTemper!ā€ he thought, raising his eyebrows.

No, it was worse than temperā€”snobbishness. As long as Lucy thought that his own smart friends were supplanting the Miss Alans, she had not minded. He perceived that these new tenants might be of value educationally. He would tolerate the father and draw out the son, who was silent. In the interests of the Comic Muse and of Truth, he would bring them to Windy Corner.

 

Chapter XI: In Mrs. Vyseā€™s Well-Appointed Flat

The Comic Muse, though able to look after her own interests, did not disdain the assistance of Mr. Vyse. His idea of bringing the Emersons to Windy Corner struck her as decidedly good, and she carried through the negotiations without a hitch. Sir Harry Otway signed the agreement, met Mr. Emerson, who was duly disillusioned. The Miss Alans were duly offended, and wrote a dignified letter to Lucy, whom they held responsible for the failure. Mr. Beebe planned pleasant moments for the newcomers, and told Mrs. Honeychurch that Freddy must call on them as soon as they arrived. Indeed, so ample was the Museā€™s equipment that she permitted Mr. Harris, never a very robust criminal, to droop his head, to be forgotten, and to die.

Lucyā€”to descend from bright heaven to earth, whereon there are shadows because there are hillsā€”Lucy was at first plunged into despair, but settled after a little thought that it did not matter the very least. Now that she was engaged, the Emersons would scarcely insult her and were welcome into the neighbourhood. And Cecil was welcome to bring whom he would into the neighbourhood. Therefore Cecil was welcome to bring the Emersons into the neighbourhood. But, as I say, this took a little thinking, andā€”so illogical are girlsā€”the event remained rather greater and rather more dreadful than it should have done. She was glad that a visit to Mrs. Vyse now fell due; the tenants moved into Cissie Villa while she was safe in the London flat.

ā€œCecilā€”Cecil darling,ā€ she whispered the evening she arrived, and crept into his arms.

Cecil, too, became demonstrative. He saw that the needful fire had been kindled in Lucy. At last she longed for attention, as a woman should, and looked up to him because he was a man.

ā€œSo you do love me, little thing?ā€ he murmured.

ā€œOh, Cecil, I do, I do! I donā€™t know what I should do without you.ā€

Several days passed. Then she had a letter from Miss Bartlett. A coolness had sprung up between the two cousins, and they had not corresponded since they parted in August. The coolness dated from what Charlotte would call ā€œthe flight to Rome,ā€ and in Rome it had increased amazingly. For the companion who is merely uncongenial in the mediaeval world becomes exasperating in the classical. Charlotte, unselfish in the Forum, would have tried a sweeter temper than Lucyā€™s, and once, in the Baths of Caracalla, they had doubted whether they could continue their tour. Lucy had said she would join the Vysesā€”Mrs. Vyse was an acquaintance of her mother, so there was no impropriety in the plan and Miss Bartlett had replied that she was quite used to being abandoned suddenly. Finally nothing happened; but the coolness remained, and, for Lucy, was even increased when she opened the letter and read as follows. It had been forwarded from Windy Corner.

 

ā€œTunbridge Wells,

September.

ā€œDearest Lucia,

ā€œI have news of you at last! Miss Lavish has been bicycling in your parts, but was not sure whether a call would be welcome. Puncturing her tire near Summer Street, and it being mended while she sat very woebegone in that pretty churchyard, she saw to her astonishment, a door open opposite and the younger Emerson man come out. He said his father had just taken the house. He SAID he did not know that you lived in the neighbourhood (?). He never suggested giving Eleanor a cup of tea. Dear Lucy, I am much worried, and I advise you to make a clean breast of his past behaviour to your mother, Freddy, and Mr. Vyse, who will forbid him to enter the house, etc. That was a great misfortune, and I dare say you have told them already. Mr. Vyse is so sensitive. I remember how I used to get on his nerves at Rome. I am very sorry about it all, and should not feel easy unless I warned you.

ā€œBelieve me,

ā€œYour anxious and loving cousin,

Charlotte.ā€

 

Lucy was much annoyed, and replied as follows:

 

ā€œBeauchamp Mansions, S.W.

ā€œDear Charlotte,

ā€œMany thanks for your warning. When Mr. Emerson forgot himself on the mountain, you made me promise not to tell mother, because you said she would blame you for not being always with me. I have kept that promise, and cannot possibly tell her now. I have said both to her and Cecil that I met the Emersons at Florence, and that they are respectable peopleā€”which I do thinkā€”and the reason that he offered Miss Lavish no tea was probably that he had none himself. She should have tried at the Rectory. I cannot begin making a fuss at this stage. You must see that it would be too absurd. If the Emersons heard I had complained of them, they would think themselves of importance, which is exactly what they are not. I like the old father, and look forward to seeing him again. As for the son, I am sorry for him when we meet, rather than for myself. They are known to Cecil, who is very well and spoke

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