THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 BY 
 
 GAMALIEL BRADFORD, JR. 
 
 " A blossom twinkling from a ruined wall : 
 Old stones, young love, and sunshine over all." 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON, MLFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
 br ftilicrsi&c press, Cambridge 
 1905 
 
COPYRIGHT 1904 BY GAMALIEL BRADFORD JR. 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 Published October 1904 
 
TO 
 
 H. F. B. 
 
 IN MEMORY OF 
 
 THE WEAKY FASCINATION 
 
 OF ROME 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGK 
 
 I. IN THE ARENA 1 
 
 II. MRS. BARTON RECEIVES ... 12 
 
 III. THE COUNTESS MARKOVSKI ... 23 
 
 IV. OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE ... 35 
 V. THE WOLF AND THE LAMB ... 46 
 
 VI. THE CASTING OF PEARLS ... 56 
 
 VII. ON THE PINCIAN 67 
 
 VIII. "As I RIDE, AS I RIDE" . . . 83 
 
 IX. His FATHER S SON 98 
 
 X. A HINT OF EROS 110 
 
 XI. THE VILLA OF HADRIAN . . . .121 
 
 XII. LOVE IN RUINS 132 
 
 XIII. CHOPIN AND SUICIDE 146 
 
 XIV. A CONVERSION 159 
 
 XV. THE SONG OF THE SIREN . . . .175 
 
 XVI. A TUTORED SAVAGE .... 191 
 
 XVII. A BIT OF SHADOW 203 
 
 XVIII. A DUEL 219 
 
 XIX. EDGAR SPEAKS HIS MIND .... 231 
 
 XX. THE MAGIC OF THE MOON . . . 244 
 
 XXI. A BUSINESS PROPOSITION .... 260 
 
 XXII. WILL YOU WALK INTO MY PARLOR . 267 
 
 XXIII. THE CRISIS 280 
 
 XXIV. AN ARCHAEOLOGICAL FAILURE . . 293 
 XXV. THE TUTOR S AUDIT 306 
 
 XXVI. WHAT CAME OF ir ALL 312 
 
THE PEIYATE TUTOR 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 IN THE ARENA 
 
 IT was at Rome, in the Colosseum, on a morning 
 early in November, near the very close of the nine 
 teenth century. The sun was bright and warm, as 
 it is in Rome, even at that season ; and the ruined 
 walls stood out sharp against an absolutely cloud 
 less sky. A young American was sitting about 
 halfway up the south side of the building, with 
 sketching paraphernalia about him, easel, can 
 vas, brushes, etc. ; but the canvas was quite blank, 
 and the young man was leaning back, gazing idly, 
 with his hands clasped behind his head, apparently 
 absorbing the picture before he painted it. He was 
 a well-dressed young man, with an air of ease and 
 opulence about him, which did not suggest the 
 painting of pot-boilers. Large of frame and almost 
 heavy of features and expression, he yet had a 
 something of good-humor and shrewdness in his 
 face, which made you feel that he would be a plea 
 sant companion. As that is all he is called upon 
 
2 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 to be in this narrative, it is unnecessary to discuss 
 him further. 
 
 The scene at which he gazed had those con 
 trasted elements which give modern Rome so much 
 of its piquancy. Around, below, and above, were 
 the enormous heaps of stone which have been sung 
 and painted and described so often that to describe 
 them again is a mere insult to the intelligent 
 reader ; but their sombre background was relieved 
 here and there by bits and patches of flitting and 
 fleeting mortality. Probably the painter would 
 have liked to seize and hold upon his canvas some 
 one or several of these. At any rate, he seemed to 
 enjoy the contemplation of them. 
 
 Below him, on the same side, were two old ladies 
 and an old gentleman, trying to get themselves 
 into the local atmosphere, with the aid of Baedeker. 
 The gentleman would read a passage, while the 
 ladies put their heads close to his and to the book. 
 Then he would look up and around with a puzzled 
 air. A few gestures of conjecture, of conference, 
 of contradiction would follow, and would gradually 
 resolve themselves into a smile of weary content 
 ment. Then another dose of Baedeker. 
 
 On the other side of the amphitheatre, another 
 elderly gentleman and a young lady were doing the 
 ruins with a guide. The latter led his victims rap 
 idly from one point to another, and chattered and 
 gesticulated furiously. The young lady absorbed it 
 all with solemn reverence. The gentleman toiled 
 
IN THE ARENA 3 
 
 after them up the steep steps and over the rugged 
 platforms ; and you could see, with the naked eye, 
 that he heartily wished himself back in Wall Street. 
 
 Farther away still, high on the top tier of seats, 
 three merry girls were laughing and flirting with a 
 fashionable youth. Their gay gowns fluttered like 
 blossoms against the blue sky ; and one had a red 
 parasol that flashed and flickered like a tongue 
 of fire. What did they care for old ruins and the 
 might of Koman glory and the dead splendors of 
 the world? 
 
 Then the place was stormed by a party of Cook s 
 tourists, booked to do it in twenty-eight minutes, 
 by the watch. They were personally conducted by 
 a tall, lank gentleman with a black suit, a little 
 threadbare, and a white tie, who had evidently 
 been bred a minister, until he stumbled into this 
 nobler form of edification. He halted his flock in 
 a central spot beneath our observer, and began the 
 usual lecture, ground out with the indifference of 
 a performer on the hand-organ. A scrap or two 
 drifted up to the young man s idle ears. " Ladies 
 and gentlemen magnificent ruins blood of a 
 thousand victims all the sins of the Pagan world 
 pomp, luxury, and heathen splendor." It was 
 " Quo Vadis " in little. And, as the orator called 
 their attention to one spot, and then to another, the 
 personally conducted moved their dull and patient 
 faces all together, like the spectators at a tennis 
 match. 
 
4 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 Our artist friend, after watching this spectacle 
 for a few moments, turned his eyes toward the en 
 trance of the amphitheatre and saw an acquaint 
 ance. This was a young man of twenty-seven or 
 eight, tall and well-made, rather light in complex 
 ion, with a cane in his hand, and cigar in his 
 mouth. His dress was carelessly worn and not 
 costly ; but no one would have doubted his being a 
 gentleman. The painter, as soon as he beheld this 
 newcomer, sat upright and uttered a shrill whistle, 
 which sharply interrupted the minister s sermon 
 and made his hearers waste ten seconds, by look 
 ing in a direction not allowed for in their itin 
 erary. 
 
 The young man below also looked up, paused in 
 uncertainty for a moment, then waved his hand in 
 sign of recognition and rapidly made his way to 
 the whistler s side. 
 
 " Hullo, Morris ! " he cried. You here still 
 and painting?" 
 
 " I have n t been here, or painting, all the time 
 since you left, Gordon, my boy. That is a good 
 while ago." 
 
 " Three years only." 
 
 " Three years ! Hear him ! Do you know all the 
 things that might happen in three years ? Where 
 have you been ? Painting somewhere else ? " 
 
 " No. I discovered that art was not my proper 
 vocation. Do you still think it yours, Morris ? " 
 
 " No, Kob. It is my avocation one of them. 
 
IN THE ARENA 5 
 
 My vocation is amusing myself. I labor in it from 
 morning till night with poor success." 
 
 " But, Dick, I thought you would have been out 
 of this long ago. When I left, you said you were 
 going back to New York, sick of bad luck, bad 
 victuals, and bad pictures, or something of that 
 sort." 
 
 " You ve got a memory like a graphophone," 
 Morris answered, puffing his cigar. " I did think 
 then, for a while, that I would go back to America 
 and work. But, you see, my aunt turned up. She s 
 awfully rich, my aunt. She s taken a fancy to me, 
 which I Ve never been able to account for. She 
 wants me to stay and I stay." 
 
 " Manifest destiny," said Gordon, smiling ; and 
 his smile was full of a wonderful charm of mingled 
 intelligence and naivete. 
 
 "Just so. But tell me about yourself, Rob. 
 What are you back here for ? " 
 
 " Well," replied the other thoughtfully, " I m 
 all changed from what I was." He gazed across 
 the amphitheatre at the girl with the red parasol, 
 who was gazing at him. "No more frolic and 
 foolery, no more champagne and suppers with the 
 ballet." 
 
 "What!" cried Morris, in horror. "Not a 
 clergyman surely ? " 
 
 " No, worse than that. I m a private tutor." 
 
 " A private tutor ! Heaven forbid ! How did it 
 happen ? " 
 
6 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 " Do you really want to hear it, you know ? 
 It s more tiresome than a novel." 
 
 " Oh, no, I hardly think so. Make it as brief as 
 possible." 
 
 " It s quite simple," Gordon went on, speaking 
 with broken phrases, punctuated with whiffs of 
 smoke. " When I left here three years ago, I had 
 no money and no real estate, except a little on 
 canvas. I wonder how it would seem to have 
 money." 
 
 " I wonder," echoed his companion. 
 
 " But your aunt, my friend." 
 
 " But the devil, my friend. Go on." 
 
 " I sold my canvases in Boston. It is astonish 
 ing what people will buy there. But the money 
 didn t carry me very far and I didn t seem to 
 have anything to do. I tried to paint portraits 
 and I got some swell sitters mondaines de la 
 derniere elegance, in fact. The very thought of 
 them chills my blood. I painted them as I saw 
 them. It didn t please them somehow. The art 
 of portraiture seems to be to paint people as 
 you don t see them, and that does n t please me. 
 They were good to me, though." 
 
 " Of course they were," interrupted Morris. 
 " Women always are good to you." 
 
 " Are they ? " asked Gordon simply. 
 
 His companion shrugged his shoulders. For a 
 moment they were both silent. The sky was filling 
 with soft white clouds, and every now and then 
 
IN THE ARENA 7 
 
 one of them rolled its shadow over the vast arena 
 and dulled the radiance of the red parasol. In a 
 few minutes Gordon went on again. 
 
 " One of my victims was a Mrs. Keith, who was 
 New England all over ; tall, thin, severe, sedate. 
 She did n t object to my style of painting ; but all 
 such things were vain frivolity to her, and the por 
 trait was merely to be hung in the rooms of her 
 club. All she wanted was to get it over. While I 
 was painting her, I got acquainted with her bro 
 ther, Harrison Payne. He was tall and thin too ; 
 but he was different. He had been brought up, 
 like her, with sin and Sunday-schools ; but he 
 broke away and went out West, when he was 
 young, made a fortune, married a I don t know 
 who lost her, and finally came back to Boston 
 with his son, to live near his sister." 
 
 " Payne ? " said Morris thoughtfully. " Do I 
 know him ? " 
 
 " Your aunt does, I m sure. He was a railroad 
 man, a speculator is now. Everything he touches 
 is gold and it does him no more good than it did 
 Midas. He can t spend money, does n t know how." 
 
 "Lamentable ignorance," murmured Morris. 
 " Go on. I feel the climax approaching." 
 
 " He took a fancy to me, for some mysterious 
 reason." 
 
 " Birds of a feather ? " suggested the listener, 
 with amiable sarcasm. 
 
 " I suppose so. Asked me to dine with him, to 
 
8 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 drive with him, to stay with him. Finally, he 
 asked me to take charge of his son." 
 
 " And the son is " 
 
 " An oaf, a bumpkin, greener than a day in 
 June. And the most curious shade of green ; for 
 the driest sere and yellow is all mixed with it. He 
 is an infant of a hundred and fifty. He knows ab 
 solutely nothing of the world s ways, except that 
 he has the greatest contempt for them. He has all 
 the vices, but he is too mean to be vicious. As for 
 money, he worships it. You can t imagine how 
 shrewd he is about getting it; and he sticks to 
 it like glue. Nothing is more amusing than the 
 struggle between his desire for pleasure and his 
 dread of the cost of it." 
 
 " But, my friend," interjected Morris, much in 
 terested, " you are playing a comedy. It is charm 
 ing, the idea of your tutoring this young person. 
 You, a butterfly, who have always flitted from one 
 pretty thing to another, with no notion of what 
 money means, or of ever denying yourself any 
 thing." 
 
 " Charming ! Oh, yes, delicious ! I don t always 
 find it so myself ; but he does. For he is shrewd 
 about everything, keen, subtle, with a mind really 
 good for something, only twisted, distorted, per 
 verted in the oddest fashion imaginable. His 
 mother must have been a queer one ; for his father 
 is a gentleman; sharp, rough, crude, but a true 
 gentleman." 
 
IN THE ARENA 9 
 
 " Well, but what did he think you could make 
 of such a creature ? " 
 
 "I don t know. He was discouraged and dis 
 gusted. I suppose he thought I had the few virtues 
 Edgar has n t as yet and that I might impart 
 them to him. He wanted me to make him a man 
 of the world, to give him manners and ease and 
 polish and address, and all that sort of thing. He 
 said he wanted me to keep him out of mischief 
 too. It was a lovely bit of irony. It is he who 
 feels bound to keep me out of mischief. And then, 
 he wanted me to marry him." 
 
 " To marry him ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, that is the prettiest part of it. When 
 Mr. Payne lived in Chicago he had a very inti 
 mate friend, named Stanton. This Stanton had 
 an only daughter, who is said to be a lovely girl. 
 Now, the two fathers have always entertained the 
 idea of marrying their children, if it could be 
 brought about. The Stantons have been abroad 
 for two years, and Mr. Payne s plan was, that I 
 should bring Edgar here to Rome, and that he 
 should meet the charming Priscilla. Then, you 
 see, they fall in love at once and the business is 
 done." 
 
 " Delightful programme ! " laughed Morris. 
 
 " Delightful ! You can imagine how it is likely 
 to work and what my position is. Shall I say to 
 the young lady : This is an oaf, beware of him ? 
 Shall I say : This charming youth is guaranteed 
 
10 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 to possess all human perfections. Try him and you 
 will immediately order another bottle. If not found 
 in every respect satisfactory, the goods may be 
 thrown back on our hands ? " 
 
 " If the girl is a sensible girl and the fellow is 
 all you make him out to be, I don t think you need 
 say anything to her whatever." 
 
 " Just so. And what am I to say to Papa 
 Payne ? " 
 
 They smoked on for a few minutes in silence. 
 The sun rose higher, and the white clouds and roll 
 ing shadows thickened. The Cook s tourists had 
 long ago gone the way of all such flesh, and the 
 red parasol had flickered itself from view. Other 
 varied groups had wandered in and out, setting 
 their picturesque modern colors against the gray, 
 eternal background. 
 
 " How do you happen to be here now ? " in 
 quired Morris, at length. " Why have n t you got 
 your puppy in leash ? " 
 
 " Heavens, man, don t grudge me a few minutes 
 breathing space ! If I did n t get it occasionally, I 
 should burst. As for leash, it is he that holds it, 
 not I. Just now he is writing a long letter to his 
 fond papa, describing my shortcomings espe 
 cially my extravagance. He can t put up with my 
 extravagance. So I took the opportunity to slip 
 away." 
 
 Another pause and more idle observation of the 
 surroundings. 
 
IN THE ARENA 11 
 
 " How about the Countess Markovski ? " asked 
 Morris, again breaking the silence. 
 
 " Antonia la bella ? Is she here ? Ah, don t 
 mention her to me. What have I to do with coun 
 tesses any more, and princesses, and such cattle ? 
 Does she ever speak of me ? " 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " Forgotten ! " 
 
 " On the contrary, remembered. If she had for 
 gotten you, she would be sure to inquire after you 
 frequently." 
 
 " Ah, I see, still wise in the ways of women." 
 
 " No, my friend, not Solomon, the typical ami 
 desfemmes, could boast of being that ; but anxious 
 to learn, anxious to learn." 
 
 " Well, I have put all such thoughts behind 
 me," said the troubled tutor. " My ears are sealed 
 forever to the voice of the serpent. But I must be 
 about my business. My precious charge is wait- 
 ing." 
 
 The artist packed up his paraphernalia ; and the 
 two young men, descending the steps leisurely, left 
 the amphitheatre, and made their way towards the 
 Piazza di Spagna. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 MRS. BARTON RECEIVES 
 
 A FEW days after the above interview, Gordon re 
 ceived cards for himself and his charge for Mrs. 
 Barton s Thursday evenings. Mrs. Barton was 
 Morris s aunt. She was a stout, elderly personage, 
 who, at something over forty, had married a 
 wealthy bachelor of fifty-five. After they had lived 
 contentedly together for ten years, Mr. Barton died 
 suddenly of pneumonia and left his wife mistress 
 of over half a million dollars. She was, therefore, 
 " rich, fortunate, and jolly," as old Burton says, 
 and set herself to travel the remaining stages of 
 life s journey with as much variety and amusement 
 as abundant means and a good digestion would 
 afford her. She was a perfectly ordinary person, 
 with an extraordinary desire to be thought other 
 wise, which was the most ordinary thing about her. 
 She was inclined to literature, and had published 
 several volumes of verse, the illustrations of which 
 were charming. She loved also to appear as a 
 female Maecenas, and to gather around her such 
 literary men, painters, sculptors, musicians, etc., as 
 liked a good dinner and a little flattery, to be paid 
 for in kind. There were a few of this description 
 
MRS. BARTON RECEIVES 13 
 
 then at Rome, and I daresay there are still and 
 elsewhere. 
 
 The atmosphere of Mrs. Barton s Thursdays was 
 a sort of imitation Bohemianism. We respectable 
 people tasted there the divine pleasure of Lazarus, 
 reposing in Abraham s bosom and viewing the 
 damned afar off. We felt that it was all just a 
 little fast, even when it was abominably slow. 
 Mrs. Barton boasted that her position was such 
 that she could invite every one : the white sheep, 
 with the very heaviest fleece, because they were 
 the proper thing ; the black sheep from pure Chris 
 tian charity ; and even a goat or two occasionally, 
 since we all take more joy in one sinner that re- 
 penteth, or even that may repent, than in ninety 
 and nine that have never gone astray. Mrs. Barton 
 belonged to that not uncommon species of woman, 
 which, while living and breathing by convention 
 and nothing else, loves to boast that it is emanci 
 pated from all social prejudices. 
 
 On the first Thursday evening after Gordon had 
 received his card, Mrs. Barton was sitting in her 
 drawing-room, ready for all comers. Her apartment, 
 on the Via Sistina, was quietly but luxuriously 
 furnished, in a style which showed preparation 
 for a long residence. The harmonious coloring 
 of the rooms, the careful selection of the pictures 
 (some of them hired, to be sure, but most obtained 
 at a sacrifice from artist friends, for the good lady 
 had a keen eye to business) indicated long training, 
 
14 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 if not original taste. Everything was comfortable, 
 with that comfort which only Americans under 
 stand. 
 
 Mrs. Barton, dressed in plain, but rich black 
 satin, an English matron s cap on her smooth gray 
 hair, chatted idly with Dick Morris, pending the 
 arrival of guests. 
 
 " So you think Rob Gordon will come, Richard ? " 
 
 " Come ! Did any one ever know him to stay 
 away from good wine and pretty women ? " 
 
 " But, this young fellow, Payne " 
 
 " This young fellow, Payne, may come or he 
 may not." 
 
 " They do say odd things about him, certainly," 
 murmured Mrs. Barton. 
 
 " They certainly do," assented her nephew. 
 " But nothing half odd enough, as you will agree, 
 when you see him. Of all the dry, hopeless, rotten- 
 before-they- re-ripe specimens never mind he 
 may make a Roman lion, after all." 
 
 They were interrupted here by the entrance of 
 guests : an American bishop, with his wife and 
 daughter. 
 
 Mrs. Barton had traveled with them in Switzer 
 land, and was delighted to secure them for one 
 Thursday at least. The bishop was a stout, light- 
 haired, smooth-faced man, of exceeding affability. 
 His wife was null. His daughter was one of the en 
 ergetic kind, who manage church fairs and friendly 
 societies. She at once attacked Morris on the con- 
 
MRS. BARTON RECEIVES 15 
 
 dition of the poor in Rome, and sniffed scornfully 
 when he represented himself as one of them. 
 
 By this time the rooms were filling up, and Mrs. 
 Barton was rising to the occasion. There were 
 Americans of every description. The millionaire 
 from the West elbowed the professor from Cam 
 bridge. Cool young men, with hair parted behind, 
 and London clothes, flirted with airy young ladies 
 from New York and San Francisco. Artists of 
 every kind talked humbly about the weather with 
 possible purchasers, or sneered at humanity in cor 
 ners, from behind a single eyeglass. 
 
 Then there were the English ; for Mrs. Barton 
 had lived long in London : English girls, with their 
 stiff backs, and their haughty " no trespassing " 
 expression ; English old maids, forever hovering 
 round Romanism, like moths round a candle, and 
 never coming quite near enough to singe their 
 wings ; and a real baronet, Sir Thomas Shapleigh, 
 with Lady Shapleigh. It was a joy to hear the 
 Americans " Sir Thomasing " the poor, dull, pom 
 pous old man, who looked as if he wished his 
 smart New York wife would let him go home to 
 bed. 
 
 There were foreigners too : a Pole, with all the 
 picturesque beggarliness of that charming nation ; 
 several Germans, with high mustaches and an opin 
 ion of themselves to match ; one or two Italian 
 priests, looking for " verts ; " a French count, and 
 other Frenchmen and Italians, painters, musicians, 
 
16 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 or what not, gesticulating furiously, and ogling the 
 women. 
 
 Altogether, it was a gay and jovial scene; and 
 every moment it grew more so, as more people 
 came crowding in. The rooms were hot and close, 
 and the noise of breezy chatter filled the air, now 
 and then a sharp, clear laugh ringing high above 
 the rest. Little groups made their way to the sup 
 per-room and partook of salads, ices, and cham 
 pagne. 
 
 One of the most interesting figures was that of 
 a little old man, who could never have been more 
 than five feet four or five, and who was bent and 
 bowed so that he seemed shorter still. His fine 
 white hair waved disorderly about his high fore 
 head ; and an expression of childlike, almost saintly 
 simplicity animated his clean-shaven face, with its 
 broad, delicate mouth and deep-set eyes. This was 
 Mr. Edwin Stanton, uncle of the lady who was in 
 tended for Gordon s precious charge. Uncle Edwin, 
 as his numerous relatives, and some who were not 
 his relatives, loved to call him, was one of the most 
 curious and delightful objects to be seen in that 
 mixed Roman world. A Puritan of Puritans by 
 birth and early association, brought up in the 
 heart of New England abolitionism and transcen 
 dentalism, and fully partaking of both these by 
 gone fanaticisms, he yet mingled with them a pecul 
 iar sensitiveness and delicacy, all his own. He 
 would have blended the sweetness of Greece with 
 
MRS. BARTON RECEIVES 17 
 
 the uprightness of Jerusalem ; and in his own per 
 son he instinctively did blend them. Morbidly sen 
 sitive of conscience, he was morbidly sensitive in 
 aesthetic matters also, and wished that souls and 
 bodies both should be both good and beautiful. He 
 was made up of contradictions, which gave him all 
 his charm. For instance, he believed himself to be, 
 and probably was, unsocial and averse to the com 
 pany of men ; yet no one had more friends, no one 
 cared more to see his friends and be about among 
 them, no one was more loyal to those he loved, or 
 more interested in all their concerns. Again, no 
 one better loved his home, Concord, and its broad 
 fields and sunny hillsides, and vast meadows stretch 
 ing out beside the lazy Musketaquid ; yet, when he 
 was in Concord, he always wished he was in Rome ; 
 and, when he was in Rome, he always wished he 
 was in Concord. Doubtless, we all have something 
 of that strain ; but in few is it discernible, in all its 
 variations, with such quaint and adorable simplicity. 
 This pure and gentle figure seemed almost piti 
 fully out of place in the faded splendors and cheap 
 pretensions of Mrs. Barton s drawing-room. Yet 
 Mr. Stanton evidently enjoyed himself hugely. 
 He traveled from one group to another, with a 
 peculiar, unsteady, ambling gait, which was very 
 characteristic ; made some little, amiable jest, and 
 then rubbed his hands together and chuckled. 
 Everybody greeted him kindly and smilingly, every 
 body loved him. 
 
18 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 "Mr. Stanton," said Mrs. Barton, catching him 
 on one of his peregrinations, " we hear that you 
 have a charming niece coming to Rome shortly." 
 
 " I hear so myself," was the genial answer. 
 " But I have never seen her. Her father went 
 West when he was quite young. He has visited us 
 at home from time to time ; but Priscilla never 
 has." 
 
 " Well, they say she is as pretty as a picture." 
 
 " She must get it from her mother, then. Good 
 looks are not the strong point of our family." 
 
 " Fie, Mr. Stanton ! You always stand up for 
 the family, you know." 
 
 u I never like any one to abuse them but my 
 self." And the old gentleman put his hands on 
 his hips, leaned back, and smiled, in a pleasant 
 way he had. 
 
 At this point Gordon was seen making his way 
 through the crowd toward Mrs. Barton, followed 
 by a personage who was unmistakably his pupil. 
 It was an odd-looking youth certainly. Tall, heavy, 
 and with a slight stoop about the shoulders, his 
 figure was not otherwise remarkable ; but his face 
 was very peculiar. The skin had a dry, withered 
 parchment look, like faded beech leaves in autumn. 
 The features, while not really abnormal, were all 
 distorted and contracted; more, it seemed, as the 
 result of a distorted spirit within, than from any 
 actual, external defect. The eyes, especially, seemed 
 strained with a cunning squint of corkscrew pene- 
 
MRS. BARTON RECEIVES 19 
 
 tration, which suggested that their proprietor was 
 always on the watch against being taken in. They 
 jumped restlessly hither and thither, behind a pair 
 of large glasses ; and, above them, the narrow fore 
 head was wrinkled, as if with perpetual anxious in 
 terrogation. The whole was crowned with a limp 
 spread of thin, fine, colorless hair. 
 
 It is impossible to imagine a greater contrast 
 than that between this hopeless specimen and the 
 tutor, with his tall, graceful figure, frank, sweet, 
 merry, sympathetic countenance, and laughing blue 
 eyes. And the effect of the natural contrast was 
 immensely heightened by Gordon s comic anxiety 
 and the distressed glances which he occasionally 
 cast at the image of black care pressing on behind 
 him. 
 
 Mrs. Barton watched their approach with great 
 interest and amusement, and advanced a few steps 
 to meet them. 
 
 " How nice of you to come to me immediately, 
 Mr. Gordon." 
 
 "Wasn t it?" agreed Gordon, "that is, all 
 things considered. Mrs. Barton, allow me to pre 
 sent my young friend, Mr. Payne." 
 
 "How do you do, Mr. Payne," said the lady, 
 extending her hand in gracious fashion. 
 
 " How d ye do," responded the gentleman gruffly, 
 keeping his hand close to his side, and gazing about 
 the room. "Rather fast lot you ve got here, 
 have n t you?" 
 
20 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 Mrs. Barton squirmed ; but, after all, why should 
 she allow such an animal to disturb her ? " I be 
 lieve you will see all sorts of people in my rooms, 
 Mr. Payne," she answered. " Some, who would 
 hardly get here on their own merits, are tolerated 
 for the sake of their friends." 
 
 If she thought this mild shaft would penetrate 
 the rhinoceros s hide, she was sadly mistaken. 
 
 " I judged there were a good many here who 
 could n t get in anywhere else," said he. 
 
 During this exchange of repartee, Gordon stood 
 by in mild misery. " My young friend has not been 
 about in the world very much, Mrs. Barton," he 
 .remarked, at length. " You must pardon some 
 thing to his inherent idealism." 
 
 " Oh ! his inherent idealism ! " Mrs. Barton 
 echoed. 
 
 " That s just like Gordon," interrupted Payne. 
 " He thinks my father hired him to apologize for 
 me everywhere." 
 
 " It would be the thirteenth labor of Hercules," 
 murmured the tutor, while his pupil s eyes were 
 again traveling about the room. 
 
 But Mrs. Barton turned to uncle Edwin, who 
 had been standing near, looking on rather curi 
 ously. " Come, Mr. Stanton, here is Mr. Gordon, 
 whom you surely know, and a young man who, I 
 believe, is looking forward to meeting your niece. 
 Mr. Stanton Mr. Payne." 
 
 Gordon and the old gentleman shook hands, 
 
MRS. BARTON RECEIVES 21 
 
 as old acquaintances. Payne nodded disdainfully. 
 Then, glancing toward a corner of the apartment, 
 he said : " That s a fine girl over there. I wish 
 some one would introduce me to her." 
 
 Mrs. Barton looked. The young lady was from 
 Buffalo, large, black-haired, black-eyed, showy, 
 loud. " After all, his father is worth fifty millions," 
 thought the hostess, " and Miss Porter is not par 
 ticular. Besides, she can talk even him dead in 
 twenty-five minutes. I shall be doing her a kind 
 ness." So she took the young gallant in tow, and 
 deposited him safely beside Miss Porter of Buffalo, 
 who had heard of him and the fifty millions, and 
 consequently condescended to take part in a little 
 graceful badinage, on the universal superiority of 
 America, and the ruin, dirt, and general beastliness 
 of Rome. 
 
 Meantime, Gordon, glad of a moment s respite, 
 chatted pleasantly with Mr. Stanton. 
 
 " You know my niece ? " asked the latter gen 
 tleman. 
 
 " I have not had the pleasure of meeting her 
 myself ; but her father and Mr. Payne senior are 
 very old friends, and Mr. Payne was anxious that 
 his son should meet -them here. I am told they 
 are charming people." 
 
 " I have never yet seen Priscilla ; but I look 
 forward to it with great interest. Mr. Payne sen 
 ior is Harrison Payne, I suppose ? I knew him, but 
 I never met the son before. He seems a little " 
 
22 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 " Peculiar," interrupted Gordon. " You think 
 so? Other people have noticed it too." 
 
 "Why," answered Mr. Stanton, in his mild 
 way, " perhaps a little more contact with the 
 world, a little more polish " 
 
 " Yes, polish is the word, polish. About a 
 thousand years of continual attrition, with the 
 highest grade of Sapolio Excuse me, Mr. Stan- 
 ton. It is my nature to be frank ; it is my condi 
 tion to be tongue-tied ; but nature generally pre 
 vails with me." 
 
 Mr. Stanton smiled a vague smile, as one does 
 on receiving a confidence one does not know what 
 to do with, and changed the subject. " Ah ! " said 
 he, " there is the Countess Markovski." 
 
CHAPTEK III 
 THE COUNTESS MARKOVSKI 
 
 A FRIEND of mine, whose son had married a young 
 woman from Porto Kico, consoled herself with the 
 remark that her daughter-in-law was part French, 
 part Spanish, part Portuguese, and part English, 
 but she was white. The Countess Markovski was 
 white, that is to say, she was Caucasian, though 
 the white was of a rather brunettish description ; 
 but to what nationality, or to how many nationali 
 ties, she might have belonged, had never been re 
 vealed to man or woman, least of all, probably, to 
 the late Count Markovski, if such a Count there 
 ever were. We hear much of the woman with a 
 past. The Countess Markovski had the credit of 
 so many of them that they clustered round her 
 with a sort of kaleidoscopic blur, and produced 
 on the profane the effect of an unsaintly halo about 
 her head. If you listened to her own version of 
 them, recounted with sweet suavity and naive grace, 
 they seemed like legends of the Madonna. If her 
 lady acquaintances narrated them, Medusa had not 
 a more hissing coronal. 
 
 The Countess Markovski was still young, and 
 
24 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 she was certainly beautiful. She was tall and 
 slight ; datk eyes, dark hair, long, narrow face, of 
 the kind that seems best described as fox-like. 
 But her charm was in her carriage and manner. 
 There was something willowy and serpentine about 
 her, undulating, a perpetual movement, not ner 
 vous or restless, but flowing, graceful, restful. 
 Her eyes, every feature of her face, were full of 
 constant, mobile responsiveness. She seemed to 
 anticipate your thoughts and adapt her own to 
 them, before they were uttered. She had a wonder 
 ful frankness and simplicity, wonderful in such a 
 creature, for they seemed perfectly genuine, even 
 to a careful observer. Indeed, they were genuine. 
 The woman was an adventuress, and no one 
 doubted it. She knew no moral law and had no 
 moral sense. The minute you were out of her pre 
 sence you were as certain of these things as of 
 the light of day. But it seemed as if they were 
 forced upon her by some external evil necessity ; 
 while her real nature had the immortal grace and 
 freshness of a child s. The struggle between the 
 two elements of her character gradually told upon 
 her, however ; and as Gordon watched her make 
 her graceful way through Mrs. Barton s drawing- 
 room, he thought that, in some indefinable fashion, 
 she had lost just a little, oh, so little, of what she 
 was when he knew her, three years before. The 
 grace was just a grain less spontaneous, the charm 
 a thought less natural ; though no one would have 
 
THE COUNTESS MARKOVSKI 25 
 
 observed it who had not known both grace and 
 charm by heart. 
 
 Mrs. Barton, after depositing Payne with Miss 
 Porter, had returned to her central position, near 
 Gordon. He had, therefore, a full view of the 
 Countess s meeting with her hostess. 
 
 " O Mrs. Barton," she cried, " how delightfully 
 comfortable your American gatherings always are, 
 like one great family, you know, no stiffness or 
 formality." She spoke perfect English, but with 
 just a hint of accent some accent. Her French, 
 her German, her Italian had the same touch of 
 foreign color, and a Polish friend once told me that 
 her speech in his language had the same : it was a 
 quaint, strange, murmuring burr, which seemed to 
 make the tongue of every race, not theirs, but hers. 
 
 "Your compliments are sweet, Countess," re 
 plied Mrs. Barton, "always sweet; but can one 
 trust you?" 
 
 " Trust me ? " with an expression of injured 
 frankness delightful to behold. " If not me, whom 
 can you trust ? " 
 
 " Whom indeed ? " answered the American lady 
 calmly. " And you are not saying to yourself all 
 the while : These Americans, with their crude 
 manners, their off-hand speech, their loud laughter, 
 when will they ever learn the quiet dignity of the 
 old world ? " 
 
 " And I, who have never been quiet and never 
 been dignified ! Do not talk of the old world to 
 
26 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 me. I love the new world, with all its vigor and 
 its freshness, with more life than it knows how to 
 manage. Over here we can t get life enough." 
 Then she turned to Gordon, who was watching 
 her. " So it is you, my friend. Back again in 
 Rome once more ? I thought, when you left us last 
 year, it was forever." 
 
 " Three years ago, Countess. That is forever 
 
 to be absent from Rome." 
 
 Mrs. Barton had slipped away. The Countess 
 settled herself on a sofa ; and Gordon stood beside 
 her, leaning over slightly, with the grace that was 
 natural to him. 
 
 " Rome ! " echoed the lady, with an expression of 
 scorn. " I don t know why we all congregate here. 
 It is old and dirty and desolate, and it seems as 
 if we were perpetually assisting at the funeral of 
 something or other. Those old Greeks and Ro 
 mans we bury them first. And then the early 
 Christians they go down into the grave next, 
 martyrs and apostles and all. And then the Mid 
 dle-Age popes and cardinals they were wickedly 
 picturesque, to be sure, but they are dead too, dead 
 
 nothing left of it all but bones and dust. Ah ! " 
 She muttered all this half to herself, with an ex 
 pression of real, visual horror ; and Gordon watched 
 her with fascinated curiosity. 
 
 " You are melancholy, Countess," he said. 
 " What has happened to you ? You used to laugh 
 all day long." 
 
THE COUNTESS MARKOVSKI 27 
 
 " Oh, yes, laugh ! How long ago did you say 
 that was ? Thirty years ? See ! My hair is getting 
 gray, and the wrinkles are deep, and I suppose I 
 have got to go after those martyrs and apostles 
 too ; only I shall go with the wicked popes and 
 cardinals. I don t wish to ; this hideous death-mask 
 of Rome gets on my nerves." 
 
 " Really, you ought to talk to my pupil about 
 Rome. He feels just as you do." 
 
 " Your pupil ! " she cried, sitting up and shift 
 ing at once from abandoned despair to intense 
 curiosity. " Your pupil ! I ve heard of him. Rich, 
 is he not? And an original, is he not? Nai ve, 
 simple, the untutored savage, etc., etc. ? " 
 
 Gordon shrugged his shoulders at all these 
 queries. " Rich he is. Original if you like. 
 About as naive as a Jew old-clothes dealer, and 
 simpler. But do not slander the untutored savage. 
 Here he comes. May I present him to you ? " 
 
 Edgar had discussed the charms of America and 
 the tiresomeness of Rome for some time, to his own 
 satisfaction, and, apparently, to Miss Porter s. At 
 any rate, that young lady had echoed him with 
 much complaisance and seeming sympathy. Per 
 haps her previous knowledge of her interlocutor 
 and of his father s fortune assisted a little in keep 
 ing her under the charm. But, all at once, Edgar 
 looked up and saw his tutor conversing with the 
 Countess. 
 
 " By Jove ! " he cried. " Who s Gordon got hold 
 
28 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 of now? That s a swell, isn t it? He needn t 
 think he s paid to talk to women like that, while 
 I look on." 
 
 " And talk to me ? " inquired Miss Porter, a 
 little acidly. But the young man had already left 
 her standing by herself, without listening to the 
 explanation she would gladly have offered him as 
 to the dark stranger. 
 
 "Allow me to present my young friend, Mr. 
 Payne, Countess," began Gordon. "Edgar, this 
 is the Countess Markovski." 
 
 It was the young barbarian s first encounter 
 with a title, and he really bowed quite low in re 
 sponse to the lady s gracious smile. 
 
 " Mr. Gordon tells me you don t like Rome," 
 said the Countess. 
 
 " No, ma am, I don t. That s true enough. But 
 you must n t believe everything Gordon tells you 
 about me." 
 
 " Really ? I have always thought Mr. Gordon a 
 very truthful person." 
 
 "And you look pretty sharp, too," observed 
 the youth, in a tone in which disgust and admira 
 tion were obviously mingled. 
 
 " Mr. Gordon, your character is attacked. Can t 
 you protect yourself ? " 
 
 " No, Countess. I leave it in your hands, and 
 may Heaven defend the right." The tutor turned 
 on his heel and walked off. 
 
 The Countess s manner, which had been a bit 
 
THE COUNTESS MARKOVSKI 29 
 
 chilly and external hitherto, warmed gently and 
 almost imperceptibly. It seemed as if a vague at 
 mosphere of tenderness and grace flowed from her 
 every look and gesture. " Sit down by me, Mr. 
 Payne," she said, " and tell me why you don t like 
 Rome and why you long to be back in your own 
 far country. Do you know, I believe we feel a 
 little alike? Rome wearies me too. I hunger for 
 something fresh and strong and real." 
 
 He sat down by her and wondered how he could 
 feel easy and at home with a countess. " That s 
 it, ma am," he began. 
 
 " Don t call me ma am," she interrupted. " When 
 you speak to a person with a title, you should say, 
 4 Countess, or Prince, or what not. You don t 
 mind my advising you in this frank way ? " 
 
 " Mind it, Countess ? " And the cold green eyes 
 were fixed on her with a look of astonished admira 
 tion. He had never been talked to like this before. 
 What did it mean ? 
 
 " I hoped you would n t," she said, and went on 
 speaking with a low, indescribable murmur, which 
 lured him away from his usual boorish loquacity. 
 " I hoped you would n t ; because ever since I 
 heard that you did n t like this tedious old world I 
 have felt drawn to you, if you don t mind my say 
 ing so. You can feel with me how foolish these 
 people are to waste their money in coming way 
 over here and falling down before stocks and 
 stones." 
 
30 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 " By Jove, they do waste their money ! " was 
 the approving comment. 
 
 "And what for?" she went on, in the same 
 strange tone, monotonous, yet musical, " what for ? 
 AJways the past, the dead, hoary, dusty past. Give 
 me the present, give me life, not death. I want 
 change, I want movement, hurrying, shifting, 
 wearying, blinding movement, never to rest rest 
 is death. But I must seem quite distracted a 
 stranger, too." She dropped her intimate grace 
 and chilled again. 
 
 " Go on ! Go on !" he cried. " You talk just 
 like a book. Why don t you come to America? 
 This is n t the place for you. Everything moves 
 there and everybody. I never lived in the same 
 house two years. If you want change, why not try 
 the stock market ? Did you ever ? There s no 
 thing like it." 
 
 " Stock market ? " 
 
 " Exchange, Bourse, they call it here. It s great, 
 I tell you. My father made his money that way. 
 And I Ve done a little at it myself." 
 
 " You? How clever you must be, at your age." 
 
 " I m not so young, you know ; I tell you I 
 worked consolidated lead for the dollars last spring. 
 I heard father talking about a big bear deal that 
 was on, and I went short for a hundred shares. 
 That s big for me. It was great. There was one 
 time my heart was in my boots ; but out she came 
 with a big profit." 
 
THE COUNTESS MARKOVSKI 31 
 
 " Does Mr. Gordon take an interest in the 
 stock market ? " 
 
 " Gordon ! He does n t know a ticker from a 
 telephone. I don t believe he ever was in a bucket- 
 shop in his life. Gordon ! Now I 11 tell you some 
 thing" 
 
 Just then Mr. Stanton came trotting up to the 
 Countess. Nothing could be more curious than his 
 attitude toward that lady. He had known her in 
 Rome and elsewhere for several years; and she 
 always treated him with a gentle deference and 
 sympathy that completely won his heart. She lis 
 tened with reverential interest to stories about his 
 dear anti-slavery heroes, and paid for them with 
 others, not true, but admirably well-invented, about 
 the martyrs of Polish liberty. He had heard all 
 the scandal regarding her ; but he never believed 
 anything against his friends ; and, indeed, he had 
 that beautiful wisdom of the children of light, 
 which the children of this world call folly, and 
 which consists in being unwilling to believe evil of 
 any one. 
 
 Now, as he came up to the two sitting on the 
 sofa, Payne leaned back and stared at the intruder 
 with a frown ; but the Countess rose quickly and 
 advanced a step forward. 
 
 " O Mr. Stanton ! You in Rome again ? How 
 lovely. Just in time to tell me all about the new 
 discoveries and those fascinating things they have 
 been digging up in the Forum." You would think 
 
32 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 she really loved and reverenced the old man ; and 
 I have no doubt she did. 
 
 "How do you do, Countess? I m afraid you 
 can t make me believe that young ladies like you 
 care for ruins and archeology. Leave that for the 
 human ruins." 
 
 " How can you speak so ? As if you were not 
 much, much younger than I ! Love and joy and 
 hope cannot be touched by years." 
 
 This was not the sort of thing that Payne cared 
 for ; and he even stared at the Countess in amaze 
 ment ; for she seemed like a different being from 
 the one who had just murmured low and sweetly 
 in his ear. Her manner now was so frank and 
 genuine and cordial, more that of a man greeting 
 an old and respected teacher than that of a subtle 
 coquette. This change was wholly annoying to the 
 embryo stock speculator, and he rose awkwardly, 
 turned, and was moving away. 
 
 " O Mr. Payne," called the Countess to him 
 gently, "don t forget to come and see me. Via 
 Ludovisi 24. I want to hear more of what you 
 were telling me." 
 
 Payne muttered something inaudible, as he 
 walked off. 
 
 " I hope I have n t interrupted a serious conver 
 sation," said Mr. Stan ton smiling. 
 
 " Oh, dear, no. Some of your countrymen are 
 so odd. Come now, Mr. Stanton, sit down and tell 
 me what you have been doing all this long while." 
 
THE COUNTESS MARKOVSKI 33 
 
 Meantime, Payne wandered off to seek his tutor ; 
 but he was some time in finding him ; for Gordon 
 had fallen into the hands of Dick Morris and half 
 a dozen other young people, some known to him and 
 others not, who had carried him off to the little 
 music room, shut the door, and commanded him to 
 sing the latest comic song from home. 
 
 " But I came away three months ago ; and I 
 don t know anything that is n t as passe as a last 
 Easter bonnet." 
 
 " Oh, but most of us are wearing our last Easter 
 bonnets." 
 
 " Besides, I get all my songs from the Music 
 Halls, and very many of them are not fit to 
 be sung in the presence of ladies." 
 
 " But in Italy, you know, besides, all we 
 care for is the music." 
 
 So they dragged him to the piano ; and he gave 
 them song after song, of the somewhat dubious 
 quality characteristic of the variety stage at pre 
 sent ; while the young ladies and gentlemen nearly 
 went into convulsions, simply because of his manner 
 of doing it. For he sang the vulgar stuff with a touch 
 of refinement that made it inimitably droll. His fin 
 gers strayed over the keys, striking a tender chord 
 here and there. Now and then he wiped his hands 
 with his handkerchief, laying it on the rack beside 
 him, after the fashion of great pianists. And he ram 
 bled from one scrap of nonsense to another, with 
 the perfect ease which gave his every act a charm. 
 
34 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 But just as he reached the second stanza of 
 " There 11 be whiskey at Mullaly s wake to-night," 
 the door opened in front of him, and Payne in 
 truded his visage of dashed interrogation. Gor 
 don s drollery went out, like an electric light. He 
 finished the stanza, but in a style as dead as the 
 matter merited. Then he stood up. 
 
 " Well, ladies and gentlemen, the concert will 
 be continued another time, with new and fresh airs, 
 and innumerable variations. Ready to go home, 
 Edgar?" 
 
 " Yes," muttered Edgar gruffly, and walked off. 
 Gordon followed him, just turning on the wonder 
 ing company a glance of humorous disgust. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE 
 
 GORDON was naturally of a most placid and ami 
 able disposition ; but for that very reason, when he 
 was irritated he had little power of controlling 
 himself. Now it would have been impossible for 
 any saint in Heaven to live with such a creature 
 as Edgar Payne and not to lose his temper irre 
 coverably. The tutor was, therefore, in a constant 
 state of mild exasperation, which broke out at 
 every opportunity. 
 
 " How can you expect me to take you about 
 with me anywhere, when you behave as you have 
 this evening ? " asked he, as they walked rapidly 
 homeward, through the quiet streets. 
 
 " Don t expect you to take me everywhere. I 
 can take myself about." 
 
 " I am sorry to say your father expects me to." 
 
 " My father had better stick to the stock mar 
 ket. He s good at that. The worst speculation he 
 ever got into was you." 
 
 " Very likely." 
 
 They went on for a while in silence. Their lodg 
 ings were near the Porta Pia, which gave them a 
 good deal of walking, when they did not care to 
 
36 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 use the tram. Gordon had objected to this and 
 would have preferred the older part of the city ; 
 but the rooms were comfortable and a bargain, and 
 Payne had insisted on taking them. 
 
 " That was a queer crowd she had there," began 
 Payne, at length. The recollection of the Countess 
 warmed his heart to unusual communicativeness. 
 " There were all sorts of people, of course." 
 " Oh, all sorts of people yes I think so. 
 Come, Gordy, you can t fool me, you know. You 
 think I have n t been about much ; but I can tell 
 a tough when I see him. That s just the kind I 
 can tell." 
 
 " Well, I allow, there s something in that." 
 " None of your insinuations. You re just as 
 tough as I am ; only you cover it up with that 
 slick manner of yours. I see through you, as if 
 you were an opera-glass." 
 " I dare say." 
 
 " As for Mrs. Barton herself, she knows a thing 
 or two. And that Countess what did they call 
 her ? " 
 
 " Markovski, you mean ? " 
 " I suppose so. I say, what is she, now ? " 
 " You must ask somebody that knows." 
 " I guess you know ; but I can find out without 
 your telling me." 
 
 " She is a lady who would make no more of eat 
 ing you up than a first-class royal Bengal tiger 
 would." 
 
OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE 37 
 
 " Oh, ho ! Hear the man. He thinks I m so 
 green, and I m as wise as Solomon compared to 
 him. Eat me up ! That has been tried before, my 
 friend ; and it did n t work. Eat me up ! " 
 
 Kesentment at this cannibal suggestion kept the 
 young gentleman so occupied that he entered his 
 apartment without even a good-night. 
 
 The interview with the Countess Markovski had 
 carried Gordon back three years and touched the 
 memory of the deepest feelings he had ever known. 
 At that time, almost a boy and utterly ignorant of 
 her true character, he had loved this woman, had 
 given her the purest and most ideal devotion that 
 he was capable of, and had asked her to marry 
 him, although he was perfectly unable to support 
 even himself, let alone a wife. She had laughed 
 at him a little, caressed him a little, loved him a 
 little, half accepted him, at least he thought so. 
 Then, one day when he returned to Rome after a 
 short trip to Naples, he found her gone, vanished, 
 not a word or sign left to comfort him. What he 
 heard of her afterwards, when he had come to his 
 senses, made him appreciate his good luck ; but he 
 still cherished the memory, not of her, but of his 
 own love for her. 
 
 Under these circumstances, their meeting had 
 impressed him strangely, half painfully. She seemed 
 the same woman and yet another. His first im 
 pulse was to avoid her as much as possible, to keep 
 the memory of the vanished ideal clear and sacred. 
 
38 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 Yet, at the same time, lie was teased by that odd 
 curiosity which leads us to probe old wounds, which 
 makes it a pleasure to talk over past loves with the 
 objects of them, to say, if you had done so and I 
 had done so, it would have all been different. That 
 he should again love the Countess Markovski 
 hardly occurred to him as possible. Did he wish 
 to see her and tell her so ? He did not know. This 
 state of uncertainty continued for a few days, but 
 was sharply terminated by the receipt of a small 
 perfumed note, with a black coronet, hinting that 
 courtesy required of him a speedy visit to No. 24 
 Via Ludovisi. What could he do but act on the 
 hint at once? 
 
 Everything about the Countess s dwelling sug 
 gested mystery, as she herself did. The servants 
 were all dressed in black and seemed exceptionally 
 still and unobtrusive. The rooms, without being in 
 the least dismal, were full of dim corners and cur 
 tained recesses, shadowy, even in the bright after 
 noons. The pictures and books seemed old and 
 quiet. The sense of indefinable, languorous rest- 
 fulness which accompanied the mistress, even when 
 she was most animated, extended itself to every 
 corner of her habitation. It was not in this special 
 place that Gordon had known her before. No face 
 of the servants, no bit of furniture or picture on 
 the walls, came back to him as an actual memory. 
 Yet as he entered the door he felt at home. The 
 strangely personal atmosphere was what he had 
 
OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE 39 
 
 known so well in days gone by. As be sat in the 
 salon, waiting for his hostess to appear, be leaned 
 back with his eyes closed ; and it seemed to him 
 that the past three years were but a dream. 
 
 He heard the faint rustle of garments behind 
 him and rose quickly. The Countess was dressed 
 in black. She was always dressed in black, except 
 for a single bit of bright color, now in one spot, 
 now in another. This time it was a small dark 
 red bow at her throat. She wore no jewels but her 
 wedding ring and on the same finger one large opal, 
 which shimmered and sparkled in the dim light. 
 Again and again this flicker of vague brilliance 
 would draw your eyes to the long, white, sinuous 
 fingers, which were never at rest. 
 
 She greeted Gordon with a brief word, then, 
 without speaking further, sat down on a sofa, and 
 motioned him to the corner beside her. There was 
 no smile at all on her face ; just a look of grave 
 and far-away abstraction. 
 
 Gordon watched her for a second with curious 
 interest. It was painful, but fascinating to appre 
 ciate now as wonderfully clever, even if only half- 
 conscious acting, all those varying moods and atti 
 tudes and gestures which he remembered so well 
 and which had imposed so perfectly on his inex 
 perienced innocence. The art was so subtle and so 
 delicate that he was not in the least surprised at 
 having been entrapped nor ashamed of it. 
 
 " Well," he began, at length. " Here I am." 
 
40 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 She turned and looked him full in the face with 
 sudden, bitter animation. " Yes," she said. " Here 
 you are. And you think I sent for you. And you 
 think I wanted you. And you don t know whether 
 to love me or not. And you wonder whether I love 
 you. I wonder too. I wanted to find out." 
 
 " The faculty of divination has descended upon 
 you, O fair Antonia." 
 
 She crossed her hands about her knee, leaned 
 forward, and gazed at him intently. His eyes trav 
 eled from hers down to the opal and back again. 
 
 " No," she murmured, " I hardly think so ; 
 I hardly think so. Have you changed much? 
 Have n t you grown hard and cynical and scorn 
 ful? Oh, I have. I am all those things. You 
 need n t laugh at me. But you were so different, 
 so sweet, and fresh, and gentle. You could n t be 
 like that always; and that was what I loved in 
 you. Well, never mind. Let us leave all that now. 
 Tell me about yourself and what you have been 
 doing." She settled back into the corner of the 
 sofa, and looked at him, with the cold indifference 
 of a society belle, making the same request of a 
 long-lost acquaintance. 
 
 " What have I been doing ? Nothing. Nothing 
 useful, at any rate." The Countess made a slight 
 gesture of disgust, as if the word suggested house 
 maids and elderly females engaged in charity. 
 " I ve earned a little money, and spent a good 
 deal. I ve loafed. I ve laughed." 
 
OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE 41 
 
 She nodded approvingly. "And loved?" she 
 said. 
 
 " No, not loved. I ve been mainly in Boston." 
 
 " Ah ; and one does not love in Boston ? " 
 
 " Not without an income." 
 
 " And does n t one love an income occasion 
 ally?" 
 
 " Oh, yes. I suppose I shall come to that some 
 day ; but I have n t yet." 
 
 " But you have seen plenty of pretty women ? " 
 
 " Yes, I ve seen them and painted them. None 
 prettier than the one I see at this moment." 
 
 " Painted them ? To be sure. And how is paint 
 ing with you now ? " 
 
 " Dead, Countess, forsook, cast off. I have 
 abandoned the brush altogether, and taken to 
 modeling in clay." 
 
 " I see ; and you have brought your chef d oeuvre 
 out here with you, to excite our languid Koman 
 admiration. He is bound to be a nine days won 
 der." 
 
 " Is n t he ? Monumentum exegi cere perennius. 
 I have made a monument more so than brass. 
 Excuse the pedantry, Countess; but it was so 
 apt." 
 
 " Tell me about the youth. Why should you be 
 a slave to him ? Did you paint his mother ? " 
 
 " Not his mother, his aunt. From all I hear, I 
 fancy his mother attended to matters of that kind 
 herself. I should like to see you and his aunt to- 
 
42 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 gether. I do love contrasts. I can imagine now 
 how you would flatter and imitate her stiff Puri 
 tanism." 
 
 " You think I am an actor, then ? " 
 
 " An adorable one." 
 
 " Yet, for the moment, I am always what I seem. 
 But you have n t answered my question. Why are 
 you a slave to the youth ? " 
 
 " It is a foolish question for a clever woman. I 
 am poor, and the youth s father is rich. You ought 
 to see his father. He is a man. What would you 
 make of him, I wonder. Yes, he is a man. What 
 an eye ! What a grasp of things ! And all wasted 
 on the piling up of money." 
 
 " I should like to pile up money." 
 
 " No, you would n t. You would like the power 
 of it, and to have it at your beck and call, and to 
 see people cringe and flatter you, and to tread on 
 their necks ; but you would n t like to spend day 
 and night figuring, and planning, and worrying, as 
 Mr. Payne does. A man who is really worthy to 
 enjoy himself, too ! " 
 
 Antonia was lying back now, with her hands 
 clasped behind her head, watching the pleasant 
 face beside her. For it was a pleasant face always, 
 and always on the brink of merriment. " You ad 
 mire the father, but you don t like the son ?" she 
 said idly. 
 
 " Oh, no, I don t like the son. You remember 
 something of me, enough to know I can be happy 
 
OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE 43 
 
 almost anywhere and under any circumstances. I 
 was baptized in sunshiny I think sometimes, when 
 I find other people long-faced and gloomy, with 
 no occasion for being so that I can see. But this 
 fellow is almost too much for me. So lean as he 
 is, so angular, and so worthless, so full of dark 
 corners, with little ugly spiders of spite and malice 
 constantly bobbing out of them and so vulgar 
 it sours me, it does, really. All the sunshine is 
 getting soaked out of me, as if I lived in a damp 
 fog." 
 
 She gazed off beyond him and drank the mur 
 mur of his words. " Baptized in sunshine, baptized 
 in sunshine," she kept repeating softly to herself. 
 " What was I baptized in, I wonder ? Some cold, 
 and strange, and subtle planetary dew. Yet there 
 was a shred of sunlit mist about it also. For I love 
 the sunlight, oh, I love it ; and the grave seems to 
 me so harsh and horrible." 
 
 Then she spoke to him directly, but low and softly, 
 with that strange, siren whisper, which she so well 
 knew how to use, or used so well without knowing. 
 
 " Do you remember, Rob, that day that day, 
 when you told me you loved me ? I shall never 
 forget it that May day how soft it was 
 soft soft. The old vetturino how he nodded 
 on his seat, while we drove and drove leisurely 
 why should we have hastened? The sky was so 
 blue above us. And the great, open Campagna 
 spread away about us, drenched in sunlight. And 
 
44 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 the air was full of the breath of spring. Do you 
 remember ? " 
 
 She ceased; but her voice still echoed in his 
 ears, as he leaned back and wondered whether such 
 things really ever were. Then there was a great 
 silence about them ; and they sat there quiet in 
 the dim room, hardly moving, or even breathing. 
 
 She spoke first, leaning forward sharply, with 
 the grace banished from her manner and a some 
 thing almost bitter in her tone : " No, you don t 
 remember. How should you? When did a man 
 ever remember ? What a fool I am to think you 
 should not be as other men ! Why did you come 
 here? Why" 
 
 " Antonia," he interrupted gently, " it is my turn 
 to ask whether you remember? Do you remem 
 ber the boy, the child, whom you bewitched, and 
 played with, and deserted who was so lament 
 ably innocent as to believe in your innocence, and 
 true enough to believe in your truth who would 
 have been ashamed to ask you to love him, except 
 as his wife, and who offered you his name and his 
 honor not much, to be sure, but all he had? 
 You soothed him and caressed him and promised. 
 Do you remember? Yes, I remember that day 
 when we drove together. I remember another day, 
 also, when, after a brief two weeks absence, I re 
 turned to Rome and found you gone and where 
 and with whom ? And what have I heard about 
 you since? There was a dream shattered and an 
 
OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE 45 
 
 idol broken. People say I forget easily, but I 
 remember that. Antonia, do you?" 
 
 She heard him patiently, without a sound, with 
 out once raising her eyes to look at him ; and when 
 he had finished, she remained, for a moment, in 
 the same position of abandoned hopelessness. Then, 
 pulling herself together defiantly, she said : " Boys 
 and girls folly ! One cannot dream forever on no 
 thing. What I did was best for both of us. Any 
 way, it is all gone now. What is the use of memo 
 ries when they sting you ? " She made a gesture 
 as of brushing a swarm of bees from about her 
 head. Then, after a little pause, she added in a 
 gentler, softer tone, "But, O Rob! O Bob! I 
 missed you so ! " 
 
 Here, however, she was forced to stop abruptly ; 
 for the servant opened the door for Mr. Edgar 
 Payne. 
 
CHAPTEK V 
 THE WOLF AND THE LAMB 
 
 EDGAR had been meditating a visit to No. 24 Via 
 Ludovisi ever since his evening at Mrs. Barton s. 
 The Countess had pleased him. He had his own 
 ideas as to women. They were to have snap and 
 go about them, and also to be fascinating, devilish 
 fascinating. Now the Countess Markovski was fas 
 cinating, devilish fascinating. He thought she had 
 the snap and go. She had certainly taken a fancy 
 to him, which might be worth indulging. Then, 
 she was a countess. Like all of us true-born Amer 
 icans, he did love the sound of a title. It tickled 
 his ears, as sweets did his palate. To be the prime 
 favorite of a countess was well worth crossing a 
 street or two, if it cost nothing more. 
 
 After his rebuff from Gordon, he had tried to 
 make some further inquiries about the lady, but 
 not very successfully. His own acquaintances in 
 Rome were Americans, and not of a class likely to 
 help him much. He ventured to sound Dick Mor 
 ris, when that idle young gentleman was visiting 
 Gordon; but he had been sharply snubbed. He 
 generally was snubbed by Gordon s friends, and 
 hated them accordingly, and him also, all the more. 
 
THE WOLF AND THE LAMB 47 
 
 Finally, after two or three days of reflection, he 
 decided to venture boldly into the siren s grotto. 
 He thought he could get out again somehow. In 
 deed, the memory of those bewitching eyes haunted 
 him so much that he did not especially care about 
 getting out again, if he could only get in. He was 
 somewhat uncertain about the proper hour for such 
 a visit ; but the middle of the afternoon seemed to 
 be fairly safe. If he did not succeed then, he 
 would try again. 
 
 Perhaps none of the three was especially pleased 
 to see the others at that moment. Gordon s coun 
 tenance openly expressed his disgust. Payne hesi 
 tated somewhat as he approached the Countess. 
 She, however, was, as usual, perfect mistress of 
 herself and the situation. 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Payne," she said, as she held out her 
 hand to him, " it is so good of you to leave sight 
 seeing for a while and come to me. Mr. Gordon 
 and I have been talking about you." 
 
 " I dare say. Trust Gordon for that and no 
 good of me either." 
 
 " Why should you suppose we would slander 
 the absent?" 
 
 " I don t know anything about you. You may 
 be different from all the others. But he could n t 
 say anything good of me, if he tried." 
 
 " I certainly shan t try at present," remarked the 
 tutor. " Countess," he went on, " I don t believe 
 I am needed just now. May I say au revoir ? " 
 
48 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 "Must you leave us?" she answered amiably, 
 but with what he thought a rather strange coquetry. 
 " Aren t you afraid we shall talk about you? " 
 
 "Not at all. One thing I can say about the 
 young man. He could n t abuse me more behind 
 my back than he does to my face." 
 
 "I don t know that," muttered his pupil, as 
 Gordon left the room. 
 
 When they were alone, the Countess sat down 
 again on the sofa. Payne, who was coolness itself, 
 made a half -move toward sitting down beside her ; 
 but she, not discourteously, but authoritatively, 
 pointed to a chair a little farther off. She did not 
 intend him to forget his distance so soon. He was 
 annoyed at this and spoke with sudden roughness : 
 " See here, what has that fellow been telling you 
 about me?" 
 
 " I never betray my friends," said Antonia 
 quietly. 
 
 " Is he your friend ? " 
 
 "Yes," was the simple answer. 
 
 It appeared that jealousy was added to the ele 
 ments already present in the frown darkening the 
 young gentleman s brow. He did not speak for a 
 moment. Neither did his hostess, as she sat, quiet 
 and cool, in the corner of her sofa, letting the white 
 hands pass over each other slowly and softly. At 
 length he said : " Confound that chap ! He s in 
 terfered with me in everything, since the first day 
 I set eyes on him. Why in the world did my father 
 
THE WOLF AND THE LAMB 49 
 
 put him over me ? I would n t stand it an hour ; 
 only, you know, I ve got to. If you knew my 
 father ! I ain t afraid of much, but I am afraid of 
 him. He s just like iron, my father is. If I was 
 to make a fuss, and punch Gordon s head, and 
 start on my own hook, the old man might never 
 speak to me again. It would be just like him. 
 But that Gordon, he s the most good-for-nothing 
 rascal you ever saw. Spend ? Why, I don t think 
 he knows a dime from a dollar. Never saved a cent 
 in his life. Lazy ? Why, an Irishman shoveling 
 for the city government at two dollars a day is n t 
 so lazy as he is. But everybody says he s a gentle 
 man and they say I m not. Damn it, what is a 
 gentleman? And the women all like him. Now 
 look at you here you were as sweet as sirup to 
 me the other night ; and now he s come and talked 
 to you, and you won t look at me at all." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I will. I ve been looking at you all 
 the time." So she had, with amusement, amaze 
 ment. It was an odd fish certainly, an ugly one. 
 She had never yet come across such an one in all 
 her wide experience. It would be a real curiosity 
 to investigate and classify the creature, even if it 
 came to nothing. " I will look at you. And I like 
 you." 
 
 The frowning brow relaxed and the pale green 
 eyes were raised to hers. She was looking at him 
 intently, frankly, with a hint of a smile, but kind 
 and sympathetic. 
 
50 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 " Suppose we put Mr. Gordon aside, for a little 
 while," she began. " I think we can find something 
 pleasanter to talk about." 
 
 " Sure," was the grim assent. 
 
 " Tell me about yourself." 
 
 " Tell me about yourself," he answered promptly. 
 " I ve been trying to find out something about you 
 for the last three days." 
 
 The youth might be a monster ; but he was not 
 a fool; that was evident. Even she was taken 
 aback for a second and dropped her eyes before 
 the impudence of the pale green ones. " I am glad 
 I interested you so much," she said, with simple 
 gentleness. " But all that will come later. You 
 are a man, you know, and should speak first." 
 
 "What shall I say?" 
 
 " Well, you were born of poor but honest par 
 ents, I suppose ? " 
 
 " No, I was born in Chicago. There are some 
 poor people in Chicago, I believe ; but no honest 
 ones. I never saw any anywhere ; only those who 
 pretend to be and those who don t. I don t know 
 anything about my mother. My father was awfully 
 rich then. He s richer now. I never heard him 
 say anything about honesty. Lately we Ve lived 
 in Boston. I m sure I don t know why. I hate 
 Boston." 
 
 " Did you go to school ? " 
 
 " Of course I went to school. Oh, you mean 
 boarding school. Yes, I did. I went for two years, 
 
THE WOLF AND THE LAMB 51 
 
 just before I came out here I was twenty-one 
 last June to a big school in the East. And a 
 mean place it was. Prayers morning and night 
 just think of it. Have to go, you know. And a 
 lot of Greek and Latin and stuff what good is 
 it, any way ? Never helped a man to make a dol 
 lar. My father wanted me to go to college, but I 
 told him, not much. What s college good for ? " 
 
 " Did n t you make any friends at school ? " It 
 may easily be imagined that the Countess took not 
 the slightest interest in the facts thus agreeably 
 narrated ; but every word and every grimace was 
 throwing new light on the curious character she 
 had to study. She was like the naturalist, who 
 pokes his spider with a pin and makes him throw 
 out this leg and that in huge uncouthness. 
 
 " Friends ? Now, really, sometimes I can t make 
 out whether you are a tenderfoot or not. What 
 has a practical man got to do with friends ? 
 Friends are people that want something of you. 
 If you re weak, you ve got to have em ; because 
 you want something of everybody. If you re 
 strong and good for fighting, they re only a bore. 
 I have n t got a friend in the world, and don t 
 want one." 
 
 " You don t wish to be friends with me, then ? " 
 
 Pshaw ! That s different. You don t call that 
 being friends ? " 
 
 The glance that accompanied this led her to say 
 hastily, " But at school ? " 
 
52 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 " Oh, at school. You would n t ask me to be 
 friends with such a crowd as that. They could n t 
 think of anything but football. You don t suppose 
 I would play football ? Why should a fellow want 
 to go and get his head knocked in for nothing ? 
 They call me a coward. So I am who is n t ? 
 I m not afraid to say so. I don t like to be hurt. 
 But give me something to be hurt for. I d charge 
 an army for the sake of getting a gold mine. They 
 didn t like me at school. The first year they 
 thought they were sending me to Coventry and 
 all that. As if I cared. I just stayed in my room 
 and read the stock quotations and the financial 
 articles. I tell you I know something about em, 
 too. I don t believe there s a listed stock in the 
 market to-day that I couldn t tell you the his 
 tory of ; and I could tell you some queer things 
 about some unlisted ones. You see my father s 
 right on to all those things, and he gives me point 
 ers. I ve kept tabs on the whole business. Oh, 
 you d just enjoy that sort of thing." 
 
 " I m sure I should." She thought of men who 
 had talked to her about that sort of thing before, 
 men who would have devoured this innocent lamb 
 at a meal, men who held the exchanges of Europe 
 in their pockets and blew the fate of empires from 
 their cigars. She had often thought she should en 
 joy that sort of thing, when the time should come 
 for it. Yes, this odd little beast might be worth 
 listening to in the end. So she listened. 
 
THE WOLF AND THE LAMB 53 
 
 " The last year I was at school," he went on, 
 " the fellers got to thinking more of me. I taught 
 em a thing or two that was more fun than Latin, 
 you see. I showed em what business meant. Fi 
 nally, I ran a regular little bucket-shop, and I tell 
 you they went into it. Why, I made nearly a hun 
 dred dollars in three weeks. That was fun. That 
 was worth going to school for. But the teachers 
 got on to it ; turned me out at last. What did I 
 care ? " 
 
 He was wound up now, and could go on forever. 
 That was evident. She leaned back in her corner, 
 and listened gravely to the torrent of coarse slang 
 and dull anecdotes, all the gross experience of a 
 crude, half-baked, cross-grained temper, never sub 
 jected to any education but that of fortuitous cir 
 cumstance, not ill-fitted to beat a rough way for 
 itself to a certain sort of success, but wholly inca 
 pable of charm, or grace, or attractiveness, incapable 
 even of the appreciation of such things. Now and 
 then she put in a word of grave sympathy. Not 
 very much was needed. Still, she drew him on 
 more and more. 
 
 " And what are you doing over here ? " she 
 asked, when there came a pause. " You don t get 
 at much business in Rome." 
 
 " Well, no. You see, father would have me 
 come. He thought he ought to get education into 
 me somehow what he calls education. He can t 
 do it, you know ; but he said, if I d come over 
 
54 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 here for a year, when I came back, he d give me 
 a hundred thousand dollars and a start, let me into 
 one or two big deals. That s worth while. I know 
 he s working up a tin-can trust that has got money 
 in it, oh, money You see, I ll be in that for 
 the dollars every tune. Then there s a girl over 
 here that he wants me to marry." 
 
 " To marry ? " There was just a little gleam in 
 the dark eyes. 
 
 " Marry s the word. Name s Stanton. Father 
 old friend of his. She s got money, lots of it. 
 And they do say she s pretty. Couldn t touch 
 me, if she was n t. I don t know about marrying, 
 yet awhile. Want to see all the pretty women 
 first." 
 
 " You like pretty women ? " she said. " Which 
 do you like best, them or money ? " 
 
 " Money, of course. But they come next." 
 
 His brutal frankness rather attracted her. 
 " What sort of pretty women do you like ? " 
 
 " Pretty women just like you," he said. As he 
 said it, he got up determinedly from his chair and 
 came over on to the sofa beside her. Then he took 
 her hand. There was a moment s pause, just 
 enough for her to feel the clammy, serpent pressure 
 of his grasp, just enough for her to give him one 
 mysterious glance of curiosity, of interest, of 
 tenderness ? That was for him to speculate about 
 later. Then she rose, as frigid as an Easter lily, 
 or a morning shower-bath. " I have chatted with 
 
THE WOLF AND THE LAMB 55 
 
 you too long. I should have been on the Pinciaii 
 by this time. My carriage is always ready at half- 
 past four." 
 
 He was forced to rise also, and stood, awkward 
 and frowning, beside her. " Here have I been giv 
 ing myself away for an hour, as if I were being 
 interviewed for a morning daily. You promised to 
 tell me something too." 
 
 " Did I ? That must be for another time, I am 
 afraid. You have been so interesting. By the way 
 can you ride ? " 
 
 " I should think so. My father had a stock 
 farm. When I was a kid, I was out there half the 
 time. I can ride anything." 
 
 " Well, then, ride with me some afternoon in 
 the Campagna. I love to get out into pure, bare 
 desolation away from all this canned desolation 
 here. Let me see, to-day is Monday. Come Fri 
 day, at one o clock. The afternoons are so short 
 now. I will be ready for you. Will you ? " 
 
 " Sure, I will." And with this he was obliged 
 to take a grumbling leave, while the lady went to 
 prepare for her daily drive. 
 
CHAPTEK VI 
 THE CASTING OF PEARLS 
 
 FOR the next two or three days matters went on 
 much as usual. Gordon said nothing to Edgar 
 about the Countess, further than to inquire if he 
 had enjoyed his call; to which the cheerful re 
 sponse was, " Did you ? " The tutor had the mat 
 ter somewhat on his mind, however. Was he respon 
 sible for the young man s acquaintances ? Probably 
 he was. If not, what was he responsible for ? The 
 word had lately come to be to him the most hate 
 ful in the language ; so that he positively envied 
 that unfortunate class of persons who are usually 
 referred to as "not responsible." Meantime, it 
 was quite clear that the expression was applicable 
 to the case in hand, if to anything. But then, 
 what was he to do about it ? To forbid Edgar s 
 frequenting the Countess s would be preposterous, 
 and simply mean doubling the number of his visits. 
 To hint gently that her surroundings were not all 
 that could be desired for a young and innocent 
 gentleman would be hardly more effective, even 
 with a person to whom that description applied ; 
 and Payne was neither a gentleman, nor young, 
 nor innocent. Besides, in spite of his present 
 
THE CASTING OF PEARLS 57 
 
 knowledge of the Countess s character, Gordon still 
 felt the deepest tenderness, not for her, but for his 
 past worship of her. To discuss her shadowy ca 
 reer, to analyze her dubious peculiarities, especially 
 with such a creature as Edgar, would be intoler 
 ably painful. 
 
 After all, what harm was likely to be done? 
 Edgar was intrusted to his care to be shown the 
 world. Now the Countess was certainly the world, 
 the flesh, and the devil. " Not to have seen her 
 would be to have left unseen a wonderful piece of 
 work, which, not to have been blessed withal, 
 would have much discredited your travel," mur 
 mured the tutor to himself. Odd company was, 
 of course, to be met at her house ; but then, odd 
 company was to be met at Mrs. Barton s ; in fact, 
 almost anywhere. There was no fear of Edgar s 
 losing money at cards. In the first place, it would 
 make no great difference if he did, as the supply 
 was very abundant. Then, he was quite sure not 
 to play any game which he did not understand, 
 and was much more likely to fleece than to be 
 fleeced, even by the adepts who visited the Count 
 ess Markovski. Indeed, Gordon s chief fear was 
 that he might be detected in some sort of cheating, 
 which would bring a scandal on everybody ; but he 
 concluded that his pupil was too knowing for that. 
 So, after giving the subject some slight attention, 
 he decided that there was no very great need of 
 his doing anything, and nothing whatever that he 
 
58 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 could do. Perhaps Edgar, by the sacrifice of a little 
 of the peachy bloom of his youthful simplicity, 
 might in the end acquire a faint tinge of that 
 worldly polish, which was so dear an object in his 
 father s eyes, and which Gordon had no longer 
 much hope that he himself would be able to com 
 municate. 
 
 Meanwhile, the tutor still made heroic efforts, 
 in every way he could, to impart some of the de 
 sired culture. He bullied or persuaded Payne to 
 visit one and another of the sights, and tried to in 
 spire him with some slight interest in antiquity or 
 art. The attempt was perfectly vain. The only 
 thing that aroused even a spark of enthusiasm in 
 his dull and sodden spirit was the charming depic 
 tion of tortures in Santo Stefano Rotundo. That 
 he inspected with persistent curiosity, examining 
 and analyzing every picture, till Gordon s patience 
 and stomach almost gave way. But in the Forum, 
 the Palatine, the Colosseum, the Baths of Cara- 
 calla, the sculpture and picture galleries, he found 
 nothing whatever to admire, and simply annoyed 
 and disgusted whoever accompanied him with 
 comments, which were, to be sure, occasionally 
 acute, but were always crude, loud, boorish, and 
 insolent. 
 
 Yet he was generally willing enough to go to 
 such places ; for he had nothing else to do. If he 
 had been at a hotel full of English and Americans, 
 his money would have found him companions and 
 
THE CASTING OF PEARLS 59 
 
 occupations of a certain sort ; but living in lodg 
 ings, he was left to himself and the long-suffering 
 Gordon. The afternoons he spent in perusing the 
 papers, eagerly searching for such stale financial 
 information as they supplied. His father sent him 
 the New York journals ; and the reading of these, 
 and of the telegraphic items in Galignani, kept 
 him busy for several hours. He took a certain in 
 terest, also, in European stock markets, followed 
 the fluctuations in London, Paris, and Berlin, and 
 had even begun to do a little business in Italian 
 securities, although the Roman Bourse was tanta 
 lizing, like the view of the Promised Land afar 
 off, since he could not follow a word of the trans 
 actions. But in the mornings he was usually will 
 ing to go on some expedition, provided he was not 
 too much bored with explanations, was allowed to 
 stare his fill at the pretty girls, and above all, was 
 not put to any expense. He insisted on doing all 
 the sights on the free days only ; and fretted over 
 unnecessary fees, as if he were losing a tooth. 
 
 On the Thursday following the visit at the 
 Countess s, the two young men were strolling 
 through the Vatican sculpture galleries. In regard 
 to sculpture Payne was simply hopeless. He did 
 occasionally see a picture which he condescended 
 to approve of, always the worst which could by 
 any possibility be found say, the waxy smooth 
 ness of Sassoferrato, or a limp virgin of Carlo 
 Dolce, or a frenzied atrocity of Annibale Caracci. 
 
60 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 " That s got some Kfe in it," he would say. 
 " That s American." But sculpture was naught 
 to him. Gordon had brought him to the Vatican, 
 therefore, simply as a matter of duty, and because 
 he himself loved to ramble about through the long 
 galleries, catching a glimpse here and there of an 
 old favorite and paying no attention to the savage 
 tirade that went on beside him, except now and 
 then to exasperate it by a word of appreciation or 
 delight. 
 
 " The Laocoon," said he, as they paused in front 
 of it. " That ought to suit you." 
 
 " You think you know my bad taste pretty well 
 by this time. I suppose it does n t suit you ? " 
 
 " No, not that altogether. It does suit me in a 
 way ; but you like things that have life in them, 
 you know." 
 
 Edgar surveyed the statue critically for a moment. 
 " Bully for the snake," he cried, and passed on. 
 
 The Apollo Belvedere caught his eye with a re 
 miniscence of the Boston Music Hall. " Hello ! 
 They ve got him out here, have they ? Well now, 
 that s something like ; though there s more things 
 at home it would pay them to copy than statues." 
 
 " Do you really suppose this is a copy of the 
 Apollo at home ? " 
 
 " It don t make any difference to you what I 
 suppose, does it ? " 
 
 Gordon stopped a moment before the famous 
 torso. " Edgar," he began, " if you really want to 
 
THE CASTING OF PEARLS 61 
 
 learn anything about what Greek art is and what 
 sculpture is, just look at this for a while." 
 
 Payne gazed at him in unspeakable disgust. 
 " Gordy," he answered, " I think sometimes you 
 take me for a fool ; but I m not enough of a one 
 to think you re enough of a one to care about a 
 thing like that. What is it but a piece of dirty 
 marble, knocked and battered till you can t tell 
 whether it s a man or a horse-block ? I wish Mark 
 Twain was here. He d make you see what an ass 
 you are." With this crushing reference to the high 
 priest of Philistine laughter, he walked on. 
 
 Through the vast length of the Museo Chiara- 
 monti they loitered leisurely, Gordon sometimes 
 making an honest, futile, and ridiculous effort to 
 interest his companion, whose attention was chiefly 
 directed to a group of young English women walk 
 ing in front of them. For the most part, however, 
 the tutor abandoned himself in silence to the peculiar 
 charm of those white and quiet relics of antiquity. 
 He took his finger out of the Baedeker, and made 
 no attempt to study dates or styles or theories; 
 his mind wandered in a dream to all the old, for 
 gotten life which these things represented; and 
 sometimes, in that shifting mist of fancy, there 
 would float out sharply the clear outline of a white 
 arm, or a sloping shoulder, or a bent leg strained 
 in the swift ardor of pursuit, or an earnest face 
 gazing out forever and forever in immortal calm. 
 At length he found himself, almost without 
 
62 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 knowing how, standing before the Doryphorus in 
 the Braccio Nuovo. For some time he paused there, 
 in dreamy contemplation of the exquisite pose and 
 poise, which Polycletus, or some one else, has left 
 for the eternal adoration of mankind. " What a 
 people they were," he thought, " who dreamed the 
 short life-dream under those blue skies of Attica ! 
 How wise they were in accepting what they found 
 and looking no further. They bothered themselves 
 with no troublesome questions about death and the 
 hereafter. They saw beauty in the world, beauty, 
 which the moderns have clean forgotten." 
 
 Meantime, Edgar was watching his English 
 girls and another party who looked more New 
 Yorkish. " I say, Gordy," he cried, harshly inter 
 rupting his companion s reverie, " Does n t that 
 girl look like the photograph what s her name 
 Stanton, you know ? " 
 
 Gordon gave a sharp glance. " Hardly," he an 
 swered. " Miss Stanton is, at any rate, a lady, and 
 that young person well, her father must have 
 struck oil, I should think. By the way, Edgar, 
 that reminds me. I had a letter from Mr. Stanton 
 this morning." 
 
 " Did ? Well, what does the old boy say ? " 
 " They are coming to Kome to-morrow. Hotel 
 Bristol." 
 
 " Let them come when they like and go." 
 " I suppose you intend to be civil to them, as 
 your father wishes it." 
 
THE CASTING OF PEARLS 63 
 
 " Oh, civil, yes. Why not ? I 11 go round there 
 some day when I get ready." 
 
 " The very least we can do is to go to-morrow 
 afternoon and leave our cards. I dare say they 
 won t see us." 
 
 " You can go and leave my pasteboard, if you 
 like. That s what you re for." 
 
 " A sort of valet de place, I suppose ? " 
 
 " I should get a great deal more out of any kind 
 of a valet ; but call it that, if you like." 
 
 " Seriously, Edgar, you don t mean to tell me 
 you won t go round there with me to-morrow after 
 noon ? " 
 
 " Seriously, I do mean to tell you just that. 
 Can t you understand English ? I have another 
 engagement to-morrow afternoon." 
 
 " None more important than this, I should 
 judge." 
 
 " I ll do the judging for myself." 
 
 " Would you mind telling me what this prior 
 engagement is ? " 
 
 " It s none of your business ; but, as it may 
 annoy you a little, I will. I am going to ride in 
 the Campagna with the Countess Markovski." 
 
 " With the Countess Markovski ride on 
 horseback, I suppose, in the Campagna ? " said 
 Gordon gravely. 
 
 " Just so. Don t like it, hey ? Kind of cuts you 
 out a bit, don t it, old boy? Want all the coun 
 tesses and all the women yourself ? Can t have em, 
 
64 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 you see. I have n t got your figure ; but I have 
 my way with em all the same." 
 
 Gordon didn t speak for a moment. He was 
 very thoughtful, as they walked slowly along the 
 chill and empty gallery. "You understand, of 
 course, your father s wishes in regard to Mr. Stan- 
 ton ? " he asked, at length. 
 
 " I don t know anything about Mr. Stanton. 
 Of course, I know father wants me to marry the 
 girl." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Well I shall do as I like about it." 
 
 " As she likes perhaps ? " 
 
 "As she likes? Why, you don t think she d 
 Tefuse me, do you ? " 
 
 " I don t know her yet." 
 
 " Nor I. I don t need to. I m not banking on 
 my personal charms, of course. I know what you 
 think of them. But where s the girl that would 
 refuse the son of fifty millions ? Did you ever see 
 her?" 
 
 " Perhaps not." 
 
 " I guess, perhaps not. But the thing is, do I 
 want to marry her ? Of course, she s got the 
 rocks ; not like me, but well enough for a begin 
 ning. Then they do say she s pretty. Only I m 
 afraid she is n t my style. That s what I ve got 
 to find out. Anyway, I m not going to make her 
 think I m too anxious, you know. Not much." 
 
 They walked on again in silence. Gordon most 
 
THE CASTING OF PEARLS 65 
 
 devoutly hoped the young lady would prove to be 
 of the required style ; but that seemed altogether 
 too good to be true. If not, what ? 
 
 As they were passing out of the Chiaramonti, 
 they met Morris, who stopped and seemed disposed 
 to chat a little. 
 
 " I 11 have to get you to excuse me," said Payne. 
 " I want to see a man on the way home. No, you 
 need n t come along, Gordy. I ve had about enough 
 of you for one day." 
 
 " Great Scott ! How do you stand that chap ? " 
 asked Morris, when Edgar was out of hearing. 
 
 " I wonder at it sometimes myself." 
 
 " I should have murdered him long ago 
 thrashed him within an inch of his life, at any 
 rate. I never imagined such an oaf. But you re 
 too amiable to live." 
 
 "Thanks. The truth is, I feel that if I took 
 him right I might make something of him. I keep 
 trying." 
 
 " You do, that s a fact. If you took him by the 
 scruff of his neck and dropped him into the Tiber, 
 you might make fish-bait of him, if they would 
 bite it. What do you expect to make of him ? " 
 
 " I give it up. To-morrow his intended is com 
 ing. I shall turn him over to her." 
 
 " Whew ! " whistled Morris. " Oh, won t that 
 be fun. May I be there to see ! Will he go, like a 
 lamb to the slaughter?" 
 
 " Well, not to-morrow. You see, he has pro- 
 
66 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 mised to ride with the Countess to-morrow in the 
 Campagna." 
 
 " To ride with the Countess Markovski ? " Then 
 Morris took his friend by the arm, leaned over 
 close to his ear, and whispered, with awful solem 
 nity, " What if he should marry the Countess 
 Markovski ? " 
 
 Gordon positively staggered back and gazed at 
 Morris with an expression of horror. u Marry the " 
 he gasped. " Marry " 
 
 " That s what I said. Oh, what a perfect picnic. 
 It s worth coming to Rome for." 
 
 " Heavens and earth ! " ejaculated the tutor. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 ON THE PINCIAN 
 
 IT was not Gordon s habit to lie awake nights, nor 
 did he actually lose any sleep over the unfortunate 
 suggestion which Morris had made to him. Never 
 theless, his soul was a good deal disquieted, and he 
 devoted such minutes as were casually snatched 
 from slumber to reflection on the possibilities and 
 desirabilities of the future. 
 
 When morning came, he left Edgar to mumble 
 over the newspapers, and started out by himself to 
 enjoy a cigar in leisurely contemplation. He wan 
 dered through the dull, tame streets of the modern 
 portion of the city toward the Piazza di Spagna, 
 finding it easier to smoke and observe than to do 
 any systematic thinking. What an awful bore the 
 whole situation was. He certainly wished to do 
 the very best he could for his pupil, from a gen 
 eral sense of duty, and still more, from a very 
 lively recollection of all the kindness he had re 
 ceived at the hands of Mr. Payne senior. With 
 out making any elaborate plans, he had imagined, 
 when he left home, that his course would be sim 
 ple and easy. Edgar was green, to be sure, but 
 he was young ; and as practically all that was ex- 
 
68 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 pected was that he should learn to enjoy life like 
 a gentleman, there did not seem to be anything 
 very difficult in the matter. Gordon himself had 
 never required teaching for such an object. Ac 
 cordingly, he had tried from the very beginning 
 to preach by example, now and then offering a bit 
 of good-natured advice or a pleasant suggestion, 
 not in the least dictatorially, but as one companion 
 will always do to another. He had failed at the 
 outset, and soon came to see that he was failing. 
 Gentlemanliness, as he understood it, was neither 
 practiced nor appreciated by Edgar Payne; and 
 the latter s idea of amusing himself seemed to fall 
 off further and further from any gentlemanly 
 standard. It goes without saying that Gordon 
 meant by amusement, not only, nor in any way 
 chiefly, the more trivial gayeties of life, but those 
 higher and subtler spiritual pleasures of art and 
 thought and refined social intercourse, which many 
 people stiffen into rather laborious duties, but 
 which he had the natural grace to enjoy instinc 
 tively, and therefore beyond anything else. It 
 would, perhaps, have been too much to expect that 
 Edgar should show any taste for this sort of thing ; 
 although Gordon had honestly and earnestly done 
 his best to help him. But even in eating and 
 drinking and all forms of youthful frolic there was 
 a hopeless boorishness, a coarseness, a crude sel 
 fishness about the boy, which discouraged and dis 
 gusted his tutor almost beyond endurance. Yet, 
 
ON THE PINCIAN 69 
 
 in spite of a gradually increasing estrangement, 
 leading frequently to open insolence on Edgar s 
 part, Gordon had persisted in trying to exercise 
 a sort of restraining and civilizing influence, had 
 hoped that they might get through their various 
 experiences without any serious break, and that, 
 after their return home, some little good might 
 prove to have been accomplished, even if far less 
 than Mr. Payne had desired. But now ? 
 
 Turning all this over in his mind, he had wan 
 dered past the Trinita de Monti, and so, slowly, 
 on into the Pincian Gardens. The morning was 
 somewhat dull and misty ; but now and then the 
 sun broke through, flooding the roofs below him 
 with a watery light. He leaned against the south 
 ern parapet of the promenade, and continued to 
 ruminate. 
 
 If Edgar should take it into his head to marry 
 the Countess, or rather, if the Countess should 
 take it into her head to marry Edgar, what could 
 he do ? Nothing, probably. He had already con 
 sidered the possibility of warning Edgar ; but what 
 would that amount to? He was well aware that 
 Edgar had not the slightest confidence in any one s 
 veracity. The minute he suspected a design to in 
 fluence or control him, he would be roused to op 
 position, and it was extremely likely that a result 
 exactly contrary to the desirable one would be 
 brought about. 
 
 Then what would be the character of any warn- 
 
70 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 ing that was to be given? Should Gordon con 
 fine himself to repeating the general stories of the 
 lady s past, as if they had come to him in the form 
 of mere vulgar rumor, suggesting doubts about 
 the existence of the late Count Markovski, narrat 
 ing the unfortunate experiences of Brown, Jones, 
 and Robinson ? It might be done, but it would be 
 lamentably vague, and probably quite ineffective. 
 Must he, after all, admit that he himself had 
 known Antonia, had loved her, had been fooled by 
 her? Must he bring his own intimate testimony 
 to her witchery, her treachery, her heartlessness, 
 to confirm the darker and more damning evidence 
 of others ? No, the idea was too disgusting. He 
 would keep himself, his own feelings and suffer 
 ings out of the fight, at any rate, for the present. 
 As the word fight occurred to him, he smiled 
 at the thought of trying to do battle with the 
 Countess Markovski ; and it was clear to him, be 
 forehand, where the victory would fall, if she should 
 really wish to enter the lists. 
 
 Still, need he do anything just at present? 
 There was Miss Stanton coming. She might possi 
 bly affect the result in some way. It was, indeed, 
 too much to hope that she would take to Edgar, or 
 Edgar to her. Yet who could tell ? She was rich, 
 and to Edgar that meant so much. Even if Miss 
 Stanton were indifferent to him, any interest that 
 he might take in her would be the surest safeguard 
 against the dark lady who was enchanting him at 
 
ON THE PINCIAN 71 
 
 present. Yes, the proper thing was to wait, espe 
 cially since, if the situation was getting too complex 
 it was always possible to cable and summon Mr. 
 Payne to the rescue. 
 
 With this conclusion, the tutor dismissed the mat 
 ter from his mind, and, leaning over the parapet, 
 gazed idly at the well-known scene before him. 
 The weather was brightening more and more, and 
 gleams of sunshine were falling constantly on one 
 point or another of the landscape. Now they lay 
 flat on the low dark cover of the Pantheon. Now 
 they brought out sharply the yellow towers of the 
 Capitol. Now they bathed, in full splendor, the 
 immense, all-absorbing dome of St. Peter s and the 
 heavy masses of the Vatican beside it, then swept 
 beyond these to the long ridge which terminates in 
 San Pietro in Montorio, and finally rushed away, 
 over hill and valley and river and plain, to the 
 dark rolling slopes of the Alban Mountains. All 
 the while, Gordon saw and heard below him the 
 tumultuous life of the city, pouring out from the 
 Corso into the vast Piazza del Popolo, and from 
 there surging back again into the narrow and 
 crowded streets. 
 
 The sight was an old, old one to Gordon, as 
 to so many others ; yet old as it was, the gran 
 deur and impressiveness of it touched and stirred 
 his soul, as it had done when he first beheld 
 it, nay, far more than when he first beheld it; for 
 Rome has, more than any other city, the power 
 
72 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 of growing and growing in its hold on one. At 
 first sight, especially since the building of the ugly 
 modern portions, it appears tame, ordinary, and 
 commonplace. It has not the seductive luxury of 
 Naples, nor the noble majesty of Genoa, nor the 
 romantic poetry of Venice, nor the perfect grace 
 of Florence. Beginning with a general view of it, 
 you are disappointed. Then the charm grows. By 
 degrees the vast stream of historical association 
 penetrates your life, making you one with it ; and 
 the ancient city twines itself about your heart 
 strings, drawing you back again, even when you 
 are thousands of miles away. 
 
 Roma! Roma! Roma! There is a slow and 
 thunderous resonance about the very name, which 
 sounds like huge tides of memory, echoing forever 
 through the dim foundations of the world. Roma ! 
 Roma ! Roma ! It may be an idle fancy ; but is 
 there not something characteristic in the names 
 of many of the great capitals? Listen to New 
 York (N Yark), with its hint of smart, jaunty, 
 shoddy, new-made riches. Then there is London 
 good, solid, beefy, full of square British manliness 
 and prejudice. And Paris, swift, keen, and witty. 
 And Madrid, grave and haughty. And Wien, 
 light and flute-like, piping and gossiping over the 
 Praten. But Roma how solemn it is, and deep- 
 toned, and melancholy, heavy-fraught with the 
 majesty of ages ! 
 
 Roma ! Roma ! Roma ! How it throbs with the 
 
ON THE PINCIAN 73 
 
 triumphant outcry of the legions and the groans of 
 the martyrs and the swell of Christian organs and 
 the boom of cannon upon cannon ! Roma ! Roma ! 
 Roma ! There is no word more grand and lofty in 
 all the varied language of the world. 
 
 After something this fashion dreamed Gordon, 
 gazing over the parapet of the Pincian, and con 
 tent, as he always was, to let anything external 
 distract his mind from tedious thoughts within. 
 He was left to his musings with little interruption ; 
 since, at that hour in the morning, the Pincian is 
 as remarkable for solitude as it is in the afternoon 
 for crowds and gayety. But, at length, looking at 
 the winding path that leads up from the Piazza del 
 Popolo, he saw approaching a group of persons, 
 which attracted his attention very decidedly. It 
 consisted of a gentleman and lady, and a girl of 
 perhaps twenty or so. A brief glance sufficed to 
 make Gordon almost certain that the young lady 
 was Miss Priscilla Stanton ; and it was therefore 
 highly probable that the elders of the party were 
 Miss Priscilla Stan ton s papa and mamma. 
 
 The slow process of the ascent gave Gordon time 
 to examine the newcomers at his leisure. Mr. 
 Stanton was a stout man of middle height, perhaps 
 fifty-five years of age, with a full, dark mustache 
 inclining to gray. The increasing amplitude of his 
 waist made his movements and his whole appear 
 ance something heavy and sluggish ; but his expres 
 sion, so far as Gordon could judge at that distance, 
 
74 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 was alert and intelligent, and, at the same time, 
 open and kindly. Mrs. Stanton was of much the 
 same build and figure as her husband, though of a 
 very light and fair complexion ; and Gordon gath 
 ered from her looks that she had a good share of 
 that salt of jollity which alone can save stout old 
 ladies from being bores. 
 
 But Priscilla naturally attracted most of our 
 tutor s attention. She was a beauty. It grieves me 
 to say so ; because beautiful heroines are getting 
 terribly commonplace, and we ought to depict them 
 as small, dark, and insignificant, but full of soul 
 and higher education. But Priscilla was beautiful. 
 Nothing of the classical, heroic, swanlike style, to 
 be sure, no heroine of high tragedy : it was very 
 clear that, when she was forty, she would be stout 
 and a trifle waddly, like her mother. But, mean 
 time, she was round and soft and graceful and deli 
 cate and infinitely merry in a quiet way. Passive 
 merriment was written all over her. The grace she 
 had came from perfect ease. All her movements 
 seemed to be simple and spontaneous. There was 
 no haste about her, no waste ; yet the quiet was 
 absolutely natural, no hint of consciousness in it. 
 Then, in spite of the ease and softness, there was 
 no appearance of weakness. The step and carriage 
 were firm and erect, with the suggestion of plenty 
 of force, whenever it might be needed. As for her 
 countenance, the nose and chin were a little short, 
 the forehead a little low perhaps ; but the face was 
 
ON THE PINCIAN 75 
 
 very merry, like the rest of her, and the deep blue 
 eyes looked always ready to fill with laughter and 
 pass it quickly to the two deep dimples in the 
 cheeks. She wore a trim blue gown, simple, with 
 shortish skirt, a blue hat with a white wing at the 
 side, and a black boa, which set off delightfully 
 the wavy richness of her blond hair. As Gordon 
 surveyed her, he thought he had seen nothing more 
 charming for a long, long time. 
 
 They soon passed out of his sight, following the 
 long angle of the driveway which leads to the top 
 of the hill ; but he continued in the same position, 
 waiting till they should approach him from behind. 
 Then, when he heard the voices quite near by, he 
 turned, walked up to them, and raising his hat, 
 said, with quiet courtesy : " Have I the pleasure 
 of addressing Mr. Stanton ? " 
 
 The three paused a moment, Mrs. Stanton and 
 Priscilla looking at papa, and papa a little puz 
 zled. Then a pleasant light came into his brown 
 eyes, which were very handsome, soft brown eyes 
 still. " Ah," he said, " I think this must be the 
 son of my old friend Payne." 
 
 Gordon was not a conceited fellow, but the ex 
 pression of evidently agreeable surprise which com 
 municated itself from Mr. Stanton s face to that of 
 his wife, and still more charmingly to his daugh 
 ter s, was a little flattering. It was somewhat dis 
 turbing also, however ; and the tutor answered, as 
 hastily as possible, " No, I cannot claim that honor, 
 
76 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 though I should be proud of it. I am only Edgar s 
 tutor. My name is Gordon." 
 
 Mrs. Stanton s smile chilled ten degrees from 
 the enthusiastic to the civil ; but Gordon could not 
 perceive an equal refrigeration in Priscilla s. As 
 for Mr. Stanton, he looked a little vague for a sec 
 ond, and then spoke kindly : " Yes, yes. It is you 
 with whom I have corresponded. Mr. Payne has 
 spoken of you, Mr. Gordon, in a very compliment 
 ary fashion. Indeed, he must think highly of you 
 to have intrusted you with his only son. Let me 
 have the pleasure of presenting you to my wife 
 and daughter." 
 
 The usual courtesies followed. "We only ar 
 rived last evening, Mr. Gordon," said Mrs. Stan- 
 ton. " We are at the Hotel Bristol, where I hope 
 you will find us often. They told us there that the 
 Pincian was a good place to see the city from, and, 
 as it was so near, we thought we would stroll up 
 here for an hour. We were too tired to start on 
 any long excursion." 
 
 " Yes," chimed in Priscilla, " tired to death. 
 And now Mr. Gordon has turned up so conven 
 iently, to tell us all about it. Let us sit down on 
 this seat here and be told the whole story." 
 
 " Yet you were the girl who would n t have a 
 guide and wanted to find out everything your 
 self," replied her mother, laughing and sitting 
 down. 
 
 " A guide ! mamma dear ! A guide ! " 
 
ON THE PINCIAN 77 
 
 " But first," asked Mr. Stanton, " how did you 
 recognize us so quickly ? " 
 
 Gordon sat down where Priscilla made room 
 for him, between herself and her father. " I got 
 your letter yesterday," he answered, " so that I 
 knew when to look for you. Then Mr. Payne had 
 described you to me frequently. Besides, I have 
 had the pleasure of seeing Miss Stanton s photo 
 graph." 
 
 There was a second s pause, which Gordon felt 
 to be a little awkward. Had this choice young 
 lamb been warned of the prospective slaughter ? 
 And what did she think of it ? But almost imme 
 diately Mr. Stanton spoke again : " Tell me some 
 thing about Edgar. You may know that his father 
 was the nearest friend I ever had ; but I have 
 never seen the son, except once or twice, when he 
 was a small boy. As long as they were in Chicago, 
 he lived mainly out on his father s farm in the 
 country. When he was fifteen years old Mr. 
 Payne moved East. I consider the father a very 
 remarkable man." 
 
 " He is a remarkable man," Gordon answered, 
 only too glad to expatiate on that topic. " The 
 most remarkable man I ever met. I cannot say 
 how good he has been to me." 
 
 " And Edgar ? He resembles his father ? " 
 
 " In some respects he does. Edgar is still young, 
 you know." 
 
 " Not so very. Nearly twenty-two, I think. You 
 
78 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 mean lie seems young? " added Mr. Stan ton curi 
 ously. 
 
 " Well, yes, in some ways ; in others he is re 
 markably mature. The truth is, he has seen very 
 little of the world. His surroundings have been 
 peculiar, in some respects unfortunately so. His 
 father is wholly absorbed in business, and Edgar has 
 been left very much to himself. Mr. Payne hoped 
 that coming abroad and meeting many people of 
 all sorts would perhaps add a little polish " 
 
 " And has it done so ? You have been abroad 
 now for some months, I believe." 
 
 "Since June yes." Gordon was just about 
 driven to the wall. " Mr. Stanton," he said, " I 
 want you to see Edgar yourself and form your 
 own opinion of him. I am responsible for him 
 now, you know ; and perhaps that makes me more 
 alive to some of his weak points than a stranger 
 would be. I hope you will see a great deal of him 
 this winter. I am sure your influence and Mrs. 
 Stanton s will help him immensely, far more than 
 being so much alone with me." 
 
 There was another silence. Gordon felt it to 
 be a disagreeable quarter of an hour. It was evi 
 dent that Mr. Stanton was very much interested 
 in Edgar and might be as inclined as his friend 
 to bring about a match between the two children. 
 Yet the tutor could not think of one single thing- 
 he could honestly say in his pupil s favor. Was 
 it not better to keep still than to puff with false 
 
ON THE PINCIAN 79 
 
 praises, which would only make the reality more dis 
 appointing and make him seem like a fool himself? 
 
 Fortunately Mrs. Stanton came to his assistance. 
 " I think Mr. Gordon is right," she said amiably. 
 " We shall get at Edgar much better if we take 
 him at first hand, without any explanations." 
 
 " Perhaps that is so," Mr. Stanton agreed, with 
 a little hesitation. " Just tell me one thing. He 
 is not dissipated, not inclined to be wild in any 
 way ? " 
 
 " No," answered Gordon eagerly ; " he certainly 
 is not. I never knew a fellow more completely 
 master of himself in everything." 
 
 The tone of this drew out a quick, keen glance 
 from the older gentleman. But Priscilla, who had 
 taken no part and apparently no interest in the 
 talk hitherto, broke in at this point. " Come," she 
 said, " I am dying to get some information. Now, 
 Mr. Gordon, tell me the name and history of every 
 thing I see." 
 
 " Certainly," was the delighted reply. " But you 
 have n t been in Rome before, then ? " 
 
 " Never. That is, I have n t. Papa was here for 
 a week fifteen years ago ; but as he went every 
 where else on the same trip, and all in three 
 months, his reminiscences are not very reliable. 
 We have been abroad since a year ago last June ; 
 but we have been in the north of Europe all the 
 time until now ; so Italy is new to me and I want 
 to see everything." 
 
80 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 " But are n t you tired to death of seeing every 
 thing, long before this ? Most people are." 
 
 " I should say so," murmured Mr. Stanton ; 
 but Priscilla answered, " No, no. I am quite inde 
 fatigable. I have learned to take it easily. I see 
 just what I want to see, only a little at a time. 
 But it does trouble my conscience to bore poor 
 papa so. He likes Wall Street much better than 
 the Grand Canal. And he never can see the differ 
 ence between Turner and Tintoretto. And he will 
 not bow down, even before two stars in Baedeker. 
 But come, Mr. Gordon, I know you are a perfect 
 cicerone. Please explain this panorama, and don t 
 omit the double stars." 
 
 Gordon was more than content to undertake the 
 task. He thought there was nothing more de 
 lightful than to study a beautiful prospect with a 
 beautiful girl. Besides, anything was better than 
 further discussion of Edgar. So he abandoned 
 himself to more or less lucid explanation, while 
 Mr. Stanton enjoyed a cigar, Mrs. Stanton made 
 an occasional comment, and Priscilla, all sympa 
 thetic attention, looked, and learned, and inwardly 
 digested. 
 
 " You must have made a very careful study of 
 Rome," she said at length. 
 
 " No, I never made a careful study of anything ; 
 but I lived here for two winters and mostly with 
 people who did make a careful study. So I picked 
 up a few points." 
 
ON THE PINCIAN 81 
 
 In a little while they had exhausted the prospect 
 from the seat where they were. So Gordon sug 
 gested that they should make the tour of the Gar 
 dens. At first, they walked four abreast ; but, as 
 they turned into the narrower alleys, Gordon and 
 Priscilla naturally led the way, Mr. and Mrs. Stan- 
 ton following, though closely enough to take part 
 in the talk and explanations. 
 
 For nearly an hour they wandered back and 
 forth, chatting of Rome, and, apropos of Rome, of 
 everything else, as it is so easy to do. When they 
 walked slowly homeward, along the Via Sistina, to 
 the Hotel Bristol, the two young people felt as if 
 they had known one another all their lives. It was 
 always so with Gordon. In one morning you got 
 more intimate with him than you could in a month 
 with most people. To be sure, that first intimacy 
 was all. You could get no nearer to him, if you 
 knew him forever. 
 
 When they reached the door of the hotel, the 
 young man of course declined an invitation to 
 enter. 
 
 " But you will bring Edgar to us at once, 
 this afternoon, won t you ? " said Mr. Stanton. 
 
 " This afternoon he has an engagement for 
 this afternoon, I believe. Won t you be tired? 
 Would n t to-morrow be better ? " Then seeing 
 that the delay was decidedly not approved of, he 
 added hastily, " or this evening. Would you all be 
 visible this evening?" 
 
82 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 The evening proved to be acceptable, and Gor 
 don went his way in a rather curious state of mind. 
 In the first place, it was at least an even chance 
 whether Edgar would be willing to dispose of his 
 evening in that fashion. If he should decline what? 
 But reflection on that subject soon gave place to 
 the general thought of Priscilla. Would she, could 
 she become Mrs. Edgar Payne ? Gordon decided 
 at once, with some annoyance, and also with a cer 
 tain secret satisfaction, that that solution of his 
 difficulties might as well be abandoned. He would 
 continue honestly to do his best to bring about the 
 match. That, of course. But he felt it to be quite 
 impossible that either love or money could ever 
 make his dear young friend acceptable to such a 
 pair of blue eyes as that. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 "AS I RIDE, AS I RIDE" 
 
 A GROOM in the usual black livery, mounted on a 
 stout black cob, stood like a statue before the 
 Countess Markovski s door, while another groom 
 held the Countess s horse in readiness. This was a 
 small, thoroughbred, black mare, slight and deli 
 cate, but finely formed, and with every sign of nerve 
 and speed in the thin, shapely limbs, and eager neck. 
 Her mistress s whim was to leave mane and tail 
 untrimmed ; and the latter swept the ground. In a 
 few minutes Payne came pounding up the street, 
 on a heavy red roan hack, who was clumsy enough, 
 but looked as if he might manage to go, in some 
 fashion. His rider was as awkward on horseback as 
 any one could possibly be ; yet, like his steed, he 
 gave the impression of being able to get there. 
 
 The servants, who had probably received their 
 cue, informed the visitor most respectfully that 
 her ladyship would be ready in a moment. Would 
 he go in ? No, he would wait there. So he sat, 
 stiff and frowning, on his arm-gaunt steed, whose 
 manner of standing contrasted sharply enough 
 with the mare s controlled intensity and the per 
 fect form of the groom s animal. 
 
84 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 It was more than a moment ; but at length the 
 lady appeared. Edgar put his hand clumsily to his 
 hat, but never offered to dismount, leaving the care 
 of seating her to the footman. Doubtless, Antonia 
 thought to herself that before long she would have 
 taught him better manners. He atoned for his 
 rudeness, in his way, however, by staring at her 
 with all his eyes, until she gave the signal to de 
 part. She was worth staring at. To be sure, with 
 the exception of a wet bathing suit, there is no 
 garment more trying to a woman than a riding 
 habit ; but the Countess Markovski could wear 
 one, if any one could. The delicate grace of her 
 figure, that peculiar, serpentine, Lamia-like qual 
 ity, which we have already noted, was wonderfully 
 adapted to the simple, clean cut of the close-fitting 
 gown ; while the firm twist of her hair was cun 
 ningly placed so as to give fullest effect to the 
 poise of her beautiful head. " Come," she said, 
 lifting her hand slightly and managing her horse 
 with the ease of an absolute Amazon. The animal 
 seemed to respond to every motion and to prick up 
 her ears for every whisper. " Come." 
 
 They set off sedately, with the groom behind, 
 passing first through the heart of the city towards 
 the Forum of Trajan and the Palatine. " I want 
 to get out on the Appia," she cried. " I have n t 
 been there this year. Does it make any difference 
 to you?" 
 
 " Not a bit. One part of their old city is all the 
 
"AS I RIDE, AS I RIDE" 85 
 
 same as another to me. But, say, are you going to 
 have that chap after us all the way ? " 
 
 " Not if you mind. We will leave him at the 
 gate and tell him to meet us at the Porta San 
 Paolo. We must respect the proprieties, you 
 know." 
 
 " I thought you were above that sort of thing. 
 Propriety is for poor creatures like Gordon." 
 
 " You think property is above propriety ? Well, 
 there is something in that." 
 
 They rode for a while without speaking. The 
 crowded and noisy streets were not favorable to 
 conversation. At last, as they reached the Via 
 San Teodoro, they were left more to themselves. 
 Edgar was riding half a length behind the Coun 
 tess, watching her and her horse. 
 
 " That s a pretty bit of flesh you ve got there. 
 Must have cost you a thousand dollars at least, I 
 should say." 
 
 " She is pretty. I love her. Her name is Sa- 
 tanita. What she cost ? I don t know. She was 
 the gift of a very dear friend." 
 
 The naive meekness with which this was said 
 would have delighted any connoisseur ; but it an 
 noyed Edgar. " Is that so ? " he muttered, with a 
 grunt ; and rode in silence till they reached the 
 Porta San Sebastiano. There the Countess dis 
 missed the groom, giving him directions as she had 
 suggested. Then the two, passing through the gate, 
 rode out side by side, along the old highway. 
 
86 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 " Now," began the lady mischievously, " I 11 
 tell you all about the ancient Romans. They were 
 buried out here." 
 
 " It s the best thing that I ever heard of them," 
 was the gruff reply. " You were going to tell me 
 about yourself, you know." 
 
 " Oh, I am more ancient than the Romans 
 and not half so interesting. Wait till I am buried 
 too. You may hear some good of me then." 
 
 When they had gone a little further, she went 
 on : " There is the Domine Quo Yadis Church. 
 Don t you want to see the footprint of Christ in 
 marble ? " 
 
 " I say, Mark Twain tells about that. Of course 
 you ve read Innocents Abroad ?" His companion 
 shook her head. " Not read Innocents Abroad ? 
 What have you read ? But I suppose you are n t 
 much of a reader, any more than I am. Not like 
 that infernal Gordon, who always has his nose in 
 a book. Mark s always making fun of saints and 
 relics and old masters and all that stuff. Say, 
 you re a Catholic, I suppose ? " 
 
 " I suppose I am. And you re a Protestant, 
 not used to Catholics, probably." 
 
 " Oh, yes, we have em at home. Irish, you know, 
 navvies and such like. Well, now, how much of 
 that stuff do you believe ? " 
 
 "What stuff?" 
 
 " Why, footprints in marble, and pieces of the 
 true cross, and nails, and all the rest of it." 
 
"AS I RIDE, AS I RIDE" 87 
 
 " I have seen, even in my short life, things a 
 good deal more miraculous than that." 
 
 " Then you do believe in them ? " 
 
 " I believe just what my confessor tells me to 
 believe. That s the easiest way." 
 
 " I say, do you honestly confess your sins ? " 
 
 " Do you think I have so very many ? " 
 
 " My, but I should like to be that confessor ! " 
 
 When they had gone a little further, the neigh 
 borhood inclined her roguishly to renew the subject. 
 " You have seen the Catacombs ? " she asked. 
 
 " Catacombs ? No, what are they ? " 
 
 " Why, the tombs of the early Christians, places 
 where they fled from persecution, miles and miles 
 of long passages underground, often two and three 
 stories deep, with little chapels and meeting places, 
 where the blessed martyrs used to live for months 
 sometimes." 
 
 " Ugh ! " grunted Edgar. " I should prefer to 
 live in the Auditorium." 
 
 " Oh, but you have n t any historical curiosity at 
 all. Don t you feel the interest of mystery in all 
 these things ? Don t you feel any sympathy with 
 those old people, who gave their lives for their 
 faith ? " 
 
 "Not a bit. What did they make by it? A 
 parcel of precious fools, I should call em. Catch 
 me getting martyred for anything ! " 
 
 The Countess laughed a little silvery laugh. 
 
 " Look here," went on Edgar. " You re work- 
 
88 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 ing a big bluff on me. Did n t you say the other 
 day that you hated all the dead people and old 
 Romans and the rest of it, that you were sick of 
 relics and ruins, and wanted to get into the new 
 world ? Wha,t do you mean by coming at me now 
 with this talk about tombs and early Christians 
 and such nonsense ? " 
 
 " Let me look at you," she said soberly. " Are 
 you always the same ? What a grand, noble per 
 sonage you must be. I float about all day, like a 
 bit of thistledown in the wind. One minute I feel 
 strong and rash and ready to defy gods and men ; 
 the next, I cower and cringe before every blast 
 of Heaven, and tell my beads and shiver at the 
 thought of dim ghosts in windy corners. If I were 
 to be in your vast America now, with your im 
 mense prairies stretching out forever like your 
 future, I should long to be back here among the 
 mouldering dead." 
 
 " You re a queer one," remarked her companion, 
 giving her an almost superstitious glance. " But 
 I suppose you re a woman." 
 
 " Yes," answered the Countess, with a medita 
 tive air, "I suppose I am." She shook Satanita 
 into a quick trot, rather ill adapted to conversation. 
 
 By the time they approached the tomb of Caecilia 
 Metella, she slackened her pace and allowed Edgar 
 to get breath enough to talk. " Gas-house ? " he 
 said, pointing to the imposing structure. 
 
 "No, no, barbarian. Did you never hear of 
 
"AS I RIDE, AS I RIDE" 89 
 
 Cecilia Metella ? " He shook his head. " Nor did 
 anybody else either. But that is her tomb never 
 theless. Suppose I were to have a tomb like that. 
 4 To the memory of Antonia, wife of whom 
 shall I say ? Well, never mind. And they would 
 make a legend about me. They would say, for in 
 stance, that I was a pious matron, with very gray 
 hair and chilly frigidity, who perpetually visited 
 the poor. Or, perhaps, that I was a virtuous, 
 neglected spouse, one of the blue-eyed, pale, blond 
 kind, you know, who fold their hands and wonder 
 how their husbands can desert such models of 
 lamblike innocence ; and that, after persecuting me 
 into the grave, my cruel tyrant was overcome with 
 remorse and built a splendid mausoleum over my 
 remains. Or they will say they will say any 
 thing but the truth ; for, although people declare 
 that truth will always come out, it is the only thing 
 that never does in this lying world." 
 
 " Well, then," suggested Edgar in an insinuat 
 ing tone, " why not tell me the truth, so that I can 
 make it all straight ? " 
 
 " No, thanks. I am interested in my epitaph at 
 present, not my autobiography. They differ like 
 the antipodes." Again she touched up her horse 
 and gave her companion enough to do to keep the 
 stout, red roan pounding beside her. 
 
 They were getting out into the open now, the 
 vast ruins of the aqueducts on one side, and the 
 mountains hanging cloudlike on the horizon ; but 
 
90 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 still, near at hand, they passed tomb after tomb, 
 some with four walls almost complete, though shorn 
 of all their ornaments and splendor, others mere 
 remnants, hardly one stone left upon another. 
 
 " Graves ! Graves ! Graves ! " said the Countess, 
 waving her hand toward them as she passed. 
 
 " Confound it ! " was the rough reply. " Why 
 do you want to ride in this country ? I believe I 
 hear spooks." 
 
 " Oh, no ! They are all dead, dead enough. Dead 
 as one of Mrs. Barton s receptions. The last scrap 
 of their old Roman dust has blown away long ago, 
 long ago. But come, now we have got beyond the 
 worst of it." 
 
 She drew in her horse and walked slowly beside 
 her companion. They had passed Casale Rotondo 
 and got out into the free, open Campagna, that 
 strange country which hardly has its parallel any 
 where. The general elements of the picture, al 
 though sombre and melancholy, may, of course, be 
 matched in other places : the low, rolling, naked 
 hillocks, dotted only rarely with a deformed and 
 stunted tree, the solitary shepherd, clad in skins, 
 with staff and pointed hat, gaunt, shaggy, and for 
 lorn. But the combination of these more natural 
 objects with some ever-present reminder of decay 
 a bit of wall, a broken arch, a ruined tower, 
 rendered more mute and dreary by ivy and sun 
 shine makes the most peculiarly solemn, dread, 
 and desolate landscape in the world. 
 
"AS I RIDE, AS I RIDE" 91 
 
 " There ! " continued Antonia, stopping short 
 on a little elevation and gazing far away into the 
 glimmering dimness of the sunlit distance. " There ! 
 This is better. I like this. This is free." 
 
 " Free ! " was the discontented echo. " And all 
 that army of spooks behind us ! I don t know 
 what you call free ; but give me the plains of Illi 
 nois, with miles and miles of corn waving in the 
 sunshine, just thousands of dollars growing right 
 up out of the ground ; and don t talk to me about 
 this dirty, monotonous, barren, malarial desert." 
 
 " Plains of Illinois ? " was the thoughtful in 
 quiry. " No ruins, no past, no dead, no history ? 
 I wonder if I should like it over there. Everything 
 is alive, I suppose ? " 
 
 " I guess everything s alive. Why, you go out 
 west, a little further west, and you 11 see a city 
 spring up in a day or two. Alive ! Why, over here 
 they have n t a notion of what living is. Hustle ! 
 Well, I should say we hustle. You ought to see 
 my father. He s got more schemes in his head 
 more railroads, and factories, and deals on the 
 market, and such than this old Pope of Rome 
 ever had in all his life." 
 
 " I should like to see your father." 
 
 " I guess you would. He s just like me." 
 
 They followed the Via Appia for a few moments 
 longer, and as they went on the country became 
 more and more desolate and unfrequented. Then, 
 in a little while, they came to an insignificant by- 
 
92 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 road, which turned sharp off to the west, leading 
 them over a fairly even country, toward the setting 
 sun. 
 
 " Now," cried the Countess suddenly, " for a 
 gallop. How much can you get out of that red 
 beast of yours ? " 
 
 " Not much," said Edgar in disgust. " I say, 
 what do you want to run for ? " 
 
 " Because I like it," was the short reply. " I 11 
 give you a lead. Catch me if you can." So say 
 ing, she settled herself in the saddle, lifted her 
 hand a little, and spoke a word to Satanita. The 
 creature gathered her legs under her and was off 
 like a frightened rabbit, while her mistress turned 
 to Edgar, with a burst of wayward laughter. As 
 for him, he muttered a curse under his breath, and 
 lashed the roan into such a gallop as the animal 
 could manage ; but it was vain to think of keeping 
 up with his companion. Groaning and grumbling, 
 he plunged and sweated along, as best he could, 
 keeping her more or less clearly in view ; while she 
 rushed on in her mad flight, recklessly regardless 
 of occasional obstacles, now and then turning in 
 the saddle to wave her hand to him, with what he 
 felt to be a gesture of derision. 
 
 At length, he was gratified to see her draw rein 
 under a little clump of trees, far, far ahead of 
 him ; and, proceeding more leisurely, he finally 
 overtook her. She had dismounted and tied her 
 horse ; and was sitting by the roadside, her knees 
 
" AS I RIDE, AS I RIDE " 93 
 
 drawn up, her hands clasped about them. The 
 rapid motion had somewhat disordered her hair, 
 and had heightened her color and the brightness 
 of her eyes. As he came panting up, she smiled 
 mischievously. 
 
 " Say, what in thunder did you do that for ? " 
 he cried, in his coarsest tone, leaping off and sit 
 ting down beside her, as close as he dared. 
 
 " I don t know. I seldom know why I do any 
 thing." 
 
 There was silence for a moment, he sulking, and 
 she apparently absorbed in the contemplation of 
 the landscape. " So you re going to be married," 
 she began suddenly, without looking at him, as in 
 differently as if she had remarked on the weather. 
 
 Edgar started. " I married ? Oh, you mean that 
 Stanton girl." 
 
 " Did n t you tell me so yourself ? " 
 
 " Not a bit of it. I said my father wanted me 
 to marry her." 
 
 " Your father is a man who always has his way, 
 is n t he?" 
 
 " By Jove, he can t make me marry, if I don t 
 want to. Say, what s the use of marrying, any 
 way ? " 
 
 " What indeed? " The Countess sat up straight 
 and her eyes flamed with real or artificial 
 passion. " Marriage ! Ah, the most ingenious and 
 the most despicable of all the devices men have 
 imagined for the enslaving of women ! You did n t 
 
94 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 know that I was a misanthrope, a real, real man- 
 hater, did you ? You did n t know that I have an 
 utter and ineradicable contempt for every member 
 of your miserable sex, that my one wish and desire 
 is to be revenged on them, that, that in short, 
 you are very young and there are so many things 
 you don t know that a midsummer day would n t 
 suffice even to hint at them. Poor child ! " She 
 looked at him with an expression of ineffable pity. 
 
 Edgar sat open-mouthed in amazement at this 
 outburst. Yet the scorn of it was so beautiful that 
 it only enthralled him all the more. " I say," he 
 stammered, "don t talk like that. You scare a 
 feller. What s the matter with men ? They re 
 all right, if you take em right. Only you don t 
 want the palavery ones like Gordon, such as you re 
 used to. You want somebody plain and frank and 
 honest like me." 
 
 She shook her head ; but he saw, or thought he 
 saw, just a gleam of tenderness pass through her 
 eyes. " Are you plain and frank and honest ? " 
 she said. 
 
 " That s my figure, though I m not handsome. 
 You ought to come to America, and get out of this 
 rotten old world." 
 
 " Don t they lie in America, and call self-inter 
 est ideal devotion, and beasts, men ? Ah, how 
 easily we are led to think that Heaven is every 
 where where we are not ! " She bowed her head, 
 and sobbed, and the tears flowed ; and she suffered 
 
"AS I RIDE, AS I RIDE" 95 
 
 Edgar to take her hand for just an instant. Then 
 she sprang up quickly. " Allans ! " she cried. 
 " Never let us sit down and think, never, never ! 
 If we could gallop on and on and on to the end of 
 time ! " 
 
 So they remounted and rode away, but at a less 
 furious pace. Antonia talked little, however. 
 What she did say was very confiding and gentle. 
 Now and then she looked at her companion with 
 a melting tenderness which he had not seen in 
 her face before, and which he found simply dis 
 tracting. The by-road soon brought them out into 
 the Via Laurentina, and following this, they came 
 nearer and nearer to the city. When they reached 
 San Paolo, the sun was almost down and the cold 
 autumnal shadows were gathering about the lonely 
 edifice. 
 
 " I want to go in and say my prayers," said the 
 Countess softly. " I love the vast solitude of this 
 church. Will you come ? " 
 
 " Oh, certainly," answered Edgar. " Though as 
 to prayers " The Countess pressed her finger to 
 her lip. 
 
 They dismounted and gave their horses in charge 
 to a man at the door. The hour for closing was 
 near at hand ; but the attendant seemed to know 
 the Countess and bowed as she passed. 
 
 " Give the man a franc or two," she whispered 
 to Edgar, who obeyed, with a sour grimace. 
 
 Inside, they found themselves alone. The huge 
 
96 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 and somewhat heavy body of the building was 
 rendered even more sepulchral than usual by the 
 dim light of the late autumn afternoon, which fell 
 with uncertain radiance on the solid and vulgar 
 splendors of porphyry, alabaster, and malachite. 
 The Countess, bowed into an attitude of the deep 
 est devotion, walked swiftly past the high altar to 
 one of the small transept chapels on the further 
 side. Then she knelt, and seemed to be absorbed in 
 the most passionate prayer. Edgar followed and 
 looked on in amazement. The wilds of America 
 had never presented him with a specimen like this. 
 For full fifteen minutes the Countess remained 
 absolutely still and rapt in her devotions, leaving 
 her humble adorer to bite his fingers and gaze at 
 the bowed, slight, shapely black figure, first in as 
 tonishment, then in curious interrogation, finally * 
 in disgusted impatience. At length, she rose with 
 out a word, walked back as swiftly and quietly as 
 she had come ; and in a moment, they were on 
 horseback again, making their way homeward. 
 Antonia s mood had changed entirely, however. 
 " Ah ! " she said, " I have given to Heaven that 
 which was Heaven s. Now for the world again." 
 And she talked and she talked, flooding the be 
 wildered Edgar with a stream of Roman gossip, 
 bitter, vivid, fascinating ; quick bons mots, delicate 
 and insinuating anecdote, malicious portraits, 
 sparkling with truth and satire. Through all this 
 she contrived to mingle a thread of skillful, bewil- 
 
"AS I RIDE, AS I RIDE" 97 
 
 dering, intoxicating flattery, with here and there 
 a hint of wayward tenderness, far more than 
 enough to turn the head of a more sophisticated 
 youth than he with whom she had to deal. Per 
 haps she was quite aware of this and talked as 
 much for her own pleasure as for his. At any rate, 
 the subjugation was complete. When he parted 
 from her at her door, he cried, " Say, I d rather 
 hear you talk than read the best money article 
 that ever was written." 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 HIS FATHER S SON 
 
 THE Stanton s were sitting in their parlor at the 
 Hotel Bristol, after the lengthy and solemn table 
 d hote dinner was finished. Although they had been 
 in Rome but twenty-four hours, the room was as 
 comfortable and homelike as if they had lived in 
 it always. The courier, who had reached the city 
 before them, had selected a delightful apartment, 
 which looked almost directly toward the south. He 
 had hired a piano and arranged the larger articles 
 of furniture ; and, after Mrs. Stanton arrived, a 
 few directions from her, and a few hours manipu 
 lation by her maid, had done the rest. A bright 
 wood fire snapped and sparkled in the grate, books 
 and bric-a-brac were scattered about the tables, 
 pillows and rugs adapted the bare hotel chairs and 
 sofas to the human anatomy, photographs of home 
 friends and places caught the eye from walls and 
 tables. Life under such conditions is a very differ 
 ent thing from the dreary sojourn in dirty pensions, 
 at eight francs a day. 
 
 The company seated in this attractive apartment 
 consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Stanton and Priscilla, 
 Mr. Edwin Stanton, and an intimate friend of his, 
 
HIS FATHER S SON 99 
 
 Mr. Edward Parsons. Priscilla was dressed in a 
 light gray, semi-evening gown, which clearly indi 
 cated a recent visit to Paris. It not only fitted per 
 fectly, but was designed in such a fashion as to bring 
 out, to the utmost, the soft roundness of her figure, 
 without intensifying it in too marked a manner. 
 She wore no ornaments, except an antique gold pin 
 at her throat, and one small diamond on her finger. 
 
 Uncle Edwin was in a state of unspeakable fe 
 licity. Three members of his beloved family had 
 come to relieve his Roman solitude ; and, moreover, 
 the beauty and grace of Priscilla quite surpassed 
 his expectations, and charmed him, like the sight 
 and odor of a rare and lovely flower. His delight 
 manifested itself constantly in quaint and pleasant 
 jests, which made you laugh more in sympathy 
 with him than at the simple humor of the things 
 themselves. He accompanied these with gleeful 
 chuckles and the frequent rubbing of his hands, 
 now and then passing one of them over the lower 
 part of his face and chin. 
 
 Mr. Edward Parsons was well known in Rome 
 and almost everywhere else. He was a native of 
 Plymouth, Massachusetts. In his younger days he 
 had been a sea-captain, in command of an Indiaman ; 
 and occasionally he would mix the salt flavor of 
 those old voyages with the very different matter of 
 his ordinary conversation. But he had never loved 
 his trade ; and, when his father died, leaving him 
 a small independence, he betook himself to idling, 
 
100 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 wandering, and talking. He was no scholar, hardly 
 even a reader; but he had a most extraordinary 
 love for beauty and appreciation of things spiritual. 
 He felt Nature as poets feel her. He felt art as 
 artists feel it. He was absolutely free from con 
 vention in these matters, yielding himself to the 
 direct impression, without care for the theories of 
 professors, or the cant of learned amateurs. Then, 
 he liked to talk how he did like to talk. Not to 
 converse ; for he never listened. But he would pour 
 you forth an endless stream of poetry and rhetoric, 
 abuse and praise, equally extravagant, of everything 
 and everybody, as long as you would listen, and 
 longer. He repeated himself, like all great talkers, 
 and could be rather tedious ; yet, even when you 
 thought you had heard him all out a thousand 
 times, you might take a quiet walk with him and 
 he would almost reveal to you a new world. He 
 would take you by the buttonhole in a crowded 
 street, stop you stock-still, put his face almost into 
 yours, and repeat a stanza of Shelley, who was his 
 idol ; and although you knew that every one was 
 gazing and laughing at you, his manner was so in 
 tense, so earnest, and so absolutely simple, that you 
 felt the beautiful verses as you had never felt them 
 before. He was a man of middle height, thick 
 and solid, somewhat bent and heavy-gaited like a 
 sailor ; immense leonine head, with thick gray hair, 
 bushy gray mustache, thick protruding lips, large 
 nose, large ears, large chin. 
 

 HIS FATHER S 
 
 The friendship between this man and Mr. Edwin 
 Stanton was very intimate and very lovely to see ; 
 lovely, because it was wholly founded on what was 
 best and highest in their natures, their sensibility, 
 their love for the purest and most beautiful things. 
 There was nearly twenty years difference in their 
 ages ; but this did not seem to affect the relation 
 between them, except that Parsons always treated 
 his elder with a gentle and considerate reverence. 
 
 So, as the Stantons sat before their fire in the 
 Hotel Bristol, Mr. Parsons was talking. He had 
 not met any one of them before ; but that made no 
 difference. His conversation never had the slightest 
 reference to the wealth, occupation, or condition of 
 his hearers ; and he would talk just as earnestly to 
 a young girl or a poor artist as to a duke or a mil 
 lionaire. This was a great part of his charm to 
 artists and young girls. 
 
 Mr. Stanton had just ventured some observa 
 tion to the effect that he should not be sorry to 
 see America again. " Yes," said Parsons, " it is a 
 great country. We are the first to teach the world 
 that simple living can be respectable. The servility 
 over here is disgusting. Monarchs and aristocrats 
 pah ! What are they beside a man ? " 
 
 " Then the soldiers," Mr. Stanton went on. "We 
 have just come from Germany, and it seems as if 
 every other man there wore a uniform. I hate to 
 think we shall ever come to that at home." 
 
 "No, no," was the reassuring answer; "we 
 
i03 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 shall never come to that. The world progresses. 
 The great mark of the American people is com 
 mon sense. Their common sense will never tolerate 
 such an absurdity as a military government. War 
 is outgrown. Wealth is vulgar and war outgrown. 
 You will never see the civilized nations like Eng 
 land and France and the United States at war 
 with each other again." 
 
 " But, Mr. Parsons," asked Mr. Stanton mildly, 
 " if you think so much of your own country, why 
 don t you visit it ? Why do you spend the greater 
 part of your life over here ? " 
 
 " Ah, ha ! " answered he, with a peculiar, kindly 
 snuffle, most characteristic, "you see, everything 
 is new over there, no associations, no art, no his 
 toric charm. For an idler, there is nothing like 
 reminiscences of the past. It will all come in time. 
 In five hundred years the Anglo-Saxon, the Irish, 
 the German, and, for all I know, the Chinese, will 
 be blended into one stock ; the American will be 
 born, and we shall have a literature and an art 
 that will be worthy of us. But now life in the 
 United States is painful painful. You see the 
 average American in the street, and his face is 
 anxious, wire-drawn. He is thin, emaciated, and so 
 full of care, and so vulgar with his money. Then 
 they think they have society in Boston. There is 
 Ce-lia Ce-lia " pronouncing with a peculiar 
 drawl the name not Celia of a lady whom 
 Boston honored for many years " Celia, she 
 
HIS FATHER S SON 103 
 
 thought she was a poet, and had a salon, and was 
 witty ; and all the little Bostonians used to gather 
 round and pay court to her. Oh, it is delicious 
 delicious. Then they think they have literature 
 poor William used to think he was a literary 
 man - Oh, that feller, that feller ! pompous 
 and pretentious and ingenious " 
 
 There is no reason to suppose the stream would 
 ever have ceased to flow, if, at that moment, Gor 
 don and Edgar had not been announced. 
 
 Gordon entered first, as easily as usual, although 
 the burden of his situation was heavier on his mind 
 than anything he had ever known before. Edgar 
 followed him loutishly, not with any suggestion of 
 shyness, which is always so easily forgiven, but 
 with that peculiar, boorish, insolent indifference 
 which exasperated every one. The first introduc 
 tions were got through somehow and Gordon man 
 aged to seat himself close to Priscilla, who had 
 drawn away from the others, to escape the heat of 
 the fire. The two met with a frankness and ease 
 which usually belong only to old acquaintance, and 
 which were bred partly of their natural dispositions 
 and partly of the peculiar circumstances in which 
 they were placed. 
 
 As for Edgar, it was evident that Mr. Stanton 
 was determined to do everything that could be 
 done to put things on the most friendly basis. He 
 placed the young man in a chair between himself 
 and Mrs. Stanton, and began a series of affection- 
 
104 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 ate questions ; while uncle Edwin looked on curi 
 ously from the other side of the fire, and Mr. 
 Parsons slouched down in his chair, his hands 
 folded on his stomach and his eyes half closed, in 
 an attitude usual with him when waiting for a 
 chance to seize his conversational prey. 
 
 " And what do you hear from your father, my 
 dear boy ? " asked Mr. Stan ton. 
 
 The quiet kindness with which he was received 
 made no more impression on Edgar than cool in 
 solence would have done. It merely appeared clear 
 to him that these people were set on catching him, 
 at any price. So he lounged back indifferently in 
 his chair, crossed his legs, and did everything pos 
 sible to show that he was not to be caught so 
 easily. " Oh, father s all right, I guess," he 
 answered. 
 
 " Does he write to you often ? " 
 
 " No. I believe he writes to Gordon oftener 
 than he does to me. Notifies me that he has paid 
 my drafts. That s all I want." 
 
 " Don t you think he could be persuaded to join 
 us out here ? " 
 
 Edgar closed one eye, with indescribable jocular 
 ity. "Don t speak of it. What would we want 
 the old gentleman out here for ? " 
 
 " I thought he might enjoy seeing the sights 
 with you and all the rest of us." 
 
 " That is n t his style, you know. What would 
 anybody want to be in this old town for, when they 
 
HIS FATHER S SON 105 
 
 could be doing the trick in the market every 
 day ? " Here the youth launched forth on one of 
 his customary tirades against Rome and all things 
 Roman. 
 
 It was curious to watch the faces of his auditors. 
 Mr. Stanton wore the look of painful self-restraint 
 with which we regard an obnoxious person who is 
 made sacred to us by associations we are bound to 
 respect. Nay, more, there was real tragedy in his 
 eyes, when one thought of his old friendship and 
 this bitter shattering of his hopes. Mrs. Stanton s 
 amiable countenance came as near to expressing 
 disgust as her natural kindliness would permit. 
 Uncle Edwin showed undisguised distress, not 
 only in his features, but in his whole attitude. 
 Even Mr. Parsons half opened his eyes to inspect 
 this curious animal which wanted to do all the talk 
 ing. As for Gordon and Priscilla, sitting in the 
 half-shadow behind the rest, they understood each 
 other and the significance of the spectacle. Gordon 
 looked at her and shrugged his shoulders in utter 
 helplessness; and her dimples half formed them 
 selves into a responsive smile. 
 
 After a few moments, Mr. Stanton feebly en 
 deavored to effect a diversion. " Probably some 
 of the more modern cities please you better. I 
 daresay you found London attractive." 
 
 "London!" was the prompt response. "Lon 
 don ! I don t want to hear anything about London. 
 It s worse than Rome. Dirty, foggy, nasty place ! 
 
106 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 And then, those English ; snobs, from the word go. 
 Manners they don t know what manners are " 
 here Mrs. Stanton gasped ; but the torrent rolled 
 on, quite regardless of any gasp of hers. 
 
 In a few moments, at the faint suggestion of a 
 pause, Mr. Stanton made another effort. " I m 
 glad you are so truly American in your tastes," he 
 said. " But surely you like Paris ? " 
 
 " Ah, that s another story ! Paris is the place 
 for me. Right up to date, you know. Of course, 
 it is n t quite like New York ; but the stores are 
 good and the girls oh, my the girls we can t 
 beat them at home anyhow." 
 
 Mr. Stanton saw that this was the most unfor 
 tunate start of all, and hastened to shift to a more 
 frigid locality, although he already thought, with 
 some concern, of what would happen when he 
 reached the end of his geographical topics. " Let 
 me see. You went to Switzerland from Paris, I 
 believe ? " 
 
 " I have n t been to Switzerland yet, and I don t 
 want to go. I don t see why anybody should want 
 to tramp up mountains just to roll down em again. 
 They say there are good hotels there ; but give me 
 a nice flat country like there is round Chicago. 
 The Alps I ve got no use for em." 
 
 Here Mr. Parsons was moved to attempt a 
 diversion, thinking the young man had had it all 
 his own way long enough. "What your young 
 friend says is interesting, Mr. Stanton. He ex- 
 
HIS FATHER S SON 107 
 
 presses the natural instinct of humanity, which 
 runs to plain, arable land. All our passion for 
 the frightful and the picturesque is an acquired 
 taste, like pickles like pickles. The Romans 
 hated mountains and found them hideous and hor 
 rible. So did the men of the Renaissance. It was 
 only a hundred years ago that Switzerland was in 
 vented. Rousseau and Byron discovered it, just as 
 Watt discovered the steam engine. Ah, those fine 
 lines of Byron 
 
 Tome 
 High mountains are a feeling. 
 
 Now Ruskin " 
 
 But Edgar could n t stand this. Mr. Parsons s 
 first sentence had met his approval. After that, his 
 thoughts wandered to his ordinary interests ; and 
 it suddenly occurred to him that Mr. Stanton was 
 a millionaire and well known on the New York 
 market. " I say, Mr. Stanton," he interrupted 
 sharply, " what do you think of the market at 
 home ? That was a neat slump in Butterville and 
 Zion, was n t it ? " 
 
 Mr. Stanton glanced at Parsons in piteous 
 apology, and answered stiffly : " I have n t looked 
 over the papers for a day or two. I try to keep 
 business out of my mind here as much as pos 
 sible." 
 
 Edgar stared. " Out of your mind ? I don t see 
 the use of that. I should think you d come to 
 grief pretty quick, if you did keep it out of your 
 
108 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 mind. It was n t by keeping it out of your mind 
 that you made your pile, now was it ? " 
 
 The old friend of Mr. Payne senior remembered 
 that friendship and tried to keep his patience. 
 " No," he answered ; " when I was a young man 
 and had to succeed and make my way, I thought 
 about money most of the time and about very 
 little else. That is just why I think of other 
 things now, as far as possible." 
 
 " Well," observed Edgar with a grin, intended 
 to show that he knew he was being fooled, " that 
 beats me. But I suppose it don t do to talk about 
 these things before women and ministers." Then 
 he added meditatively : " Besides, I guess you ve 
 got it all tucked away in gilt-edge bonds huh 
 three and a half per cent. Would n t suit me, I 
 know. When I get where you are, I just want to 
 see it pile up and pile up Oh, I tell you, 
 there s nothing like it ! " 
 
 There was a pause, while the speaker remained 
 absorbed in the ecstatic contemplation of his future. 
 Mr. Stanton sought in vain for some safe and pos 
 sible subject of conversation. Before he had found 
 any such, Edgar glanced round the company and 
 got on his feet. " Well," he said, " guess I 11 be 
 going ! I ve got some papers to read at home. I 
 thought father d kind of like to have me come 
 round." 
 
 As he made his way towards the door, Mr. 
 Stanton, who rose, as did the others, tried to utter 
 
HIS FATHER S SON 109 
 
 some polite regret at the sudden departure, or at 
 least, some manner of farewell; but the words 
 stuck in his throat. 
 
 " You stay, Gordy," said Edgar, as he went out. 
 " Stay and praise me up," he added, with a signifi 
 cant smile. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 A HINT OF EROS 
 
 CHILL and solemn silence settled on the company 
 when Edgar had departed. Gordon had stepped 
 forward, as if to take his leave, and stood quietly, 
 with his hand on the corner of the mantel. Priscilla 
 dropped back into her chair again at the further 
 side of the room, and, in a second or two, the others 
 did the same. An expression of mild amusement, 
 restrained by politeness, settled on Mr. Parsons s 
 countenance. Uncle Edwin looked distressed, to a 
 point that was painful to see. Mr. Stanton s face 
 suggested disgust, varied with some anxiety ; and 
 his wife s showed nothing but disgust pure and 
 simple. Gordon watched them all, feeling, for his 
 own part, a very great sense of relief. After this 
 scene, no further explanations as to Edgar s char 
 acter would be likely to be required from him. He 
 did feel sorry that things had turned out in this 
 way ; but he had foreseen the catastrophe so long 
 that he was not in the least taken aback. 
 
 At length Mr. Stanton spoke. " Has Mr. Payne 
 lived very much with his son, Mr. Gordon ? " 
 
 " No, sir, very little, hardly at all. Edgar s mo 
 ther died, as you know, when he was very young. 
 
A HINT OF EROS 111 
 
 His father has been busy always. The son has gen 
 erally lived with with servants, when he was not 
 away at school." 
 
 " That has been unfortunate, I think." 
 
 Again there was a moment s pause. " I suppose 
 I had better say good-night also," began Gordon, 
 with hesitation ; for he much preferred to remain, 
 and he could hardly let his intercourse with the 
 Stantons end just there. 
 
 But Mrs. Stanton interrupted him cordially. 
 " By no means. Why should you ? We hope you 
 will make yourself at home with us whenever you 
 are disposed to do so." 
 
 And Priscilla spoke up, in her clear, quiet voice : 
 " Come, Mr. Gordon, I want you to go on with your 
 good work of this morning. There are a dozen ques 
 tions I want to ask. I have my Baedeker here all 
 ready." 
 
 So, for the moment, Edgar was put aside, if not 
 forgotten. The two young people established them 
 selves at a table on the further side of the room, 
 with Baedeker before them, and their elders con 
 tinued chatting round the fire ; or rather, Mr. Par 
 sons chatted, and the others listened. Now and then 
 the fervor of his eloquence would break in on 
 Gordon s murmured explanations. 
 
 "First," began Priscilla, " I want to see pictures. 
 Where are the pictures ? " 
 
 "Pictures?" was the dubious answer. "In 
 Rome ? There are no pictures." 
 
112 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 " No pictures ? " She looked at him with dis 
 may. " Why, but all along I have been saying to 
 myself, Wait till you get to Some. " 
 
 " Titian and Botticelli did not satisfy you, then ? 
 You hoped to improve on Botticelli s Venus ? " 
 
 " No, no it was because I enjoyed those so 
 much. I wondered how there could be anything 
 more beautiful ; but in Rome I thought of course 
 there must be." 
 
 Gordon leaned back and looked at her. " You 
 are a very remarkable young lady," he said. 
 
 " Ah, now you re making fun of me. You think 
 I m one of those awful females who want to im 
 prove themselves. I m not, the least bit in the 
 world. I m perfectly contented with myself, as the 
 Lord made me." 
 
 " Then you certainly are a remarkable young 
 lady." 
 
 She put the observation aside with a little wave 
 of her hand. " But I enjoy what is beautiful 
 what seems to me beautiful even if I do come 
 from Chicago. And nothing in Europe has pleased 
 me like the pictures." 
 
 " Not even the shops in Paris ? " 
 
 " Ah, well, perhaps we must except the shops in 
 Paris. But now about the pictures in Rome 
 what do you mean by saying there are none ? How 
 about the Sistine Chapel and the Aurora and 
 Beatrice Cenci?" 
 
 " Well, what more is there ? Sacred and Pro- 
 
A HINT OF EROS 113 
 
 fane Love, and Guide s Saint Michael, and one here 
 and one there, mostly Bolognese at that. But there 
 are no great collections, like the Louvre and the 
 Uffizzi. I d rather have the pictures in the little 
 gallery at Antwerp than all there are in Rome." 
 
 " Positively, I want to go away," was the de 
 pressed answer. " What is there here then ? " 
 
 Before he replied, Gordon paused a moment 
 to listen to one of Mr. Parsons s tirades, which 
 had reached its climax. " Literature ? " he cried, 
 " where is there any literature in America ? Long 
 fellow ? " He began to grind an imaginary hand- 
 organ : 
 
 * Tell me not, in mournful numbers, 
 Life is but an empty dream, 
 
 Whittier ? I believe Maud Muller is supposed to 
 be a ballad, a ballad in sugar candy, with a pink 
 shepherdess and white sheep in a confectioner s 
 window. Emerson, you say ? Ah, that was a man. 
 4 Give me health and a day, and I will make the 
 pomp of emperors ridiculous. That has the right 
 ring. That is glorious. But he was so thin no 
 blood in him no passion all intellect all 
 brain. The truth is, that atmosphere of Boston 
 Unitarianism is hopeless hopeless hopeless " 
 the last words died away in a peculiar snuf 
 fling murmur, and the conversation dropped for 
 a moment. 
 
 " Do you know this Mr. Parsons ? He seems 
 interesting," said Priscilla to Gordon softly. 
 
114 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 " He is interesting one of the most interest 
 ing talkers I ever knew." 
 
 Priscilla turned over the leaves of Baedeker in 
 silent abstraction, thinking, perhaps, of Edgar, or 
 of something else. Gordon watched her, and she 
 was charming to watch, her dimples smoothed into 
 seriousness, her long lashes half drooped over her 
 eyes. " I have seen girls from Chicago before," 
 he began ; " but I never saw one like you. Most 
 of them don t care for pictures." 
 
 " There are a good many girls in Chicago, you 
 know. Why should they all be alike ? In the 
 school that I went to, there actually were a number 
 of girls who might almost have come from the East, 
 though I suppose an eastern man will hardly be 
 lieve it. But don t let s talk about me. It is n t 
 interesting. I want to talk about Rome. I want to 
 get into the Roman atmosphere. I have n t yet." 
 
 " That s just it. You ve got to get into the 
 atmosphere. You can t do it quickly. At least, I 
 don t know of any way. Perhaps losing yourself 
 for twenty-four hours all alone in the Catacombs 
 might answer. It is n t any one thing. There are 
 no pictures, as I told you. And the sculpture gets 
 to be rather white and melancholy. It cools your 
 enthusiasm, when you find that the best of it, after 
 deducting modern toes and noses, is mostly Roman 
 copies of late Greek imitations of unknown origi 
 nals. The later churches are tawdry, ugly, and 
 vulgar ; and the old ones are just as ugly, and cold 
 
A HINT OF EROS 115 
 
 and ruinous. The ancient ruins themselves are frag 
 mentary and puzzling individually, and depressing 
 and monotonous in the mass. Then, worse than 
 anything else, is modern Rome, which is hideous, 
 and the modern Roman, who is unspeakable. Yet, 
 after all, Rome is Rome. When you ve been here 
 a few weeks, you 11 find it getting hold of you 
 somehow or other ; and when it has once got hold, 
 it never lets go." 
 
 Priscilla watched him and listened with a keen, 
 quiet interest that was very flattering. " You spoke 
 of the ruins," she said. " Does one care for those ? " 
 
 " Yes, one does, one in a thousand. The real 
 charm of Rome is mainly in the ruins. But don t 
 take any guide. Use your own Baedeker, or your 
 Middleton, and work them out by yourself, wall 
 by wall, stone by stone. It gets to be fascinating 
 finally. I m sure I can t tell why." 
 
 "You must initiate me into these secrets, Mr. 
 Gordon." 
 
 They were silent for a minute, as Mr. Par- 
 sons s voice rose once more in ardent declamation. 
 He was " having a go," as he called it. " Ah, those 
 analogies are sometimes very curious. People have 
 often said to me that there was a striking resem 
 blance between Shelley and Chopin. I cannot 
 tell, because music is no more to me than a vain 
 hubbub ; but in art, take Reynolds and Gainsbor 
 ough they are the exact parallel of Gray and 
 Collins." Then, in answer to a remark of Mr. 
 
116 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 Stanton s, " Yes, of course, the English portrait- 
 painters have not the poetry or the passion of 
 Titian or Tintoret. Still they seize character. Not 
 even Vandyke, not even Rembrandt, can touch the 
 Italian work in passion. In the Academy at Venice 
 hang two portraits, one by Titian and one by Tin 
 toret, nearly side by side. I am never weary of 
 comparing them ; one glittering and glaring with 
 steely light, full of mystery, intensity, strange sug 
 gestion, Shelleyan ; the other, simply supreme in 
 quiet human mastery. Velasquez ? Ah, Velasquez 
 that was a man, that. He is beyond them all. 
 Copley ? Don t talk to me of Copley thin, acid, 
 wiry, like the generation he painted. An American 
 genius ? You know what Coleridge said, when some 
 one told him Klopstock was a German Milton! 
 Yes, said he, a very German Milton. A very 
 American genius. No, it will take two hundred 
 years to thicken the thin blood of New England 
 Puritanism into anything like passion, and passion 
 is the first element of genius h m h m h m." 
 
 " Do you know, Miss Stanton," said Gordon at 
 length, " your suggestion about the ruins confirms 
 me in a scheme I had already thought of." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 " If you really wish to be initiated into that sort 
 of thing, it is much better not to plunge into the 
 Forum and the Palatine and all those old stories, 
 but to begin with some of the less frequented 
 places outside the city. Besides, it is already get- 
 
A HINT OF EROS 117 
 
 ting late, and if you do not take excursions very 
 soon, you must wait till spring. Now I had it in 
 mind, before you came, to propose a trip to Ha 
 drian s Villa, which to me is one of the most 
 beautiful and most interesting ruins in the near 
 neighborhood of Rome. Do you think your father 
 and mother would approve?" 
 
 " We can ask them, at any rate." Then a curi 
 ous expression came into her eyes. " Would a 
 Mr. Payne go ? " she asked. 
 
 " It was, of course, chiefly in relation to him that 
 I planned the expedition," answered Gordon quietly. 
 
 " Ah, to be sure ; " but the response seemed to 
 him just a trifle frigid. 
 
 " I am sorry to say, however, that I fear it will 
 be impossible to induce him to come." 
 
 There was a decided recovery of cheerfulness in 
 Priscilla s tone as, without taking any direct notice 
 of the remark, she inquired : " Well, what is Ha 
 drian s Villa and where is it ? I suppose I ought 
 to know ; but I don t." 
 
 "Very few people do know, until they get 
 there. It is on the road to Tivoli and it is simply 
 the ruin of a vast villa, built by the Emperor Ha 
 drian. Ahem further archaeological particulars 
 will be best delivered on the spot. Shall we ask 
 your mother? " 
 
 So they asked her mother, who, after some fur 
 ther inquiry, condescended to approve, as did Mr. 
 Stanton, expressing at the same time a hope that 
 
118 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 Edgar would join the party ; although it did not 
 seem as if he, or any of them, would be seriously 
 depressed by disappointment in that particular. 
 It was arranged that, after allowing the next two 
 days for resting and getting settled in their new 
 surroundings, they would go on the following 
 Monday, if the weather was suitable. 
 
 Uncle Edwin was, of course, invited to accom 
 pany them, and consented, with entire satisfac 
 tion. Ruins and relatives what could be more 
 delightful? As for Mr. Parsons, he at once 
 invited himself. " Charming excursion charm 
 ing charming. What a solid people those old 
 Romans were : Europe covered with their high 
 ways and baths and amphitheatres, our mouths full 
 of their language, to this very day. Fine old say 
 ings they left us. De mortuis nihil nisi bonum. 
 Fiat justitia, mat coelum. Fine old race ! Fine 
 old race ! " 
 
 But Gordon was just saying farewell, and uncle 
 Edwin with him. So Mr. Parsons interrupted the 
 obituary of the ancient Romans to go along too. 
 
 After they had departed, a great silence de 
 scended on the Stanton family. 
 
 Then Priscilla, pitying her father s distress, but 
 really not knowing what to say, betook herself to 
 bed, and said nothing. When she was alone and 
 reflected upon the experiences of the day, she felt 
 an unusual sense of contentment, so far as she her 
 self was concerned. 
 
A HINT OF EROS 119 
 
 In the parlor Mr. and Mrs. Stanton sat side by 
 side for a few moments, in continued silence. 
 
 " Well ? " said Mrs. Stanton at length. 
 
 " Well," echoed her husband, rather mourn 
 fully. 
 
 " I am so sorry, George ! " 
 
 " George is so sorry himself. He is hopeless, 
 is n t he?" 
 
 " I should say he was quite hopeless." 
 
 " Of course we have seen very little of him yet. 
 He is young too. He may improve." 
 
 Mrs. Stanton was a good woman, a very amiable 
 and lovely woman ; but she was not wholly free 
 from the hatred which every wife feels for the 
 friends of her husband s youth, so that she, doubt 
 less, had just a grain of satisfaction in replying : 
 " My dear George, you can t be blind enough to 
 think that such a creature as that can ever marry 
 our PrisciUa ? " 
 
 " No," said George slowly, " I suppose not." 
 
 There was silence again for a moment. Mr. 
 Stanton got up and poked the fire. " What shall 
 I write to Harrison ? " he asked. 
 
 " Oh, just something courteous, affectionate, and 
 non-committal, as you know how to do so nicely. 
 He will understand, without your saying anything 
 definite. The thing will simply work itself out in 
 time, as things always do." 
 
 Mr. Stanton listened to his wife s words of 
 wisdom and was somewhat comforted ; but his pil- 
 
120 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 low, though the softest in the Hotel Bristol, was 
 not a perfectly easy one that night. 
 
 Meantime the three departing guests pursued 
 their way homeward. Uncle Edwin separated from 
 the others, after a block or so ; but Mr. Parsons 
 was too much pleased at finding a sympathetic au 
 ditor to let him go so easily, and he accompanied 
 Gordon all the way to his lodging. A curious 
 spectacle the old man was, lurching along the 
 street, with his uncertain sailor gait, his head 
 thrust forward, one hand deep in his overcoat 
 pocket, the other clutching Gordon s arm, and 
 now and then stopping him short, while a gray 
 mustache, thrust close into his face, rolled out 
 fragments of rich poetry, celebrating the glories 
 of nature and the solemn states of night. Gordon 
 was keenly alive to the ridicule of the situation, 
 when a passer-by would stop and stare and wonder. 
 Nevertheless, he could not help being touched and 
 carried away, as his companion drew his gaze up 
 ward toward the quiet moon, rushing on in a cloud 
 less heaven, and recited the lovely lines from " II 
 Penseroso," great favorites of his, scanning the 
 verses with a strange passion of rhythmic intensity 
 that made them resound and vibrate, like a stringed 
 instrument : 
 
 " To behold the wandering moon, 
 Riding near her highest noon, 
 Like one that had been led astray 
 In the Heaven s wide pathless way. " 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 THE VILLA OF HADRIAN 
 
 WHEN Gordon came to think over the Stantons 
 and his interview with them, it did not take him 
 long to conclude that Mr. Payne s plans must come 
 to nothing. Even if Edgar should take a fancy to 
 Priscilla, which was in the last degree improbable, 
 it was quite certain that she would never take a 
 fancy to him. Therefore, any hope of solving the 
 difficulties of the present situation by that means 
 must be at once and entirely abandoned. Strange 
 to say, Gordon felt rather pleased than otherwise 
 with this conclusion. It would not have occurred 
 to him that he himself took any peculiar interest 
 in Priscilla ; but it was gratifying to be sure that 
 anything so graceful and charming could not by 
 any possible chance fall into the hands of his hope 
 ful pupil. 
 
 Meantime the difficulties of the present situa 
 tion remained ; or rather, they were undoubtedly 
 much aggravated. Not only was it necessary to 
 keep Edgar out of the clutches of the Countess, 
 but it was equally important to induce him to pay 
 such attention to the Stantons as would at least 
 satisfy his father that everything had been done to 
 
122 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 bring about the desired result. Now Gordon con 
 sidered the first of these undertakings to be diffi 
 cult, the second to be quite impossible. He had a 
 hope that by persuasion and advice and warning he 
 might be able to cool his young friend s ardor for 
 succeeding the late Count Markovski, though even 
 as to that, he was a good deal in doubt ; but that 
 Edgar could ever be brought to be devoted or even 
 civil to Priscilla, if he had once made up his mind 
 that she bored him, was altogether vain to expect. 
 What was to be done ? Perhaps nothing immedi 
 ately. Meanwhile Gordon himself woidd see to it 
 that Priscilla did not lack attention. That part, at 
 least, of his tutorial duties should not be neglected. 
 
 " Well," he said to Edgar the next morning, 
 "how did you enjoy your call? " 
 
 " Damned dull ! " was the rough answer. 
 
 "I didn t find it so." 
 
 " You like to do the swell to any woman, I 
 believe." 
 
 " I consider Miss Stanton a very charming girl, 
 don t you ? But then you did n t see much of her." 
 
 " Saw enough. I prefer something warmer. 
 Never had any use for the liquid air trust, you 
 know." 
 
 Gordon puffed at his cigarette for a few minutes 
 in silence. Edgar was enjoying himself with an old 
 pipe and the unfailing newspaper. 
 
 " By the way," began the tutor again, " we Ve 
 arranged a picnic at Hadrian s Villa for next Mon- 
 
THE VILLA OF HADRIAN 123 
 
 day." No reply. " Did n t you hear my re 
 mark?" 
 
 " I hear. What do you want me to say ? " 
 
 " Well, I suppose you 11 go with us ? " 
 
 " Well, I suppose I won t." 
 
 " Now look here, Edgar," remonstrated Gordon, 
 as pleasantly and affectionately as possible, " you 
 know what your father s wishes are in this matter. 
 I don t expect, and he would n t expect, that you 
 should keep on devoting yourself to Miss Stanton, 
 if you don t like her. But Mr. Stanton is one of 
 your father s oldest and best friends. I think you 
 ought at least to show them a civil amount of 
 attention and courtesy." 
 
 Edgar answered, without lowering his paper or 
 taking his pipe out of his mouth: "Is that all 
 you Ve got to say ? Well, you can drop it right 
 there. You ve earned your money. I 11 fix mat 
 ters with my father myself. All you ve got to do, 
 from now on, is just to mind your own business. 
 See?" 
 
 " Yes, I see," said Gordon shortly. He got up 
 and left the room. Things were getting pretty 
 bad. Edgar had always been bearish and insolent ; 
 but since they had come to Rome he had got a 
 peculiar tone of defiance, which was almost unen 
 durable. Something must be done before long 
 though Gordon could not imagine what. Meantime 
 it was quite evident that the young man would not 
 take part in the Hadrian s Villa excursion. Well, 
 
124 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 they would certainly all enjoy themselves much 
 better for his absence. 
 
 During the next two days Gordon was frequently 
 at the Stantons , for necessary arrangements of one 
 sort or another. Edgar never accompanied him ; 
 but this seemed to make no difference in the warmth 
 of his welcome. As a matter of fact, Mrs. Stanton 
 had early made inquiries of uncle Edwin about 
 the tutor s history ; and when she found that he 
 was connected with the very best Boston families, 
 including the Stantons themselves distantly, and 
 that in every point, except the very important one 
 of riches, he was a gentleman, her maternal heart 
 was set at rest. She encouraged his visits and did 
 nothing whatever to chill Priscilla s evident fancy 
 for him. Anything was better than the extraor 
 dinary monster who had made his way into her 
 drawing-room under the shelter of hereditary friend 
 ship. Even Mr. Stanton, although he felt frequent 
 yearnings after his old friend s son, and urged Gor 
 don to make every effort to bring Edgar with 
 him, was secretly not dissatisfied to see the sunny, 
 kindly face, without the sour and withered one. 
 
 On Saturday the Stantons took a long, general 
 drive in the comfortable carriage which Joseph, the 
 courier, had hired for them. Sunday they went deco 
 rously to church. Monday and Tuesday were very 
 rainy, so that the excursion had to be postponed. 
 Priscilla and her mother spent the mornings in the 
 Capitoline Museum, the former having a desire to do 
 
THE VILLA OF HADRIAN 125 
 
 everything thoroughly and systematically. She sug 
 gested that Gordon should accompany them ; but he 
 thought it best not to overdo the thing, and pleaded 
 pressing engagements a French novel and a pipe. 
 
 Wednesday morning was all that could possibly 
 be desired, absolutely clear, and, after the chill of 
 dawn had vanished, rich with the mellow warmth 
 of Indian Summer. They started early; for the 
 trip to Hadrian s Villa demands a whole day, and 
 a long one at that. At half-past eight the three 
 Stantons and uncle Edwin were driving rapidly 
 toward the Porta San Lorenzo, where Gordon and 
 Parsons had agreed to meet them. From the gate 
 you take the steam tram for Tivoli. The journey 
 presents nothing of especial interest, except the 
 vast, barren Campagna itself, with its rolling 
 sweep of little hills and valleys, varied here and 
 there by the remains of an aqueduct or a solitary 
 tower, and in the distance, the huge, bare Sabine 
 Mountains, their gray tops, at that season, just 
 beginning to be touched with snow. 
 
 There was not much conversation at first. A 
 picnic, especially when it involves an early start, 
 is like a dinner party. You sit down in formal 
 fashion. You are hurried and heated with the effort 
 of getting there. You put too much lemon on 
 your oysters. Soup is always incompatible with 
 conversation. You have never met your neighbor 
 and cannot imagine how you are going to talk to 
 her for two hours. You wish she were at home and 
 
126 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 yourself also. With the first glass of wine, things 
 begin to brighten a little. You discover that your 
 neighbor s grandmother married your aunt s first 
 cousin ; so it is a family dinner, after all not too 
 family. Then there is another glass of wine, and 
 another, and when the last almond is eaten, you 
 wish it were all to begin again. Thus it is with 
 picnics. Thus it was with this picnic. During 
 the tramway ride, numerous yawns were strangled 
 civilly. Some enthusiasm about the weather and 
 the sky and the mountains was attempted; but 
 there was nothing hearty in it, and the seniors 
 evidently wished they had not left their beds. 
 Even Mr. Parsons s voice was hushed ; and after 
 once offering his favorite quotation from Emerson 
 about health and a day, he ventured nothing more 
 until they descended at the little station, a few 
 miles this side of Tivoli. 
 
 Then they got their first glass of wine, with the 
 touch of that fresh, crisp, country air, in the au 
 tumnal morning ; and they all were stirred by it. 
 Uncle Edwin and Mr. Parsons began to pass 
 their simple jests. Mr. and Mrs. Stanton s natural 
 mirth and kindliness gradually showed themselves. 
 As for Priscilla, her young nerves felt the intoxica 
 tion sooner than any of them ; and quiet as she 
 always was, the bright eye, the quick step, the 
 ready smile, made it very evident that the spell of 
 a day of enchantment was upon her. 
 
 It is perhaps needless to recall to any experi- 
 
THE VILLA OF HADRIAN 127 
 
 enced traveler and every one is an experienced 
 traveler nowadays that when you first enter the 
 inclosure of Hadrian s Villa, you come at once to 
 the remains of a small Greek theatre, not espe 
 cially well preserved. From there, you pass through 
 a long avenue of stately cypress trees, in the middle 
 of an olive grove, up a rather steep incline, to the 
 most striking of all ruins, the vast wall of the 
 Poecile. As compared with similar sight-seeing in 
 the city itself, the peculiar charm of the Villa is, 
 undoubtedly, its solitude. The great mob of the 
 personally conducted do not frequent it ; and the 
 few more determined tourists who do arrive there 
 are lost in its vastness. You may wander for hours 
 and hardly see a Baedeker. And not only do you 
 escape those of your own peculiar vocation, you 
 may do that to some extent, even on the Palatine, 
 but here there is no tumult of humanity in gen 
 eral, no buzz and hum and whirr of city streets, no 
 rattle of trolley cars, no harsh shriek of Italian 
 voices, nothing but the wide quietude of nature and 
 the gentle music of natural sounds. 
 
 This fact seemed to be especially borne in upon 
 our friends, as they passed under the cypresses ; 
 and Mr. Parsons remarked it. 
 
 " What is most striking to me," said Mr. Stan- 
 ton, " a poor native of the frigid zone, is the won 
 derful luxuriance of natural life, at this season. It 
 is the end of November. The frost has eaten every 
 thing at home. There may be a foot of snow on 
 
128 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 the ground. Here the flowers are in bloom and 
 the birds singing." 
 
 " Ah, that is what gives this world of ruin half 
 its charm," Mr. Parsons replied, " the wonderful 
 mixture of death with all this semi-tropical fullness 
 of life. Not but that there would be a charm also in 
 the opposite ; and I think this Villa would be quite 
 as fascinating on a bleak hill in New England, 
 with no spot of green anywhere, and wild snow- 
 blasts sweeping over it ; but as it is, the charm 
 of contrasts is inexhaustible inexhaustible. See 
 those heavy clusters of ivy trailing over that old 
 wall and the maiden-hair ferns cowering in the 
 crevice, and the blossoms up there, pink and white, 
 nodding, nodding in the breeze, on that broken 
 capital, with its lonely shaft soaring into high hea 
 ven delicious delicious h m h m h m." 
 
 Gordon and Priscilla had gone on ahead during 
 this harangue ; but Mr. Parsons delivered it to 
 the other members of the party, stopping now one 
 and now another, to point out little delightful bits 
 of ruin and of landscape. Then, in a few minutes, 
 they were all reunited on the platform, which re 
 mains at the foot of the vast northern wall of the 
 Poecile. Out before them spread a great breadth 
 of sun-swept, wind-swept field, dotted with here 
 and there a shaft, or mouldering capital, or crum 
 bling wall; and on the slopes falling away be 
 yond, were more fragments, more capitals, more 
 walls, more green and wind and sunlight, to almost 
 
THE VILLA OF HADRIAN 129 
 
 interminable distance ; while over all was silence, 
 except for the rustle of the olive leaves, and the 
 hum of the insects, and now and then a bird, cut 
 ting the quiet with sharp, shrill melody. 
 
 For a few moments no one spoke. Then uncle 
 Edwin, sweetest and wisest of guides, infinitely 
 modest with his unpretentious learning, said a word 
 or two as to the structure by which they stood : 
 " It was the north wall of the great Poecile, a re 
 production of the Portico at Athens, where the old 
 philosophers used to walk and talk with their dis 
 ciples. I suppose Hadrian loved to walk here, of a 
 sunny morning, and hear from his Greek flatterers 
 such philosophy as may ever come to an emperor s 
 ears." 
 
 " But why did he try to imitate a building at 
 Athens ? " asked Priscilla. 
 
 " The whole Villa was a mass of imitations of a 
 similar nature. Hadrian, in his earlier days, had 
 been a great traveler, visiting the furthest corners 
 of his dominions. It seems that when he got old 
 and unable to go to strange and curious places, he 
 brought them to him, by building this Villa, with 
 more or less exact reproductions of the various 
 wonders he had seen in his journeyings." 
 
 "A beautiful idea," said Mr. Parsons, "and 
 magnificently Roman ; but I do not believe that, 
 in all the original glory of white marble and gold 
 and purple, there was anything finer here than this 
 broad sweep of quiet sunlight. 
 
130 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 The humblest floweret of the vale, 
 The simplest note that swells the gale, 
 The common sun, the air, the skies 
 To him were opening paradise. 
 
 The common sun common to emperors and 
 poets and peasants and even to tourists the 
 poor creatures." 
 
 Following the huge wall of the Poecile to the 
 eastward, our friends wandered into the labyrinth 
 of ruin which spreads so thickly toward the beau 
 tiful valley of Tempe. They paused a few moments 
 in the curious and shapely swimming-bath, with its 
 marble basin, its little island in the centre, once 
 the resting place of some marvelous statue, its 
 niches carefully disposed for indolent luxury and 
 ease. As they loitered there, Gordon, striking an 
 attitude, regaled them with a burlesque of such 
 pabulum as is humbly swallowed by the personally 
 conducted : " This, ladies and gentlemen, was once 
 the private bath-house of the great Emperor Ha 
 drian. That is, unless it was something else, which 
 in these cases is always more likely. You will ob 
 serve that it is very large. The bathing arrange 
 ments of the ancient Romans were large. This 
 would make it seem as if they stood almost as 
 much in need of such apparatus as their descend 
 ants, though the latter have not as yet hit upon 
 the happy thought of resorting to them. I need 
 not tell you, ladies and gentlemen, who the great 
 Emperor Hadrian was. It would occupy too much 
 
THE VILLA OF HADRIAN 131 
 
 time ; and besides, I have no doubt you all know 
 more about it than I do. At any rate, he built this 
 establishment, not himself, but by the sweat of the 
 toiling minions of his oriental despotism. There is 
 no spot more suitable for us to reflect on the great 
 superiority of the United States, where the people 
 are free and are not compelled to build villas for 
 the benefit of a capricious tyrant. Besides, for my 
 own part, I had rather have a two-story wooden 
 house in Chelsea with open plumbing and all the 
 modern conveniences, than a dozen villas with no 
 thing but white marble furniture. Pass to the next, 
 ladies and gentlemen." 
 
 They passed to the next, and to the next, 
 through room after room, to which names have 
 been assigned, with more or less likelihood of cor 
 rectness, by archaeological ingenuity: libraries, 
 sleeping apartments, halls of reception and audi 
 ence, all full of bustle, hurry, and laughter once, 
 all dead, forlorn, and silent now ; yet only forlorn 
 in their association ; for the rich, ardent life of 
 nature was upon them everywhere, warm with the 
 glow of the heavy autumn sunlight. 
 
 Finally, they issued forth on the magnificent 
 terrace, which looks towards the northeast, over 
 the vale of Tempe and its olive groves, to the 
 mountains of Tivoli. There they were well satis 
 fied to sit down for their noon rest ; while Joseph, 
 the courier, and two satellites, under his direction, 
 served them with luncheon. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 LOVE IN RUINS 
 
 OYSTERS, sardines, olives, salads, and cold meats, 
 biscuits of all kinds, jellies, wafers, and cakes, wines 
 of Italy, and champagne all the superfluities 
 which convert the lowly picnic of the humble into 
 the fete cJiampetre of the rich were eaten with 
 measureless content. The banquet of the palate, 
 however, seemed poor and mean compared to that 
 of the eye. Impossible to imagine anything more 
 peaceful, more restful than the valley at their feet, 
 its carpet of olives glittering and shimmering in the 
 sunlight, the foliage quiet in the bright and wind 
 less air ; while beyond, the spurs of the Apennine 
 swept downward, the glowing reds and browns of 
 oak and chestnut mingling irregularly with the 
 sombre darkness of the pines. Here and there a 
 white villa nestled in some little niche or corner. 
 The day continued wonderfully fair, only now and 
 then a soft cloud floating through the blue heaven 
 and trailing its lazy shadow over the shoulders of 
 the mountains. 
 
 " What do you know about picnics ? " said uncle 
 Edwin, who amused himself by waiting on the 
 ladies, with a napkin over his arm, much to the hor- 
 
LOVE IN RUINS 133 
 
 ror of the sedate and unhumorous French Joseph. 
 Indeed, a little horror was not unnatural, as the old 
 gentleman stumbled along on the edge of the preci 
 pice, with unspeakable peril to a plate of salad held 
 in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other, 
 to say nothing of his own neck. " What do you 
 know about picnics ? " he cried. " Ah, it was dif 
 ferent in the consulship of James Buchanan woe 
 be unto him when I was young ! " 
 
 "It could not have been nicer, uncle Edwin," 
 said Priscilla, thanking him for his courtesy with a 
 pretty gesture. 
 
 " It was, though ! when, of an autumn day like 
 this, Mr. Emerson or Henry Thoreau would take 
 me with them on the Concord River. We would 
 row up to Fairhaven Bay in the bright, cool morn 
 ing, and then rest there and swim and have our 
 luncheon of hard-boiled eggs, milk, doughnuts, and 
 a piece of apple pie." 
 
 Priscilla lifted her hands in comic horror. " Yes, 
 you may laugh, Miss Priscilla, all you like ; but 
 the Concord River and a doughnut and a piece of 
 apple pie are not to be despised." 
 
 " And Mr. Emerson and Henry Thoreau," added 
 the young lady thoughtfully. 
 
 " Well, I did n t mean to find any fault with my 
 company here, which is very agreeable, but " 
 
 " But we are neither poets nor philosophers. 
 It is too true. That is why we bring the cham 
 pagne." 
 
134 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 The old man shook his head. 
 
 " Then, you had no ruins there." 
 
 " That is true enough. No ruins, no shadow of 
 the might of old Rome, no memories of the past. 
 But we had the fields and pastures and sky of New 
 England, which are as good as anything here. And 
 we had the future, with Emerson s prophetic insight 
 to light it up for us. Even for ruins, Thoreau 
 would take you to an Indian mound and find you 
 arrow-heads by the dozen, which may have been 
 older than anything of Hadrian s, for aught I 
 know." 
 
 So they chatted through the luncheon hour, the 
 wine adding a trifle of gayety to their serene hap 
 piness, and banishing any little trace of fatigue that 
 might have remained from the morning s work. 
 When they had finished, the elders of the party dis 
 posed themselves for comfortable digestion in quiet, 
 which, with two or three of them, at least, went so 
 far as deep and conspicuous slumber. Gordon and 
 Priscilla, having the blessed privilege of youth, 
 which one does not fully appreciate till one has 
 lost it, felt no particular inclination to sleep. 
 Therefore they strolled a little further along the 
 great terrace and sat down for a tranquil conver 
 sation. Priscilla placed herself on the base of a 
 column, which had probably been dragged away to 
 decorate some two-penny church in Rome ; and 
 Gordon, sitting at her feet, leaned back and puffed 
 his cigar most comfortably. 
 
LOVE IN RUINS 135 
 
 At first they remained silent for a few moments, 
 enjoying the deep, immense silence all about them. 
 Nothing disturbed it but the distant rural sounds 
 which only emphasize the beauty of such tran 
 quillity. A bird, hidden in a bush near by, occa 
 sionally dotted the stillness with a clear, soft note. 
 Far away, over beyond the valley of Tempe, two 
 white oxen were dragging a clumsy wagon along a 
 road which wound in and out among the olive- 
 trees. The groaning and creaking of the axle came 
 faintly to their ears. 
 
 " I wish I could smoke," said Priscilla. " Then 
 I suppose I should n t feel obliged to talk." 
 
 " Which means that I ought to begin the con 
 versation. But why need there be any conversation 
 at all, if we don t feel like it ? " 
 
 Why indeed ? " 
 
 " You might smoke, you know," Gordon con 
 tinued, after another moment s silence. 
 
 " Yes, I might. Would you wish me to ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Well then ? " 
 
 " Why should you be dependent on what I wish ? 
 Women certainly do not wish men to smoke ; yet 
 most men do it." 
 
 " Why do women let men tyrannize over them 
 in everything ? " 
 
 "That is a large question. If I were you, I 
 should start a rebellion." 
 
 "No," she said, "I don t want to start any- 
 
136 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 thing. I have a perfect horror of women who 
 start things." 
 
 " That is charming in the nineteenth century. 
 But surely you belong to a number of clubs? " 
 
 " To a few, I am sorry to say. I wish I did n t." 
 
 " I thought so. And you attend lectures on 
 cooking and on the nature of the soul ? " 
 
 " I have." 
 
 " I thought so. And you have a secret aspira 
 tion to convert somebody ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Or to reform something ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " But you have a mission of some kind ? " 
 
 " No, no, no ! No mission whatever." 
 
 " I repeat what I said the other day : you are a 
 very extraordinary young woman. But at least, I 
 am sure you have a mysterious ideal ? " 
 
 " If I have, I keep it to myself." As she spoke, 
 she looked down at him and smiled, and her smile 
 had a peculiar warmth and comfort in it. Its rich 
 and quiet sweetness seemed to tone in with the 
 splendor of the autumn day, and he felt as if he 
 should be glad to bask for a lifetime in both the 
 one and the other. 
 
 Again they sat quiet for a few minutes, delighted 
 with the pure luxury of their surroundings. Then 
 Priscilla spoke slowly and a little absently : " You 
 have been catechising me pretty thoroughly. How 
 if I catechise you ? " 
 
LOVE IN RUINS 137 
 
 " By all means. I should like nothing so much. 
 Perhaps it will help me to understand myself a 
 little better. I find myself very puzzling." 
 
 " More puzzling than other people ? " 
 
 " Perhaps not, but a great deal more interesting, 
 you know. Well, what do you want to ask? " 
 
 She paused for a minute or two, evidently find 
 ing some difficulty in framing her questions. At 
 length she began, point-blank : " What is your 
 occupation in life, Mr. Gordon ? " 
 
 Gordon looked up at her sharply. " I am a pri 
 vate tutor worse luck responsible for the 
 mind, morals, and finances of a hopeful young 
 friend of yours." 
 
 She waved her hand with some impatience. 
 " Nonsense ! That s not an occupation." 
 
 " Oh, is n t it ? Perhaps you would like to try 
 it and see. I should be charmed to have you." 
 
 " Thank you, so much. Still, you have n t been 
 doing that all your life." 
 
 " No, I have n t. And don t mean to all my life. 
 I see. You want my autobiography. You shall 
 have the copyrighted edition gilt edges half- 
 calf. Chapter I. From the cradle to the veloci 
 pede. Chapter II. An idle boy. Chapter III. 
 In love and out again. Chapter IV. Harvard 
 College. Chapter V. Artist manque. Chapter 
 VI. Private tutor manque also. Epitome, 
 epilogue, epigram, epitaph: He did nothing and 
 was happy." 
 
138 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 " Have you always been happy ? " 
 
 "Why, yes, until I got this last job on my 
 hands. Even now it is very difficult for me to be 
 otherwise though I know it is highly improper. 
 You see, I have perfect health, and as our friend 
 over there says, Give me health and a day 
 I will spare you the rest. I have no money, so 
 nobody hates me ; yet I always seem to have every 
 thing I want. Then I love to watch, watch, watch, 
 there is so much to see in the world. People are 
 so irresistibly amusing. Life is just like a theatre 
 to me all the time." 
 
 " But there are tragedies in it." 
 
 " Yes, I know. Still, after all, they are not my 
 tragedies. And then, they are over so quickly. 
 And then, people might almost always help them, 
 if they wanted to. And then, there is so much 
 comedy right beside them. One can always shut 
 one s eyes, you know." 
 
 " Can one always ? " Priscilla leaned her 
 head on her hand thoughtfully. A cloud somewhat 
 heavier than most veiled the sun. The bird in the 
 bush stopped singing. Then the sun burst out 
 again and the bird began once more. " You say 
 you have been an artist ? " Priscilla went on. 
 
 " No. I said I had tried to be." 
 
 " But if you tried to be and failed, which I 
 don t believe, did n t that make you unhappy ? " 
 
 " No, that s the worst of it. If it had made 
 me so, I suppose I might have succeeded. I have 
 
LOVE IN RUINS 139 
 
 known so many men positively wretched at seeing 
 others succeed, when they could not. I can enjoy 
 other people s successes, even when I fail. An un 
 fortunate disposition, is n t it ? " 
 
 " That depends upon the point of view." But 
 there was just the hint of a quiet smile about her 
 mouth, though Gordon did not see it, which sug 
 gested that she did not have much fault to find. 
 " But you will go back to painting," she continued, 
 " when you " 
 
 " When I have completed my present failure ? 
 It is possible enough. If one is bound to fail, it is 
 more agreeable to fail in doing something attrac 
 tive." 
 
 " And when shall you complete your present fail 
 ure, as you call it ? " 
 
 " Ah, that is an unkind question to ask me," 
 Gordon said, with sudden energy, " when you know 
 it might all have been settled by yourself." In spite 
 of her decided gesture of disagreement, he went on: 
 " Oh, yes, it might. You know it just as well as I 
 do. Here have I brought this amiable young man 
 three thousand miles over sea and land, just for 
 the sole purpose of marrying him to you and 
 now you won t take up with the project in any way 
 whatever." 
 
 " But, Mr. Gordon, really, why lay it all to me ? 
 It appears that the young man is not very ardent 
 in his suit, to say the least." 
 
 " Would you marry him, if he asked you ? " 
 
140 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 " That is a direct question, certainly. Do you 
 think a young lady ought to answer such a one 
 unless it is asked seriously ? However, I think I 
 may safely say no, without any hesitation at all." 
 
 " Well, then. And if he is n t ardent in his suit, 
 isn t it all your fault?" 
 
 " That is not a very polite way of putting it, per 
 haps." 
 
 " Well, but is n t it all your fault ? I say it is. 
 Why could n t you have been different, as a young 
 woman from Chicago, or anywhere else, might be, 
 loud, you know, rings, bangles, and slang; horsey, 
 doggy, golfy, sporty, I say, why could n t you ? " 
 
 " I m sorry to disappoint you." 
 
 "You have disappointed me woefully. What 
 am I to say to the young man s papa ? " 
 
 " I don t know, but from what I remember of 
 Mr. Payne I have n t seen him for several years, 
 and from what I hear of him, he must be quite 
 different from his son." 
 
 " He is different. If it were he, he would have 
 fallen in love with you before this and you with 
 him. Do you think that will make him any more 
 inclined to be lenient toward me ? " 
 
 They were both silent for a moment, neither 
 of them appearing to be much cast down by the 
 situation. The flattery hidden in Gordon s mock 
 reproaches was very sweet to Priscilla and she did 
 not in the least regret having failed to make her 
 self agreeable to her intended suitor. 
 
LOVE IN RUINS 141 
 
 The other members of the party were moving 
 now, having had all necessary repose. They had 
 gathered themselves together and were slowly ap 
 proaching Priscilla and her companion. 
 
 " It is hardly necessary to explain that I was not 
 finding any fault with you," said Gordon softly. 
 
 " Were n t you now ? After all ? " 
 
 " You are simply one of those unconscious in 
 struments of the evil designs of Fate like Helen 
 of Troy, you know. Of course, you could n t help 
 being charming and amiable and attractive." 
 
 " Oh, no, of course not. I have tried." Here the 
 others were upon them and the peregrination 
 through the Villa began again. 
 
 It was now long after noon and time served 
 but scantily for exploring the vast ruins, of which 
 they had as yet visited hardly more than a corner. 
 They passed through room after room, bare, blank, 
 deserted, silent ; palace halls, courts of justice, little 
 cells, where senators and generals had been crowded 
 together, like the French nobility in the cramped 
 corners of Versailles, baths, libraries, open gardens 
 and porticoes everywhere the same tranquillity, 
 broken only by some petty group of tourists, or the 
 faint, tender sounds of nature ; and as they walked, 
 an immense weariness came upon them, partly phy 
 sical, partly resulting from the ever-present weight 
 of years and the intolerable tyranny of death. 
 
 Then they came out into the vaguer and more 
 open portion of the Villa to the south, where the 
 
142 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 ruins were still more ruinous, more overgrown with 
 grass and shrubs, almost unrecognizable ; and where 
 the descending sun, shining still with mellow and 
 glorious radiance, changed their sharper melancholy 
 to mild and gentle contemplation. 
 
 As they strayed through the vast length of the 
 Canopus, uncle Edwin said something about the 
 meaning of the word ; that Hadrian, in building it, 
 had tried to reproduce the delicious water gardens 
 of the Nile, where, from morning till night, revelers 
 floated up and down in the idle tide of pleasure, 
 crowning their boats with gay garlands, wafted by 
 purple sails, singing merry songs, fluting, dancing, 
 living carelessly, as they did in the golden world. 
 
 " But could he reproduce it ? " asked Priscilla. 
 " He could have the gay garlands and the flutes 
 and the purple sails ; but could he, with all his 
 wealth and all his empire, fleet the time carelessly, 
 or rather, in spite of all his empire and his wealth ? " 
 
 "Ah, as to that history saith not," answered 
 uncle Edwin. 
 
 " I don t know whether he could, I know I 
 conld," added Gordon, a little dreamily. 
 
 " Well, yes, I believe you could, Mr. Gordon," 
 said Priscilla. 
 
 "Is that a compliment ? " 
 
 " A very, very great compliment." It was quite 
 clear that she spoke seriously. 
 
 But Mr. Parsons was regaling Mrs. Stanton 
 with bits of Shelley : " Yes, he was the poet of 
 
L OVE IN RUINS 143 
 
 solitude. Ruin, desolation, with just a gleam of 
 spiritual hope that was his element. 
 
 I love all waste and solitary places. 
 
 He wrote the " Prometheus Unbound " in the Baths 
 of Caracalla, which were ruins then, such as these 
 are now, vines and ivy trailing around him, and 
 the old walls towering raggedly against the blue 
 sky above. Do you remember that wonderful 
 stanza in which he describes Lechlade Church 
 yard ? I always think of it in a place like this." 
 And he recited, with oppressive grandeur : 
 
 " The dead are sleeping in their sepulchres ; 
 
 And mouldering as they sleep, a thrilling sound, 
 Half sense, half thought, among the darkness stirs, 
 
 Breathed from their wormy beds, all living things around ; 
 And mingling with the still night and mute sky 
 
 Its awful hush is felt inaudibly. " 
 
 " Don t, Mr. Parsons," said Mrs. Stanton. " It 
 goes right down my back." 
 
 " Ah, well, ladies are not generally very appre 
 ciative of poetic melancholy h m h m h m." 
 
 So they wandered on again, past the baths 
 and the stadium, to the Poecile, whence they had 
 started. There they went out to the platform, built 
 above the throng of little cells, which were once 
 the dwellings of the slaves, a vast stretch of open 
 ground, looking toward the west, over the olive 
 orchards and the Campagna, toward Rome. Of 
 course, nothing is to be seen of the city itself ; but 
 the huge dome of St. Peter s hangs, like a leaden 
 
144 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 cloud, on the horizon, and very little imagination is 
 required to picture the old Emperor, sitting there 
 silent in the autumn sunlight, looking toward his 
 capital, so much larger then than now, hearing in 
 fancy the hum of humanity tramping its busy 
 streets, and comparing with that endless rumor 
 and tumult the blessed quiet of his rich retreat. 
 
 " Shall we ever have an emperor in our coun 
 try," said uncle Edwin, " to build palaces for him 
 self with the labor of the million and overturn the 
 world with his wars and luxury ? " 
 
 " No, no ! " answered Mr. Parsons. " Man 
 kind will never go back to such barbarism as that. 
 The rights of all men will be respected. Liberty 
 will never be lost again. Wealth is vulgar and 
 war outgrown." Then, turning to Priscilla and 
 Gordon, who were sitting quietly a little apart : 
 " You young people don t care for politics and em 
 perors ; but you do feel nature and poetry. You 
 can t take your eyes off the dim grandeur of that 
 dome. That s right. That s right. But you don t 
 remember the two lines of Shelley, which express 
 such an object to perfection, 
 
 Pinnacled dim in the intense inane, 
 
 and 
 
 Islanded in the immeasurable air. 
 
 Poetry is like the sun-drenched light, which gives 
 an added, almost unutterable beauty to things al 
 ready beautiful in themselves." 
 
LOVE IN RUINS 145 
 
 Neither Priscilla nor Gordon responded very 
 much to these rhapsodies ; but they felt them. 
 The mood that comes at such times and in such 
 places is a very complicated one, a fabric woven of 
 a hundred different strands, each frail, delicate, al 
 most impalpable ; yet the perfect tissue holds its 
 place in memory long, long after. Just what ele 
 ments, in the sum total of feeling, each of them 
 owed to the other, neither cared at that moment to 
 examine. But as they made their way homeward, 
 not loudly, but happily, they both felt that they 
 had moved a step nearer to each other ; and in 
 these matters a step is more than a league stride 
 in all the other movements of the world. With 
 Priscilla, however, the feeling was much more 
 definite than with Gordon. She was, by nature, 
 somewhat inclined to reflect on her own doings ; 
 but he had no disposition to reflect on his own or 
 other people s. He had spent many rich days with 
 pretty girls in the sunlight, and this might be sim 
 ply another, to remember, when he should find 
 himself 
 
 "Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything." 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 CHOPIN AND SUICIDE 
 
 THE fine weather which had favored the excursion 
 to Hadrian s Villa was followed by day after day 
 of such chilly, depressing cold, cloudiness, and driz 
 zle as is usual in sunny Italy, especially in Novem 
 ber and December. Large, ragged masses of gray 
 mist trailed over the sky, enveloping the Eternal 
 City and all its surroundings with dampness and 
 misery. Even the gay and philosophical Romans 
 frowned, as they wrapped themselves more closely 
 in their cloaks ; and the homesick forestieri did 
 their sight-seeing with a lagging step and cold at 
 the heart. 
 
 Gordon did not suffer from cold at the heart; 
 still the weather may have counted for something 
 in the unaccustomed condition of annoyance in 
 which he found himself. The few words which he 
 had exchanged with Priscilla on Edgar s affairs at 
 the picnic had made it perfectly and finally evident 
 that nothing was to be hoped for in that direction. 
 If any confirmation were needed, Edgar supplied it 
 by his constantly increasing devotion to the Coun 
 tess Markovski. It is true, Gordon gathered from 
 
CHOPIN AND SUICIDE 147 
 
 a remark dropped here and there that the youth 
 did not very often succeed in seeing his lady-love. 
 But he certainly made frequent efforts to see her ; 
 and his failures exasperated a disposition not natu 
 rally the most amiable, until living with him be 
 came a sort of nineteenth-century martyrdom. The 
 fact that he failed was also most disquieting to 
 Gordon ; for he knew that if the lady really wished 
 to get rid of her admirer, she could have cured him 
 in twenty-four hours. If she did not do this, the 
 inference was that she was simply holding off to 
 entrap him more securely. 
 
 Under these circumstances, what was to be done ? 
 The tutor avoided this question by running about 
 as much as possible. He did not go to the Stan- 
 tons , though he could scarcely have told why. It 
 certainly did not definitely occur to him that it was 
 wiser to keep away from Priscilla. But he went 
 among his old artist friends, lounged in their studios, 
 smoked, chatted, and told stories. He dawdled at 
 Mrs. Barton s, called on one or two young women 
 and showed them about the city, even sketched a 
 little, with most unsatisfactory results, did all he 
 could, in short, to forget that amusing himself was 
 not his sole and sufficient duty. 
 
 But he could not forget it altogether. Visions 
 of Papa Payne haunted his morning slumbers and 
 framed themselves in wreaths of smoke out of 
 his most peaceful pipe. Something must be done, 
 something must certainly be done. What? 
 
148 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 Various solutions presented themselves, none very 
 satisfactory. He could not bring himself to speak 
 frankly to Edgar about the Countess not yet. 
 It might come to that. Meantime, what if he 
 should go to see Antonia and have a talk with 
 her? He had no very definite idea in doing so. 
 He might no, it was too absurd yes, he might 
 run off with the lady himself if she would go 
 with him. It would be ruin, certainly, ruin body 
 and soul. There are follies of youth and follies of 
 middle age, and the latter are unpardonable and 
 irrevocable. Then how little would be gained ? To 
 be sure, Edgar would be saved from this particular 
 misfortune; but he would not be one whit nearer 
 to Priscilla, and he would be certain to fall into 
 some other of the black abysses which gaped for 
 him. Yet, on the other hand, he, Gordon, would 
 have ceased to be responsible, he would have capped 
 the climax of his failures with one piece of colossal 
 self-sacrifice. It is so rare in life that a temptation 
 comes in the form of a colossal self-sacrifice : ought 
 he really to let it go ? 
 
 Yes, he would see the Countess Markovski and 
 try to divine her plans. Then he smiled at the 
 idea of his divining anything which the Countess 
 Markovski wished to conceal. As to his own course, 
 he would be governed entirely by circumstances. 
 Only great men and fools act on impulse ; and one 
 cannot tell which one is, till one has followed that 
 method for a certain length of time. 
 
CHOPIN AND SUICIDE 149 
 
 It was a dark afternoon, even more rainy, damp, 
 and detestable than those that had preceded it, 
 when Gordon made his way to 24 Via Ludovisi 
 and rang the bell at the door of the Countess. He 
 had passed a dismal, homeless morning, loafing 
 about the forlorn sitting-room in his lodgings, read 
 ing a little, while Edgar stuck unresponsively to 
 some financial column or other. Now, as he was 
 shown into the snug, quiet drawing-room, with two 
 or three candles, giving a doubtful, pleasant twi 
 light in the middle of the winter afternoon, and 
 with a bright fire glowing in the grate, he breathed 
 a long sigh of relief and comfort. 
 
 The Countess was sitting at the piano, playing 
 a mazurka of Chopin. Though she saw him when 
 he entered, she did not rise till she had finished 
 the piece, leisurely. Her performance showed no 
 special signs of training, but there was a lan 
 guid, passionate grace about it, which seemed 
 to harmonize with the very spirit of the Polish 
 composer. 
 
 When she had struck the last chord, she sat per 
 fectly still for an instant, looking straight at Gor 
 don ; and he almost thought her large dark eyes 
 were full of tears. Then she got up slowly and 
 came towards him, with both hands extended. He 
 had never seen her more lovely. She wore a plain 
 morning-gown of black silk, simple and straight, 
 with soft white ruching at the throat. The only 
 color was a bit of lavender ribbon about her wrists. 
 
150 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 As she held out her hands before her, the opal 
 flashed on them. 
 
 " Che brutto tempo ! " she said softly. " Amico, 
 you are so good to come. I had an instinct of 
 it and told them I was at home to no one but you. 
 You always bring sunshine. What, no ? " as Gor 
 don shook his head in doubt. " You must. I need 
 it. I am like a fairy drooping under a toadstool, 
 when it rains so long and so drearily." 
 
 " It is better to be a fairy at any time," Gordon 
 murmured. Loud speech in that atmosphere 
 seemed somehow impossible. 
 
 " No, no," she answered vehemently, still stand 
 ing, but letting go his hand, which she had held 
 till then. " Not a fairy ! It is best to be a ma 
 chine, with a steel heart and a hard rubber tire 
 hard, hard, anything, so it be hard." She turned 
 and walked across the room. " Come," she said. 
 " Draw up a chair for you and one for me. Let us 
 have a quiet chat just as if we were man and 
 wife, you know before the domestic hearth. It 
 is odd, but sometimes I feel as if I should like a 
 domestic hearth I, who can never by any chance 
 have one." 
 
 Gordon did as she bade him and sat down be 
 side her in silence. He did not want to speak or 
 think yet. 
 
 " You don t talk," she began. " Then the weather 
 has affected even you and living in lodgings 
 with that awful creature." She made a little ges- 
 
CHOPIN AND SUICIDE 151 
 
 ture of disgust. " How weary one gets of it all. 
 It is n t the ugliness of life, or the wickedness, 
 or even the suffering ; it is the flatness, the dreary, 
 dull monotony, just one same even plain, out, out, 
 out to the end of the world." Her flat, spread 
 hands hinted at the endless dullness of her spirit. 
 Then she rested her elbows on the arm of her 
 chair, her face on her hands, and gazed at him 
 intently. " I was thinking about suicide, when I 
 was playing that mazurka, as you came in. Do 
 you ever think about suicide ? " 
 
 " Never," replied Gordon placidly. He was very 
 comfortable. 
 
 " No, I dare say not. But I do. Do you suppose 
 those who think about it so much ever do it ? I m 
 not afraid, you know. And I m so curious. Oh, 
 so curious. Will one be so bored over on the 
 other side ? Will it be new and fresh and excit 
 ing ? I think Hell would be exciting. But Heaven 
 they all do their best to make one sick of it be 
 forehand. Then, after all, it seems braver to fight 
 it out here. Let them pile mountains of ennui on 
 top of one ; one can find or make amusement still." 
 
 " Oh, yes," Gordon agreed. " I never had to 
 work so hard for it. Amusement is much easier to 
 come by than tobacco." 
 
 " Child," she said, laughing and laying her hand 
 on his, " eternal child ! " 
 
 They sat silent for a few minutes. The fire 
 glowed and crackled pleasantly before them. Gor- 
 
152 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 don was surprised to find himself thinking of 
 Priscilla and their chat of a few days before, and 
 not of his companion or present circumstances 
 at all. 
 
 But the Countess Markovski was determined to 
 be thought of. " Well," she began in a more 
 practical and business-like tone. " Well, when is 
 the marriage ? " 
 
 " Marriage ! " Gordon ejaculated, almost as if 
 he had waked up in a strange place. 
 
 " I said marriage. You are dull to-day, my 
 friend." There was a grain of acid in her tone. 
 " Master and Miss Millions surely they or 
 you have made a match of it by this time." 
 
 It was an uninteresting subject. " Don t ask 
 me," was Gordon s weary answer. " You are 
 simply impertinent, Countess. As if you did not 
 know more about it than I do." 
 
 " I know ? " laughed she mischievously. " Well, 
 yes, perhaps I do. Poor boy ! He did undertake 
 something that was too much for him, and every 
 thing went crooked, and the queen and knave 
 would not come together, and butterflies should 
 not be set to do the serious work of life so they 
 shouldn t." Then she sat straight up and looked 
 right before her and spoke as clear and harsh as 
 a salesgirl who has been at the trade thirteen 
 years. " Now, Mr. Gordon, let us talk business. 
 You felt it to be your duty to marry young Payne 
 to this piece of light-haired, blue-eyed absorbent 
 
CHOPIN AND SUICIDE 153 
 
 cotton, who was brought here on purpose. Oh, 
 I ve seen her, I know her right through and 
 through so." She made the gesture of unravel 
 ing a skein of silk. " You can t do it, of course. 
 Anybody even you might have known you 
 could n t beforehand." 
 
 She paused for an instant. Gordon listened, 
 but showed no sign of any particular interest. 
 "Well?" he asked. 
 
 " Well ! It is well for me. Do you under 
 stand ? I am going to marry the young fellow my 
 self. I want his millions well," as Gordon made 
 a gesture of irritation " his father s millions 
 then. What difference does it make ? I am tired 
 of this life, tired of being a Bohemian, or a Pole, 
 for nothing. I want respectability. I know very 
 well that it is the most contemptible thing in the 
 world when you ve got it, the emptiest, the most 
 tedious " 
 
 " Nothing could ever make you tedious, Coun 
 tess." 
 
 " Or respectable. When did you learn this trick 
 of sneering ? It does n t become you. You did n t 
 do it three years ago. But that is just what I can 
 be respectable. And that is why respectability 
 is such a poor thing. But I want it. And I want 
 money. I am tired of bills and shifts and shifty 
 speculations, and footmen who would take one s 
 pocketbook, if there were anything in it, and cut 
 one s throat, if it did n t spoil their only chance of 
 
154 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 getting their wages. I want ease and comfort. I 
 am getting old." 
 
 " Do you want Edgar Payne ? " asked Gordon 
 half absently. 
 
 " No, child, no. But what wouldst thou have ? 
 One cannot get everything for nothing. Really, 
 I never saw such a creature in all my varied ex 
 perience. But I can manage him." She paused, 
 and for a few seconds there was silence. Then she 
 spoke again : " Well, what do you say ? Will you 
 let me alone ? " 
 
 Gordon made no answer at first, no direct an 
 swer at all. Now was the moment, the critical mo 
 ment. But somehow the suggestion of the domestic 
 hearth lingered with him, and Priscilla s face kept 
 coming back. Yet what else was he to do, what 
 else could he do, in the face of such a clear decla 
 ration as had just been made to him? At length 
 he spoke, in a low, hoarse voice : " Antonia, you 
 seem to have forgotten some of the things you 
 were reminding me of the other day in this very 
 room." 
 
 She turned upon him like lightning. " Ah, you 
 are such a child, Robert Gordon, such a child, 
 seen through so easily ! That is your forlorn hope, 
 is it, and you are going to throw yourself into 
 the breach, when every other chance fails ? You 
 thought I could be imposed on by such a trick 
 as that?" Then, with one of those marvelous 
 changes which were the greatest of her charms, 
 
CHOPIN AND SUICIDE 155 
 
 
 
 she turned and leaned towards him, her dark eyes 
 full upon him, her voice as soft as far-heard 
 music : " Well, you thought right. I will walk 
 straight into the trap with my eyes open. I will 
 be fool to the very limit of human folly. I can t 
 understand or fathom the love that I have for you. 
 Why is it, why, why? You are handsome, yes. 
 You are clever, yes. But it is not that. It is the 
 sunshine in you. Oh, how I missed it when you left 
 me ! Just a little aching spot here. It would go 
 for moments and I would think I had forgotten. 
 Then it came back and stung me with such a 
 fierce, sharp, sweet pain. My sunshine ! My sun 
 shine ! Roberto ! Roberto V angelo, or il dlavolo, 
 Roberto mio, come with me and let me have sun 
 shine always. Come ! Come." She dropped her 
 voice to a whisper, far-away and soft, yet with a 
 quality that seemed as if it might pierce to the 
 utmost limit of the world. 
 
 And he heard her, and he answered nothing. 
 The more she spoke, the more impossible her sum 
 mons seemed to him. Yet he saw she loved him. 
 It was, indeed, difficult to believe in the depth or 
 permanence of her affection. What could it be 
 but wayward caprice and flighty fancy, hollow, elu 
 sive, and deceiving as a wreath of moonlit mist ? 
 Yet, after her fashion, she did love him, and three 
 years ago the assurance of that fact would have 
 been an epitome of heaven. But now it was 
 strangely indifferent and cold to him ; and still, in 
 
156 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 the tranquil gloom, he saw the calm face and the 
 deep blue eyes with the golden hair above them. 
 So he sat and answered nothing. Outside the wind 
 raged in sudden, unequal blasts, and dashed the 
 drops against the window panes. 
 
 " Very well," she said, at length, in a voice a 
 little hoarse, but calm and cold once more. " You 
 have n t even the poor courage to make a fool of 
 yourself completely. N en parlous plus. Tell me, 
 then, is it peace or war ? " 
 
 " Peace, Countess, certainly, if you ask my in 
 clination." 
 
 " I don t ask your inclination. It is n t worth 
 the trouble of my considering it. I simply ask you, 
 will you let me marry this fellow, without any 
 interference ? " 
 
 " I can t do that." 
 
 " You can t ! You can t ! You won t ! And yet 
 you can t help it. What can you do against me ? " 
 
 " What, indeed ? Still there is a certain obliga 
 tion " 
 
 She did not condescend to notice this plea. " I 
 suppose your next step will be to describe me to 
 your promising pupil," she said, "to give him 
 my history ? " 
 
 " Countess what can I do ? This marriage will 
 be wretched for him, wretched for you, for every 
 body. I must use such weapons as I have in my 
 hands." 
 
 " Ah, yes," she asserted scornfully. " But don t 
 
CHOPIN AND SUICIDE 157 
 
 pretend to care for my welfare. Don t attempt a 
 hypocrisy which will never suit you. Poor butter 
 fly, whose soul shines through your eyes, as clearly 
 as if you wore it on your sleeve. And, I suppose, 
 you will give him a full and succinct history of your 
 own little experience with the terrible Countess, 
 and how she roared, and what luck you had to get 
 out of the cage alive." 
 
 Gordon began to perceive that he was not 
 having a good time of it. " I do not think it 
 will be necessary to mention myself at all," he 
 said, "certainly not at present. Can I tell you, 
 can I make you believe how horrible this all is to 
 me?" 
 
 " Why, yes," she answered, with a cold, hard 
 smile, " I can understand that it is n t pleasant. 
 Do you think I am sorry for you ? But then I 
 quite agree with you that it will not be necessary 
 to bring our own relations into question at all. 
 When you have narrated in detail all you know 
 about me in other ways and all you have heard, 
 you will doubtless gain your end, and everybody 
 will be happy. Only, I advise you to go back 
 to America with the dear, just as quickly as ever 
 you can. And now, don t you think you had bet 
 ter terminate this interview, as the newspapers 
 say, and leave me once more to Chopin and sui 
 cide ? " 
 
 Gordon did think so. " Antonia," he said, as he 
 rose, " you are cruel to me." 
 
158 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 Even in that dim light, he was stopped by the 
 whiteness of her face. " Cruel ! " she repeated. 
 " O God ! " Then she resumed her ordinary man 
 ner, with no apparent effort. " This has n t been a 
 pleasant call, has it ? If I were you, I would n t 
 come again." 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 A CONVERSION 
 
 As the Countess said, the call had not been plea 
 sant. Gordon, in thinking it over during the next 
 few days, felt that it had been very unpleasant, and, 
 what was much contrary to the ordinary habit of 
 his nature, he was not able to stop thinking of it 
 on that account. He had appeared to great disad 
 vantage himself; but that did not trouble him 
 much. What was more important, he had not ac 
 complished his purpose and seemed to be farther 
 away than ever from his final object. That troubled 
 huii a good deal. 
 
 Antonia had declared positively that she wished 
 to marry Edgar and would marry him, and she 
 had referred to any effort that Gordon might make 
 to prevent her with a contempt which was fully 
 shared by Gordon himself. Nevertheless, he felt 
 that he was just as much bound as ever to make 
 such effort, more bound. Only, how should he 
 make it, when ? Should he get hold of Edgar at 
 once and go into an elaborate revelation of what 
 the past of such a woman was ? How could he do 
 it ? The very thought was well-nigh intolerable to 
 him. 
 
160 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 Even now, after all, would it be absolutely 
 necessary? Edgar was no fool, with all his oddi 
 ties. Would he really do anything so foolish ? If 
 this was a rather infirm reliance, as Gordon con 
 fessed to himself it was, would the Countess do 
 anything so foolish, in spite of all she had said? 
 Her will was iron when it was fixed ; but it was so 
 seldom fixed. Was it fixed now ? That she under 
 stood Edgar perfectly and despised him and loathed 
 him, was beyond possibility of question. Would 
 she then, fine and sensitive as her nature was, 
 with all its waywardness and all its wickedness, 
 would she deliberately bind herself, sell herself 
 to what she loathed and despised ? Again, it was 
 probable she would. Still, there was a chance, and 
 on the strength of it Gordon delayed action a little 
 longer. " Let us wait and watch a day or two," 
 he said to himself. 
 
 The Countess s tactics at first seemed to en 
 courage him. Edgar tried again and again to see 
 her and failed. He complained openly to Gordon, 
 having no one else to whom he might impart the 
 irresistible confidences of love. 
 
 " Hang it ! What s the matter with the woman ? " 
 he said. " What s the use of drawing a feller on 
 and then turning your back on him ? " 
 
 " What s the use indeed ? " was Gordon s philo 
 sophic answer. " Why do you waste any more time 
 on her ? She s not worth it." 
 
 " Oh, that 11 do, Gordy ! You re always work- 
 
A CONVERSION 161 
 
 ing for that pale-haired Stanton thing. I d give 
 more for five minutes of the Countess Markovski 
 than for five years of her." 
 
 It was evident that the lady was holding off. 
 But, alas, when Gordon came to think it over, sit 
 ting on the Pincian in the afternoon sunlight, with 
 a cigar in his mouth and his eyes half shut, the 
 holding off did not seem quite so encouraging. It 
 might be because she had not made up her mind, 
 but it was much more likely to be because she had. 
 He must have it out with Edgar. That was evi 
 dent, and at the first opportunity he would. 
 
 So much having been decided, he dismissed the 
 matter from his thoughts, leaned back, and, with 
 idle curiosity, watched the gay and motley crowd, 
 as it passed slowly by him. The exhibition on the 
 Pincian is certainly tame and second-rate com 
 pared with Hyde Park or even with the Bois de 
 Boulogne. Still, on a bright winter afternoon, one 
 can find amusement in it, if one is not too critical. 
 It is, at any rate, cosmopolitan enough. First a 
 pseudo-Russian, after the fashion of the Countess 
 Markovski, will drive past you, leaning back in her 
 luxurious furs, with a furtive glance cast now and 
 then at some impudent Italian officer, who salutes 
 her, militarily. Then, perhaps, comes an old Eng 
 lish dowager, looking as much as possible like the 
 late queen, fat horses, fat coachman, fat lap-dog, 
 lean companion, oh, so lean and weary. Then two 
 Prussians in a cab, with their mustaches pointing 
 
162 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 to their ears, looking as if the world was made for 
 them. Then, in another cab, particularly shabby 
 and miserable, three American girls, laughing, ges 
 ticulating, and generally scandalizing the foreigner. 
 Then a cardinal, black, black, all black. Then a Pa- 
 risienne marquise or otherwise. Then a gor 
 geous ambassador. Then two country curates, or, it 
 may be, a New York millionaire. So it goes. And to 
 be idle and watch it all is infinitely more amusing 
 than to think about naughty countesses and tedious 
 pupils and the difficult problems of life generally. 
 
 By and by Gordon was aware of a face that he 
 recognized, not the first by any means, but the first 
 that he had recognized with pleasure. Priscilla was 
 driving alone in the great carriage, leaning back 
 with as much nonchalant ease and grace as any 
 countess of them all, and Gordon said to himself 
 that neither Pole nor Parisienne was any lovelier 
 than she. She was dressed all in gray, gray hat, 
 gray furs, gray gloves ; and the rosy hue of her 
 face, heightened by the fresh west wind, contrasted 
 charmingly with the even, cold tone of her costume. 
 
 She at once beckoned Gordon to the side of the 
 carriage, opening the door for him, since she could 
 not stop the general movement to let him chat 
 with her. It was a bit unconventional ; but he knew 
 that Americans could still do what they liked, in 
 Rome especially. Besides, his mother had not 
 brought him up to resist temptation, as the reader 
 will already have perceived. 
 
A CONVERSION 163 
 
 " Well," Priscilla began, " I have quarreled 
 with you, Mr. Gordon." 
 
 " How pleasant. I do love a reconciliation." 
 
 " Ah, but there will be a penance with this." 
 
 " H m. Tell me the penance. Then I will decide 
 whether I have committed the sin or not." 
 
 " You can t deny it, even with all your ingenu 
 ity. Where have you been for two weeks past ? " 
 
 " Why, here. In Rome." 
 
 " See, you have confessed it already. Did you 
 undertake to show me Rome, or did you not ? " 
 
 " I don t know ; but I would gladly show you all 
 the kingdoms of the earth. As for Rome, there it 
 is." He waved his hand over the city with an im 
 perial gesture. 
 
 " Then I am to suppose that you did n t find me 
 a responsive listener, that all girls from Chicago 
 are bores, and that you are going to break your 
 deliberate promise ? " 
 
 " Did you really suppose all that ? " said Gordon, 
 with sympathetic interest. 
 
 " What else could I suppose ? " 
 
 " Well, now, the truth is that I stayed away 
 for very shame." 
 
 "Shame? Why? I don t understand." 
 
 " I don t think you take my mission with regard 
 to you half seriously enough. I was expected to 
 get you married. I can t do it. And the very 
 thought of you, much more the sight of you, fills 
 me with humiliation." 
 
164 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 u Dear, dear," said Priscilla. " That s very 
 depressing for me. Perhaps you d like to get 
 out." 
 
 " No," Gordon answered, with resignation. " No, 
 a little mortification is good for me." 
 
 There was a subtle pleasure for both of them in 
 the intimacy of this badinage. For a few moments 
 they said nothing. The carriage rolled on heavily, 
 and they watched the stream of humanity drift by. 
 Before Gordon knew it, they were passing the 
 Countess Markovski. Her carriage, horses, and 
 liveries were black as a cardinal s, and she made 
 a striking figure, sitting alone, with the black robes 
 and cushions about her, dressed in black also, but 
 wrapped in heavy, rich white furs. Gordon raised 
 his hat, feeling uncomfortable that she should see 
 him driving with Priscilla. 
 
 " Who was the lady, if I may ask ? " inquired 
 the latter. 
 
 " The Countess Markovski," was the brief an 
 swer. Then, continuing in the train of thought 
 thus suggested, Gordon said, " Really, I have done 
 my best to get Edgar to come and see you, but he 
 won t." 
 
 " Do you know," Priscilla answered, with a 
 hint of mischief, "it is, well, I may say, a new 
 experience, to have everybody trying to drag a 
 young man after one." Gordon raised his hand 
 beseechingly. " That is just what it is, you 
 know. But I think I might get quite interested. 
 
A CONVERSION 165 
 
 Would n t it be fun to enchant Orson, to arouse 
 his young affections, bring him to one s feet, and 
 then " 
 
 "And then" echoed Gordon, with a certain 
 irritated curiosity. 
 
 " And then marry him, of course, and become a 
 multi-millionairess, and a leader of Boston society ? 
 Would n t it be fun now ? " 
 
 " That is a matter of " Gordon began, but 
 changing his tone, " Certainly it would be fun. 
 By all means, do it. You can t imagine how it 
 would relieve my conscience." 
 
 " Of course, if it would relieve your conscience 
 but do you really think I could do it ? " 
 
 " I ve no doubt you could do it," was the enthu 
 siastic answer. 
 
 " Very well, then, I don t care to try. If you 
 said I could n t do it, I might be tempted. I should 
 do it for poor papa s sake though, much sooner 
 than for yours. You can t think what heroic efforts 
 he has made in behalf of friendship. He has tried 
 early and late to catch Mr. Payne. I don t think 
 he has succeeded but once, and then he came home 
 boiling. As for getting Edgar to come and see us, 
 it seems to be out of the question. Flattering, is n t 
 it ? I suppose he thinks I shall eat him up. And 
 the letters papa writes to Mr. Payne at home 
 I have n t seen them, but mamma says the ingenu 
 ity of them is something " 
 
 " Ingenuity," interrupted Gordon, with a groan. 
 
166 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 " What do you suppose my letters are on the 
 same subject ? " 
 
 " Well, let us talk about something else," Pris- 
 cilla said. 
 
 So, for a little while, they talked about no 
 thing. They had just turned into the western 
 portion of the drive and were passing slowly along 
 the great stretch of wall which separates the Pin- 
 cian from the Villa Borghese. Long bars of pale 
 pink cloud crossed the sky above. In front of 
 them hung the leaden dome, immense, eternal, as 
 it almost seemed. 
 
 " That reminds me of your penance," said Pris- 
 cilla thoughtfully. 
 
 " Ah, yes, the penance," groaned Gordon. " I 
 get it from everybody." 
 
 " You must resume your duties as cicerone to 
 morrow morning and take mamma and me to the 
 Sistine Chapel. I have saved it especially, because 
 I believe you are to convert me to Michael Angelo. 
 I don t like him." 
 
 " Poor Michael ! If he resembles most other 
 great artists, his one desire was to please young and 
 pretty women. And they always get the old ones 
 and the college professors instead. That is the 
 seamy side of glory. True glory is the flattery of 
 pretty women. The rest is vanity and advertising." 
 
 " Well, will you go with us? " 
 
 " Will I go ? And do my best to bring Edgar 
 too." 
 
A CONVERSION 167 
 
 Priscilla put the name aside with a petulant 
 gesture. 
 
 So they drove homeward among the returning 
 throng. As they passed, many stopped to gaze at 
 them, and many envied him, and not a few also 
 envied her ; for they were as charming a pair to 
 look at as one would see in a summer s day. And 
 the greatest charm of all was that they looked thor 
 oughly happy. 
 
 The next morning Gordon presented himself, 
 about ten o clock, to f ulfill his engagement. It was 
 a bright, clear day, but as cold as Rome ever is. 
 
 44 1 can t go freezing around in galleries this 
 weather," said Mrs. Stanton. 44 The fire is too com 
 fortable to leave. I m going to drive with your 
 father after luncheon. Go by yourselves. Why 
 should n t you ? " 
 
 Priscilla was perfectly willing, and Gordon did 
 not see that it was his place to offer any objection. 
 So they drove off together in the chilly morning 
 air, Priscilla trying to get warmed up under the 
 thick robes, Gordon now and then saying a word or 
 two, as they passed some curious building or some 
 odd-looking figure. 
 
 44 Ah ! " Priscilla murmured, with a sigh of sat 
 isfaction, when they swept out from the narrow 
 streets into the vast, sunlit Piazza di San Pietro. 
 There was not a cloud in the intense blue sky, not 
 a breath of air shook the foam of the fountain as it 
 soared upward. The immense colonnade spread out 
 
168 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 its clasping arms to receive them, the obelisk tow 
 ering slight and stately in the centre. 
 
 " St. Peter s is the very embodiment of the Cath 
 olic Church," Gordon said. " Ugly, earthy, brood 
 ing over humanity like a colossal nightmare ; but 
 seizing the imagination by its mere immensity." 
 
 Leaving the carriage at the great bronze gate, 
 they passed the Swiss, whose uniform touched Pris- 
 cilla by its picturesque hideousness, and climbed 
 slowly the vast Scala Regia. The light in the Sistine 
 Chapel was as good as possible ; and one could even 
 imagine one found one s way through the murky 
 dilapidation of " The Last Judgment." 
 
 " Now, convert me," began Priscilla, with the air 
 of a person who will not be converted, never. 
 
 " Oh, come ! " Gordon answered. " You don t 
 want to sit right back like that. I m not a Michael- 
 Angelo maniac myself. The good Michael was one 
 of those supreme, but inarticulate geniuses, like 
 Beethoven, who always make you feel that they 
 have a great deal more to say, if they could only 
 say it. That irritates some people, who prefer that 
 an artist should give his message complete, with 
 divine placidity, even if it is a rather little one 
 say Mozart, say Raphael. Well, what have you 
 seen of Michael s hitherto ? Those three very ugly 
 and laborious old ladies, who are so industriously 
 engaged in sweat-shop tailoring, usually labeled 
 4 The Three Fates ? I give them to you. Do what 
 you like with them. And David ? He is a muscular 
 
A CONVERSION 169 
 
 phenomenon certainly. Has he any of the fugitive 
 grace, the faunlike youthfulness, touched with a 
 divine inspiration of power, which belong to the 
 character ? He is a coal-heaver, who would have 
 downed Goliath at close hugs every time." 
 
 " But it seems to me that I shall have to convert 
 you," said Priscilla. 
 
 " Not at all, not at all. I am only expressing 
 your sentiments. Then there are the monuments 
 in the New Sacristy of San Lorenzo Night, for 
 instance. She is striking and impressive, certainly ; 
 but, after all, it is the long, heavy, ungainly figure 
 of a middle-aged woman, prostrated by a weary 
 lethargy of sleep. What poet ever imagined Night 
 like that ? Night is a creature of shadowy, immor 
 tal, and ideal lightness, as she speeds over the 
 eastern heaven, in the quick-crowding throng of 
 summer stars, with the moon on her forehead, and 
 the wand of poppies in her hand. Night is not 
 heavy, dull, and sleep-stricken herself ; she is swift, 
 delicate, full of grace and mystery, showering 
 dreams about her, and unnamed odors, and indis 
 tinguishable murmurs, in a vague unrest. Ah, 
 Botticelli should have painted Night." Gordon 
 delivered this rhapsody in a low, even tone, look 
 ing curiously at his companion all the while. When 
 he had finished, he added, with a more commonplace 
 expression : " Well, do you think I understand your 
 feeling about Michael now ? " 
 
 " Really, you go quite beyond me," Priscilla 
 
170 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 answered : " but why did you bring me here to tell 
 me this?" 
 
 " Now, then," was the quick reply, " don t bother 
 with 4 The Last Judgment, which, as Malvolio 
 would say, c is as dark as ignorance, and ignorance 
 is as dark as Hell ; but just come over here 
 and look at Adam, as long as your neck will stand 
 it. If Adam does n t reveal his creator to you, I 
 can t." 
 
 So he left her for ten minutes to look at Adam, 
 while he himself dallied a little with the Sibyls 
 and Prophets. When she had finished and came 
 towards him, he said : " There, now let us go and 
 wander in St. Peter s for a little. When you have 
 digested Adam, you can come again. But he con 
 verted you, did n t he ? " 
 
 " Yes," she said, " he converted me." 
 
 " Ah, I thought he would," with a contented 
 smile. " Why was n t I engaged to tutor you in 
 stead of the other ? " 
 
 They made their way back down the Scala Regia 
 and out into the piazza. Priscilla wondered some 
 what at having been given such a very brief lesson. 
 Her companion divined the feeling. " You don t see 
 why I let you go so soon, do you ? I have learned 
 by long experience that with pictures, as with other 
 things, it is better to leave the table while one is 
 still hungry. And then, with these conversions, you 
 know, the best way is to drop one little seed and 
 let it work silently. And then, I did n t feel like 
 
A CONVERSION 171 
 
 the Sistine Chapel to-day myself and I did feel like 
 St. Peter s. Are these reasons ? " 
 
 " They are. The latter especially. But I did n t 
 require them. When I take a guide, I give myself 
 up to him." 
 
 " If only others would imitate your trusting dis 
 position," was the fervent reply. 
 
 Inside the great church there was the same quiet, 
 the same vast solitude as always. Gordon led his 
 companion slowly up the south aisle. Here and 
 there they passed the bowed back of a peasant wo 
 man telling her beads, or a priest, blue-cheeked 
 from the shaving of his heavy beard, low-browed 
 and muscular. The great marble slabs echoed 
 under their feet. 
 
 " I m sure I don t know why, but I love this 
 church better than any hi the world," said Gordon. 
 " When I came back to Rome, it was the first place 
 I wanted to see. It is perfectly absurd to feel so, 
 I am well aware. The building is ugly, rococo, 
 anything you please. There is no design in it 
 or too many designs. But it is large, that is it, large, 
 large enough to hold me. Not many churches will 
 do that." 
 
 " No ? " said Priscilla quietly. " I should have 
 thought " 
 
 " Oh, yes, make fun of me, of course. I expected 
 it. But most churches cramp me, cut me off from 
 air and life and sunlight. This seems a world of 
 itself, apart from the other world, yet calm and 
 
172 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 warm and sunny. Excuse me for talking seriously. 
 I don t do it often. I don t often think seriously." 
 
 u Then you are paying me a great compliment." 
 She spoke with that peculiar air of simple compre 
 hension, of open serenity, which Gordon found so 
 comfortable, there is no other word for it. " Do 
 you know, there is something about you very much 
 like the church," he said. 
 
 " Ah ! another compliment. But I don t want to 
 make you feel too serious." 
 
 " No, no, you can t do that. You make me feel 
 just quiet, and very, very comfortable. Things have 
 been annoying me lately and I don t often let them 
 do so." 
 
 They were silent again, and continued wandering 
 idly about, now turning into a side chapel, itself 
 larger than many a home church, now gazing up 
 into the soaring vastness of the dome, now gazing 
 down into the dim sanctity of the crypt. They stood 
 for a long time near the statue of St. Peter, Jupi 
 ter that was, watching the osculations of his time- 
 worn toe. First there came a stout contadina, with 
 stolid, brown face, and silver coins jingling about 
 her head ; then a lady, fashionably dressed in the 
 very deepest mourning, who raised her long veil 
 slowly and dropped it afterwards with a passionate 
 sob ; then a girl, twelve years old, perhaps, who 
 lifted her little baby sister up to kiss the foot and 
 laughed when the child shrank from the cold 
 bronze. 
 
A CONVERSION 173 
 
 " How the smirking misses in our Unitarian Sun 
 day-schools at home would laugh at this," said 
 Gordon. 
 
 " Some of them, perhaps," Priscilla assented. 
 " For my part, I should rather like to perform the 
 ceremony myself ; yet, when I think of some of the 
 others " 
 
 Gordon laughed. " The Catholic Church is the 
 only true democracy ; and the aristocracy of refined 
 taste which we are developing in America is the 
 most snobbish and exclusive of all. It is because 
 so many people have kissed that toe that you want 
 to do it, and yet you don t want to for precisely 
 the same reason." 
 
 It was long after noon, long after luncheon time, 
 when Priscilla got back to the hotel ; and as soon 
 as she was quiet and had a chance to think, she 
 wondered why it was that sight-seeing had assumed 
 a new freshness and charm since she came to Rome. 
 Yes, it was certainly a great thing to have a guide 
 like Mr. Gordon, who had n t learned it all out of 
 books, but just gave you his own feelings and ex 
 periences. " Gordon." It was a very pretty name. 
 Then she fell to wondering where he might take 
 her next. 
 
 As for Gordon himself, the morning had been 
 delightful. But why should she, even in fun, sug 
 gest the possibility of such a thing as marrying 
 Edgar, after all ? If it were possible, it would be a 
 solution of his own difficulties. He certainly would 
 
174 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 do all he could to help it on. And yet and yet 
 it would be such an awful shame ! That he him 
 self was getting to care about Priscilla in any special 
 way, did not occur to him even now, which proves, 
 I think, that he was not of an analytical disposi 
 tion. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 THE SONG OF THE SIREN 
 
 AFTER such a delightful morning, Gordon could 
 not make up his mind to do anything disagreeable 
 in the afternoon. He would certainly speak to 
 Edgar the next day and have it out with him. 
 
 In the evening, as he was sitting in his room 
 with his pipe and a book, there was a knock at the 
 door, and Edgar entered. He looked unusually 
 cheerful, so much so that Gordon feared the Coun 
 tess had already smiled upon him to a dangerous 
 extent. 
 
 " Hullo, Gordy ! " he said. " Have n t seen much 
 of you lately, old man. Thought I d come in and 
 have a puff with you." 
 
 " That s right," replied Gordon, as cordially as 
 possible. " Sit down and make yourself at home." 
 
 The invitation was accepted, and the two smoked 
 away for a few minutes in silence. Gordon was 
 thinking. Was it best to refer to the Countess at 
 all? Finally he spoke. "At the Countess s this 
 afternoon, as usual, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Yes, I was there, but she was out as usual. I 
 say, Gordy, women are queer ducks, are n t they ? " 
 
 " It is generally agreed that they are by men," 
 
176 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 Gordon assented. Then he went on thinking. What 
 did it mean ? Was Edgar getting discouraged ? 
 Did this unusual cheerf ulness imply disgust at the 
 wily ways of women and satisfaction at an escape ? 
 Had Antonia changed her mind and given up her 
 grip? Had she? It was very improbable. He 
 would like much to find out. 
 
 He tried to find out in various ways, and with a 
 certain ingenuity; but Edgar, though continuing 
 most amiable, absolutely refused to discuss the sub 
 ject. He would and did talk of the Stantons, of 
 Mrs. Barton s last reception, of the stock market 
 and his own ventures therein, and of his father ; 
 but as to the Countess Markovski he would utter 
 never a word. Gordon at length gave it up, and 
 listened in silence to an elaborate scheme for mak 
 ing a neat little thing by the Rosabella lead mine, 
 in which Edgar was thinking of embarking all the 
 capital he could muster. The general impression 
 left on the tutor s mind was, however, that the 
 Countess s influence was decidedly on the decline. 
 In view of this, he was willing to doze gently, 
 while lead, lead, lead murmured in his ears, and a 
 fair vision of blue eyes and light hair wreathed 
 itself poetically among the clouds of smoke. 
 
 What would he have said, if he could have 
 perused the little note which, received by Edgar 
 late that afternoon, accounted for his extraordi 
 nary amiability and sociability, and which he read 
 and re-read before he went to sleep, with an ardor 
 
THE SONG OF THE SIREN 177 
 
 almost as enthusiastic as he would have bestowed 
 on the ticker in a panic ? " Dear Friend," it said, 
 " such an unhappy fatality has prevented your find 
 ing me at home lately, that I begin to be afraid 
 you may think I am intentionally avoiding you. 
 Do not believe it. I never run away from my ene 
 mies, certainly not from my friends, and I begin 
 to count you among the latter. May I? If so, 
 come to-morrow afternoon and take a good long 
 drive with me, not in the Park, but way out in the 
 wide Campagna, where we can be alone together 
 and talk. I will look for you by three o clock. 
 Will you come ? " 
 
 Would he come ! Would he buy Sugar Preferred 
 when it was twenty-five points off ? Why, this was 
 just what he had been waiting for. Abstinence had 
 made him deliciously hungry for those confiding 
 eyes and that suave and subtle flattery which he 
 had not met in a woman before. Would he come ! 
 
 He came. He was a few minutes early, but the 
 Countess was expecting him in her drawing-room. 
 She rang for the carriage, and gave Edgar the 
 pleasure of throwing her furred cloak around her. 
 For just two seconds she allowed his arms to re 
 main about her neck. Then she drew away, turned, 
 and looked him in the eyes for two seconds longer. 
 As he followed her down the stairs, she laughed 
 and jested, and seemed altogether in a wonderfully 
 light and merry mood. " Is n t it fun," she said, 
 " our starting off together this way, just like two 
 
178 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 children out of school. I have been so bored lately 
 with business affairs and family affairs that s 
 why you have n t seen anything of me. But now 
 it s all over, and I m free to amuse myself just as 
 I please, and I should like to throw something up 
 in the air ; only there s an old Englishwoman over 
 the way, whom I m always scandalizing. Do I scan 
 dalize you? " she added, turning sharply, as he was 
 helping her into the carriage. Then, seeing him 
 glance towards the sedate footman standing beside 
 them, " Italian, both he and the coachman. They 
 can t understand a word we say." 
 
 When they had settled themselves comfortably 
 among the black cushions and were driving off, she 
 still chattered. " Oh, I know, I am talking to-day. 
 You have n t said a word yet. But you shall. I 
 am like a bottle of champagne just opened ; the 
 foam and froth fly every way at first. Let me settle 
 a moment, and then you may taste me quietly, if 
 you will." 
 
 He looked as if a very little taste would unsettle 
 his senses forever. What was there so bewitching 
 about her ? He did not care to investigate the pro 
 blem, but just leaned back and gazed and listened. 
 
 " Yes," she went on, " you think I am a child. 
 And I am and always shall be, till my gray hairs 
 are brought with sorrow to the grave. When any 
 thing frets me, I cry. When anything tickles me, 
 I laugh. When nothing tickles me, I laugh if I 
 feel like laughing. It seems to me as if life had 
 
THE SONG OF THE SIREN 179 
 
 two masks one hideous, ugly, and full of horror, 
 one full of endless, ceaseless mirth, meaningless 
 mirth, it may be. Who cares? Which is the real 
 face of life ? Is it either ? What is life, anyway ? " 
 
 She turned sharp and short on her companion, 
 who was not prepared with a reply, and had prob 
 ably never considered the question. 
 
 " You don t know," she resumed. " Neither do 
 I. Life to me is instinctive movement, flowing, 
 shifting, changing, the lines of sorrow melting im 
 perceptibly into joy, and those of joy as quickly 
 shifting back. To be still is death. To stop and 
 think is death. To be anything but one s self of 
 the moment is death. And yet one has to pretend 
 and calculate and simulate do you wish me to 
 do all these things for you ? " 
 
 Edgar made no attempt to answer. He was per 
 fectly content to sit and look at the quick, mobile 
 face, which seemed the exact embodiment of the 
 view of life she was expressing, and which the cold 
 air was tinting with a delicate glow. 
 
 " I bore you," she said. " I bore myself too. 
 Sometimes I think I am not quite right here." 
 She tapped her forehead. 
 
 They were both silent for a while. Their route 
 had been at first through the blank and character 
 less new quarter of the city, Via Buoncompagni, 
 Via Polia, by the Porta Pia, into an even more 
 blank and cheerless region beyond. But as they 
 passed through the dull, flat, modern buildings, 
 
180 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 and came into the more open country towards 
 Sant Agnese, the loveliest of landscapes broke 
 upon them. It was a mild afternoon for the sea 
 son, clear, bright, and windless. Near at hand, the 
 fields were broken by the plough, rough, brown, 
 the moisture gleaming in the western light. A 
 little further came a rich purple, lying heavy in 
 the hollows among the barren sweeps of the Cam- 
 pagna. Beyond that, a deep, dark blue marked the 
 lower slopes of the Apennines. And above all rose 
 the snowy peaks, glorious with sunlight, cut sharp 
 against the azure of the sky. 
 
 " Oh, this is beautiful, isn t it?" the Countess 
 cried, sitting up and gazing with the natural frank 
 ness of all her emotions. 
 
 "How? What?" said Edgar, staring about 
 him. "I don t see anything. More tombs and 
 ruins, I suppose." 
 
 " Not a ruin just at present," was the caustic 
 answer ; and with it went a little curl of the upper 
 lip, which Edgar missed in his effort to seize the 
 proper object of admiration. " I was enjoying na 
 ture," the Countess went on ; " that is one of the 
 freaks of childishness that remain in me." 
 
 " Oh, nature. Well, I m not much on nature, 
 never was. I ve seen all I want of it out west." 
 
 " To be sure. It is only the sophisticated who 
 like landscapes and made dishes." 
 
 Then, as they came up to Sant Agnese, she 
 said : " You know we were speaking of Catacombs 
 
THE SONG OF THE SIREN 181 
 
 the other day. There are some here. Let us have 
 a look at them. Perhaps they will please you bet 
 ter than sunlight and white mountains." 
 
 " I don t care much for either. But I 11 do what 
 you do." Indeed, the humorous lady had already 
 stopped the carriage and was descending, with little 
 regard to whether he cared for Catacombs or not. 
 
 She made her way noiselessly into the old 
 church, followed by Edgar s clumsy and shambling 
 figure. Without stopping to look at the frescoes, 
 or even giving a thought to the Basilica, with its 
 mosaics, she went to the entrance of the Catacombs 
 and found the old priest, garrulous, as usual, in 
 broken English, his hands full of serpentine wax 
 tapers. Then they made their way down into the 
 narrow passages, smoky chapels, dim, earthy, cav 
 ernous cells, leaving the glory of the winter after 
 noon far, far behind them. 
 
 " Ah, I like these contrasts," whispered the 
 Countess to Edgar. 
 
 "Do you? I don t." 
 
 She laughed a little silvery laugh, which echoed 
 dully in the earthen passages, like water flowing 
 far away, and made the old priest turn round and 
 give her a queer glance ; but without noticing him, 
 she said to Edgar : " You know the blessed saints 
 used to wander through here and kneel in these 
 little chapels and pray and tremble, when the tor 
 mentors were speeding after them. These are their 
 bones." She crossed herself with a deep solemnity, 
 
182 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 which appeased the old priest, and may have been 
 real and may not. 
 
 " Oh, hang the blessed saints ! " said Edgar, in 
 a rather nervous undertone. " Did you ever hear 
 of a saint like John P. Morgan ? " 
 
 "No," agreed the Countess thoughtfully; "I 
 never did." 
 
 " Well, then," continued the irreverent youth, 
 " let s get out of here and let their bones rot. 
 I ve no use for em." 
 
 But the Countess changed her manner and 
 stopped tormenting him. Taking him by the arm, 
 she slipped along quietly after the guide, who had 
 dropped his tedious narrative, somewhat disturbed 
 by his visitors indifference. " Ah ! " she sighed, 
 " but this is a tranquil region, tranquil, and calm 
 with the oblivion of centuries. Don t you think 
 there would be a pleasure in wandering here with 
 one you loved, just alone with love, that one thing 
 great and firm and solid in an endless realm of 
 fleeting shadows ? And you would whisper those 
 little keen whispers which drop like sparks of fire 
 on the cold, salt ocean of the world. And the harsh 
 echoes of the upper life would be shut away. But 
 then you don t love any one and all this sounds 
 a little impractical, does n t it ? " 
 
 Then she drew her arm away, and it almost 
 seemed to his poor, tangled, unromantic apprehen 
 sion that some spirit of the place had been mur 
 muring in his ear. But the old priest, unable to 
 
THE SONG OF THE SIREN 183 
 
 contain himself any longer, began to mumble vague 
 legends of a misty past, and the Countess, impa 
 tient, cut short the excursion and made her way 
 back to the church. 
 
 " Well," she inquired, as the carriage drove off, 
 " how do you like the Catacombs ? " looking at him 
 with as coolly practical an air as if she had asked 
 him how he liked the soup. 
 
 " I liked what you said to me," he whispered. 
 " Say it again." 
 
 " I am not like history," she answered, with a 
 cold, clear, indifferent laugh. " And how very rude 
 you were to the blessed saints. But now don t you 
 appreciate the winter air and the sunshine and the 
 snow-mountains ? " As Edgar involuntarily drew a 
 long breath, she added, " I thought so. The little 
 visit really paid, did n t it ? " 
 
 They were driving down the hill, where the road 
 falls off beyond Sant Agnese to the Teverino and 
 crosses it by the Ponte Nomentano. Far away to 
 the north, Soracte rose clear and solemn, with its 
 crown of snow. 
 
 But after looking about her for a moment, the 
 Countess dismissed the subject of nature and 
 turned to more personal matters. " Well, is the 
 day named yet ? " she asked. 
 
 Edgar s brows contracted more than usual, as he 
 said crossly : " Don t begin on that. Have n t I told 
 you before that that wax doll is nothing to me ? " 
 
 "Really?" 
 
184 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 "Yes, really, and you know it. What do you 
 suppose I come riding and running after you for, 
 if I care anything about her ? " 
 
 Without making a direct response to this the 
 Countess smiled and said : " Do you know who 
 does care about her ? " 
 
 " No, and I don t want to." But there was a bit 
 of curiosity in the tone. We can give just a half- 
 glance to see who picks up even an old wax doll, 
 when we have thrown it away. Perhaps we should 
 rather prefer that no one picked it up at all. 
 
 " Oh, yes, you do. It is amusing, I think, that 
 your tutor should step in and snap up the tidbit 
 that was meant for you." 
 
 " My tutor ? Gordy ? " Edgar was quite awake 
 now. " Nonsense ! You don t mean it." 
 
 " Have you seen the two together ? " 
 
 "No." " 
 
 "Then you ought. I met them driving all 
 alone. Oh, this American innocence ! in the 
 Pincian the other afternoon. If you could have 
 seen her look at him." 
 
 " Say, that s a little too much, you know. Of 
 all the impudent rascals " 
 
 " You don t approve, then?" the Countess asked, 
 with delicious soberness of interrogation, as if the 
 subtlety of the American mind was beyond her. 
 
 " Approve, no ! Why, that Gordon, he s no 
 thing but a beggar living on my father s charity. 
 He never had a dollar in his life." 
 
THE SONG OF THE SIREN 185 
 
 "But for a wax doll?" 
 
 "Oh, well, yes, what do I care ? But I do just the 
 same. I 11 put a spoke in his wheel. What 11 the 
 old man say ? Both the old men ? To try to come 
 sneaking into my shoes, just because I won t wear 
 em myself ! Huh ! " 
 
 " Mr. Gordon seems to be a very seductive 
 person," suggested the Countess, with an air of 
 deep musing. 
 
 " Seductive ! You may say so. What makes the 
 women run after him the way they do ? I m shot 
 if I can see. He never did anything in his life. 
 But he wags his tongue, and says smart things, 
 and pours on oil by the dipperful and then he 11 
 talk you down behind your back." 
 
 " Does he talk me down ? " Antonia inquired 
 indifferently, with the air of being merely inter 
 ested in a bright-eyed peasant girl, who was hold 
 ing up some figs to sell. 
 
 Edgar reflected a moment. " Don t know as he 
 does. He does n t mention you except when I do." 
 Then he reflected a little longer. " That s queer 
 too, come to think of it." 
 
 " Because everybody else does run me down, 
 don t they ? Come now, child, speak the truth. 
 What do you hear people say about me ? " 
 
 "Oh, not much anyway," Edgar began, embar 
 rassed to an extent altogether unusual with him. 
 " I know lies when I hear them well enough." 
 
 " Then you do hear lies about me, do you ? 
 
186 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 Such as what ? " Her manner was a bit dry, a bit 
 cold. 
 
 " Well, they say you are the most fascinating 
 woman in Rome." 
 
 " And that is a lie ? Oh, my friend, how com 
 forting you are." She laughed ; but the laugh was 
 hard too. 
 
 " I say, don t be so sharp, you know." Then, 
 irritation restoring his natural bluntness, " Why 
 should I tell you what they say, when you know as 
 well as I do ? They say there never was any Count 
 Markovski, they say you have had a good many 
 lovers, they say you never loved any one yourself. 
 What do we care what they say ? " He made a 
 desperate effort to take her hand under the thick 
 robe. But she drew away from him. 
 
 " Listen to me," she replied, in the same cold, 
 balanced voice. " Of course this is all lies, with a 
 certain admixture of truth, such as there is in all 
 lies that are worth telling. With regard to any 
 attractive woman there are only three classes of 
 men : those who have been in love with her, those 
 who are in love with her, and those who would be 
 in love with her if they dared. The first abuse 
 her from gratitude, the second from jealousy, the 
 third from a general feeling that the grapes are 
 sour. As to women, there is only one class, and 
 they abuse her from the word go. It makes no 
 difference what she does. Is she reserved ? She is 
 haughty. Is she frank? She is bold. Is she 
 
THE SONG OF THE SIREN 187 
 
 modest ? She is cunning. Is she gay ? She is 
 wanton. Does she come to grief? It is her own 
 fault. She brought it on herself." 
 
 There was a moment s silence. The slant light 
 of the descending sun spread a purple splendor on 
 the eastern hills. Nothing was to be heard but the 
 even tramp of the horse s feet. Edgar made an 
 other effort to possess himself of the hand and 
 succeeded. Perhaps its owner was scarcely aware 
 of the fact; for she seemed to be absorbed in 
 thought. 
 
 When she spoke again, her voice was gentler, 
 and her speech ran on in a smooth, quiet, almost 
 monotonous current : " My friend, I should like 
 you to know the real truth about myself and about 
 my life. That was why I brought you out here to 
 day into the desert, where we can be alone. Do 
 you care to listen ? " 
 
 A warmer pressure of her hand was all the re 
 sponse that was required. 
 
 " Very well," she went on. " The story is simple 
 enough, and common enough, and dreary enough, as 
 most life stories are. I am a vagrant and a wan 
 derer, without family or friends, or any one who 
 cares whether I am alive or dead. I have a home, 
 to be sure, a sort of one, a strange old castle far 
 away in Poland, which my husband left me ; but 
 it is more dreary even than Rome, even than I. I 
 will never go there again, if I can help it. You 
 look a little relieved to hear that I had a hus- 
 
188 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 band. Oh, yes, I know people do not believe it. 
 They have disputed about his existence as they do 
 about the existence of the Deity and to as little 
 purpose. He was rather a nonentity in my life, 
 but he did exist, quoique si pen. I bore you, 
 don t I?" 
 
 "Not much! I d rather hear you and see 
 you than a variety show." The hand was pressed 
 again and responded a little. 
 
 "You are so good to me," she said, a phrase 
 which has probably tickled as many masculine van 
 ities as any other since the world began. " Well 
 to resume. My father was a Polish gentleman 
 poor, like all his nation. My mother was an Eng 
 lishwoman; but she died when I was five years 
 old, and I hardly remember her. After her death, 
 I lived in the country with an old aunt, who did 
 little but scold the servants and pray to the saints. 
 How weary I got of both ! My life during those 
 years was blank yes, blanker than it is now. 
 Then, when I was seventeen, my father sold me 
 that is the real word to my late husband. But 
 I was contented enough. I would have married the 
 devil to escape from where I was. To be sure, I 
 was not much better off. But at least, in my new 
 home, I could scold the servants myself. And my 
 husband was good to me, petted and made much 
 of me, had me taught so many things which I am 
 glad to know. Then he died." 
 
 She was silent again. They had turned about 
 
THE SONG OF THE SIREN 189 
 
 now and were facing towards the city. The sun 
 was just reaching the horizon. The air was clear 
 and quiet. The carriage moved steadily. 
 
 " Well ? " said Edgar, at length, " you Ve just 
 begun, you know." 
 
 " Yes," she answered, " I have just begun, yet 
 what more is there worth telling. I was young, I 
 was not unpleasant to look at, I knew no more of 
 life than a child, and oh, I was hungry and thirsty 
 for it. I wanted to live, to use the new strength of 
 my soul now that I was free, to live, to enjoy, to 
 drain the rose-red cup of the beauty of the world. 
 I have drained it and it is bitter, bitter, bitter. 
 I trusted women and half of them laughed at 
 me, the other half caressed me and betrayed me. 
 I want no more of women. I trusted men. Who 
 would think it ? Yet they deserved it better than 
 the women. But I trust no one any more no 
 one. Not you, any more than the others " this 
 in response to a reproachful pressure of the hand 
 " not you, any more than the others." But she 
 smiled gently and sadly as she said it, with the 
 smile that flatters a man into thinking he may yet 
 be the great exception. 
 
 Then, after another moment s silence, she added, 
 " So, when they tell you stories of me, you may 
 believe what you like. I have not been a saint, I 
 do not pretend it. I have had no one to help me, 
 no one to advise me, or restrain me. But in all 
 my wanderings I have sought just one thing 
 
190 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 love, love, love, such as we read about in books. I 
 have found out that it exists in books only." 
 
 "Antonia," her companion began, with such 
 passion as he was capable of, " Antonia, I " 
 
 But she raised her finger and hushed him gently. 
 " No, no, child," she said, " don t be foolish. You 
 don t love me. I forbid you to. If you will let me 
 be an older sister to you and will come to me and 
 tell me your secrets, perhaps I can help you and 
 comfort you sometimes. I have talked to you thus 
 much about myself, because I thought your friends 
 Heaven save them would do what they could 
 to keep you away from me. And I want you I 
 want you. Why can t they leave me any one to 
 love in peace ? " 
 
 " Confound it ! " Edgar burst out. " Who will 
 keep me from you ? Let em try. There s no 
 woman like you in the world. I hate women just 
 as much as you do. They re all dolls and pup 
 pets, silly chatter, and clothes, and throwing away 
 money on nonsense. But you re different. An 
 tonia Antonia " 
 
 He continued to pour forth incoherent protesta 
 tions, in the ecstasy of his new-found passion. But 
 he said no word about marriage. Seeing this, she 
 gradually quieted him, until, by the time they had 
 reached her door, he had wandered off somehow 
 into an elaborate description of the doings of the 
 Boston Exchange. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 A TUTORED SAVAGE 
 
 THE Countess Antonia Markovski was certainly 
 as wise as the serpent, though any similarity to the 
 dove might have been difficult to trace in her. She 
 could hardly have devised a narrative more adapted 
 to persuade and fascinate Edgar Payne than the 
 vague and brief one with which she had favored 
 him. If she had asserted herself to be an injured 
 innocent, he would have despised her and gone on 
 his way. She had asserted nothing of the kind. 
 She had denied no one of the numerous stories 
 which she knew he might have heard about her. 
 Only, she had represented everything as being her 
 misfortune not her fault. It was men, those dread 
 ful men, who had done all the mischief. Deceived, 
 imposed upon, betrayed, deserted, she sought refuge 
 at last in his truth, and manliness, and devotion. 
 In other words, she kept all the charm of her mis 
 deeds for herself, and threw the guilt of them upon 
 other people. In so doing, she appealed to that 
 most subtle and colossal element of masculine van 
 ity, which sometimes goes by the name of chivalry. 
 Needless to say she was completely successful. 
 Edgar returned to his lodgings in a state of amor- 
 
192 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 ous intoxication ; and as he was eating his solitary 
 dinner in a cheap cafe, he seasoned the dubious 
 viands with infinite brooding on each detail of An- 
 tonia s speech, with the vague charm of some fleet 
 ing gesture, the turn of her head, the lifting of her 
 finger. He had never seen such a woman. He had 
 never troubled himself much with women anyway. 
 They were creatures created to spend money, and 
 so, obviously dangerous to those whose object was 
 to make it. But this one was different. She might 
 spend money. Oh, yes, she probably would. But 
 Edgar had no real dislike to spending money, if 
 only he could see the equivalent. Besides, he was 
 quickly developing a superstition so fertile is 
 Eros in disguises that his future, his success 
 was bound up in Antonia. Stock-gamblers, like 
 other gamblers, incline inordinately to such ideas. 
 She would be his mascotte, his lucky-piece, his 
 rabbit-paw. He pictured to himself long evenings 
 when he and she together would study the mystical 
 financial column, and she, with a blind, unerring 
 instinct, would bid him buy this and sell that, and 
 hold on hard, when others were scared and letting 
 go. She would be such a star in the social world 
 also. He did not care much for success in that line ; 
 but failure annoyed him, as it does every one. 
 Those swells, who had sniffed at him when he was 
 at school, Gordon and his kind they would n t 
 sniff when he had a woman with such style as that 
 to keep his house. 
 
A TUTORED SAVAGE 193 
 
 It was marriage, then, that he was thinking of, 
 was it? H m! H m ! Marriage? And his father? 
 His father would certainly have given millions 
 to have seen him married to Priscilla Stanton. 
 But would he disgorge so readily when it was a 
 question of a Polish Countess, who had been un 
 fortunate and owned a ruin somewhere at the end 
 of the world? It was very doubtful. And love in 
 a cottage, or in the aforesaid Polish ruin, or in a 
 South End flat, with four rooms and a general 
 housework girl To be sure, the Countess ap 
 peared to be living well at present ; but even Edgar 
 knew enough to mistrust such appearances as 
 that. It was very possible that the late Markovski 
 had left his money to his own relatives, in case of 
 a second marriage. And there were other possi 
 bilities. 
 
 No, it was best not to be too hasty. He would 
 make love to the lady as assiduously as in him lay, 
 but he would not mention marriage yet. 
 
 Thus thinking, the immense desire to be com 
 municative, so peculiar to lovers and murderers, 
 impelled him to drop into Gordon s room and have 
 a chat. He found the latter, as the evening before, 
 sitting comfortably with his pipe and his novel ; 
 and remembering the evening before, the tutor was 
 disposed to receive Edgar rather cordially, having 
 dismissed matrimonial anxieties, to some extent, 
 from his mind. 
 
 " Well, how s lead ? " he began, as Edgar, also 
 
194 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 provided with a pipe, sprawled his ungainly length 
 on the forlorn sofa, which concentrated all the dis 
 comfort of the uncomfortable room. 
 
 " Lead be hanged ! " was the cheerful answer. 
 Then, after wriggling in vain annoyance for a few 
 moments, the young man added, " Oh, I say, this 
 sofa s too bad," and established himself, pipe and 
 all, on the bed. " Lead ! " he continued. " I had 
 a cable to-day. Rosabella s busted. Somebody s 
 got left. Glad it ain t me." 
 
 Gordon puffed along at his leisure. In a few min 
 utes he tried again. " Had a pleasant afternoon ? " 
 he ventured. 
 
 This was the chance Edgar had been waiting 
 for. Most of us need very little excuse for talking 
 about ourselves ; but almost all of us want some. 
 " Great ! " he replied. " The Countess Markovski 
 took me to drive in the Campagna." 
 
 The deuce she did ! Boo ! " 
 
 " Yes, she did. Why should n t she ? Don t you 
 wish she d take you ? " 
 
 Gordon answered nothing, but looked at the 
 ceiling. He was thinking. His pipe went out. 
 
 Edgar continued, with insolent defiance in every 
 tone of his voice: "You want to have em all 
 to yourself, don t you? And you think you can. 
 By Jove, you may, most of em. I don t want any 
 of the pie. But when there comes along a woman 
 like that, with life in her and fire in her Oh, 
 Gordy, would n t she take the Avenue, though ? 
 
A TUTORED SAVAGE 195 
 
 How would you like to sit in a box at the Hollis 
 Street with her ? I believe she d make money too. 
 They ve got an awful eye to business, that kind 
 of women." 
 
 " You think she s in love with you?" Gordon 
 asked, with the mildest air of interrogation. 
 
 " Confound you ! You think no woman would 
 ever be in love with me, don t you? " Then, exas 
 perated by Gordon s apologetic gesture, he went 
 on. " You think I m ugly. So I am. And awk 
 ward. So I am. And clumsy no manners no 
 style, breeding, as you call it. So I am. But I tell 
 you, it is n t the fine airs that do the trick. What 
 a woman that is a woman likes nowadays is a 
 man that gets there. And I am a man that gets 
 there." In spite of the absurd egotism of the 
 words, something in his tone suggested that, after 
 all, perhaps he was. 
 
 Gordon still sat calm, looking almost as if he 
 were thinking of something else. At length he 
 began very quietly : " Edgar, it is just as well for 
 us to talk this matter over a little. I have n t said 
 anything hitherto because I didn t suppose it 
 would do any good. I don t suppose it will now." 
 
 " Not a bit." 
 
 " No, probably not. But I shall say it all the 
 same. Your father put you in my charge, and I 
 am responsible for your conduct, so far as my in 
 fluence will go." 
 
 " It is n t far," Edgar murmured. 
 
196 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 But Gordon went on, without paying any atten 
 tion. " Your father is a man of the world. He 
 would be the last person to object to your meeting 
 all sorts of people in all sorts of places. A man 
 has got to do that kind of thing. But when it 
 comes to an intimate association with with such 
 a woman as the Countess Antonia Markovski " 
 
 "What about the Countess Antonia Markov- 
 ski?" shouted Edgar, sitting upright, and letting 
 his pipe also go out, in his enthusiasm. " What 
 about her ? Tell me that. Oh, you fellers that 
 run down everything you can t afford to buy your 
 selves ! I ve seen so many of em on the street. 
 Come up and buttonhole you in a corner Say, 
 Payne, you are n t going into that Dun stable and 
 Baxter Electric, are you ? It s the meanest thing 
 you ever struck in your life. There ain t a dollar 
 behind it, not a dollar. The General Electric is 
 down on em. The legislature s down on em. The 
 Railroad Commissioners are down on em. You 11 
 lose every cent you put in it. By Jove ! When 
 some fellers talk to me like that, I hustle and 
 scrape up everything I can and dump it all into 
 the Dunstable and Baxter Electric, the first chance 
 I get." 
 
 " Your wisdom is beyond your years," was Gor 
 don s peaceful comment. He had lighted his pipe 
 again. " I hope you 11 grow to it. And I m sure 
 the analogy between the fair Antonia and an elec 
 tric road is brilliant and striking. But just let me 
 
A TUTORED SAVAGE 197 
 
 say my say. You re not obliged to follow my ad 
 vice, you know." 
 
 " I know it well enough. Talk away. I can 
 think about something else." Edgar, too, relit his 
 pipe, and tried to appear as if he were thinking of 
 something else ; but his sudden and irascible jerks 
 from one position to another made it evident where 
 his attention was. 
 
 Gordon spoke slowly, weighing his words ; and 
 though he was calm enough in appearance, any 
 one who observed him closely might have seen that 
 he was not comfortable. "I have been in Rome 
 before and I have seen the Countess Markovski 
 before in other places. She is an adventuress of 
 the very worst order, because she is at least half 
 sincere in what she does. I could tell you the 
 names of the men whose lives she has wrecked 
 some by drinking, some by gambling, some by 
 their own pistol bullets and some by others . She 
 does not care. She is absolutely reckless. She is 
 simply ignorant of what the word conscience means. 
 She will put you on and wear you and take you off 
 and crumple you up and throw you away and for 
 get you, like an old glove. She " 
 
 He had been speaking faster and with increas 
 ing passion up to this point. Then he pulled him 
 self in suddenly and hesitated. Before he could 
 resume, Edgar interrupted him, but with a calm 
 ness which rather astonished Gordon. " That 11 
 do, Gordy, you know. You ve done it mighty 
 
198 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 well, almost as if you d been jilted yourself, hey ? 
 If I did n t know there was nothing but milk and 
 water to you, I might be jealous, old boy. But I 
 see right through it all. Such an awful put-up 
 job. So easy to find a pack of lies like that, when 
 a man has any use for em. And what should 
 you say if she d told me all about herself already, 
 a good deal more than you ve done ? Hey ? I m 
 no chicken, you know, neither is she." 
 
 " She s told you all about herself, has she ? 
 Did she tell you " then Gordon drew in again 
 and changed his tone " Well, in that case, you 
 can hardly need any warning from me. I don t 
 deny that she s a better authority than I am and 
 could tell you things Never mind. Now this is 
 all over, suppose you leave me to my pipe and 
 my novel. It s extremely entertaining. There s 
 a clever woman in it who makes a fool of two 
 men." 
 
 Edgar got off the bed and stood up ; but he 
 was n t going quite yet Oh, no ! " That s all 
 right," he said, standing beside Gordon, with his 
 hands in his pockets and something between a grin 
 and a frown on his amiable features, " that s 
 all right. But there s another story to the thing. 
 How about that Stanton girl, hey ? " 
 
 Gordon looked up, with more annoyance than he 
 had yet shown ; but he controlled it. "I don t see 
 that Miss Stanton has anything to do with this 
 affair at all." 
 
A TUTORED SAVAGE 199 
 
 " Oh, but she has, though." Edgar turned 
 towards the door. " I know your little game." 
 
 " Little game ? " Gordon repeated, really puzzled 
 this time. 
 
 " Why, of course. Want her yourself, hey ? The 
 Miss with millions ? But you won t get her, Gordy. 
 Oh, no ! I 11 put a spoke in your wheel for that. 
 What a trick to play on the poor old man at home ! 
 When he sent you out here on purpose to get the 
 rocks for me and have em in the family, just to 
 grab the chance to make big money for yourself. 
 Oh, the clever boy ! He s above such things as 
 money. He won t go on the stock market ! Oh, no ! 
 That is n t big enough for him ; but when about 
 five millions comes along, done up in hide, he 11 put 
 it in his pocket. Yes, indeed. It s pretty, but 
 what 11 old Stanton say when I tell him ? Oh, 
 my! I" 
 
 " Get out ! " cried Gordon, who had just found 
 his tongue. " Get out ! Or " 
 
 Edgar got out, his pleasant face more wrinkled 
 than usual at his pleasant jesting. 
 
 Gordon, when he was alone, forgot his anger at 
 once ; but he dropped his novel and puffed away 
 rather vigorously at his pipe, looking up at the ceil 
 ing, with one leg thrown over the arm of his chair. 
 Of all the confounded messes into which a destiny, 
 hitherto rather considerate than otherwise, had led 
 him, this was certainly the worst. Why had he 
 ever become acquainted with Mr. Payne senior, or 
 
200 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 ever painted the portrait of his frigid, rigid sister ? 
 What was he doing in this galley, or rather why had 
 he made himself a galley-slave for nothing? He 
 marry Priscilla Stanton ? He ? 
 
 Then, as he took several prolonged whiffs and 
 blew the smoke into the already lurid atmosphere, it 
 occurred to him that that was just what he should 
 like to do. It was not her money. Of course her 
 money would be pleasant. He was old enough not 
 to be a fool. He had no contempt for money and 
 no objection to marrying it, though he did not think 
 he would marry for it. Certainly, he would not 
 have married the Countess Markovski for double 
 Priscilla s millions. But in this case, it was no 
 question of money. It was the girl herself. She 
 was so restful. That was the word for her, over and 
 over again restful. He was not aware that he 
 needed rest particularly had not been aware of 
 it, until he met her. But suddenly he seemed to 
 need it immensely. And in the haze of smoke he 
 saw the blue day at Hadrian s Villa and himself 
 sitting at her feet with her voice sounding softly in 
 his ears. 
 
 At length, he shook himself into reality. He had 
 eight generations of Puritan conscience at his 
 back ; and on the first view, this did not seem a 
 sort of thing that could be done. There are a num 
 ber of his countrymen like him : with an immense 
 modern imagination to suggest all possible sins, and 
 a quaint, medieval reluctance to commit any of 
 
A TUTORED SAVAGE 201 
 
 them. He was under trust in this matter, as Edgar 
 said. Father Payne had sent him out there to 
 secure this girl and her millions for the family; 
 and how should it be possible for him calmly to 
 walk off with her himself ? He might not be able 
 to bring about the match that was proposed ; but 
 at least, after all suitable endeavor in that direction, 
 he could fold up his tents and retire with dignity. 
 
 Then he rose, refilled his pipe, and paced the 
 room slowly, backwards and forwards. After all, 
 the whole thing was only one of Edgar s insane 
 imaginations. So far as he was concerned, the idea 
 was pleasant, uncommonly pleasant. It was aston 
 ishing how pleasant it appeared, now that it was 
 impossible. But Priscilla herself had never thought 
 of him, that was certain ; and she never would. 
 There are men who expect all women to fall in love 
 with them. There are others who are always aston 
 ished at such a result, even when it occurs rather 
 frequently. And women often fall in love with this 
 latter sort ; as, indeed, they do with the others 
 also. But Gordon, as I hope the reader is aware, 
 had no very great opinion of himself, thought very 
 little of himself in any connection ; and it did not 
 strike him as possible that a young lady from Chi 
 cago, with so many millions, should condescend to 
 look his way, unless on the trifling occasion of 
 a picnic or something of that nature. Neverthe 
 less, considering his own feelings, as now rendered 
 manifest by Edgar s blundering allusion, it would 
 
202 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 certainly be wiser to keep away from the Stantons, 
 it would be wiser to keep away it would be wiser 
 that is, of course, so far as courtesy would per 
 mit. All of a sudden, it seemed to him that cour 
 tesy would demand that he should see them a great 
 deal more than he had done hitherto. Well, in that 
 case, perhaps it would be better that he should be 
 a little discourteous. 
 
 Then his mind reverted to the rest of his talk 
 with Edgar. Had he accomplished anything? It 
 had all been extremely unpleasant for himself at any 
 rate, and he would be shot if he would attempt any 
 further and more personal revelations. After all, 
 perhaps it would not be necessary. He had noticed 
 that Edgar had said no word about marriage, while, 
 of course, he himself had carefully avoided refer 
 ring to anything of the kind. It might be that the 
 hints he had dropped would bear fruit in time, 
 especially if he said nothing more. 
 
 Then he smiled, as always, at the thought of pre 
 suming to do battle with such a subtle foe as the 
 Countess. And the smile broadened, as he thought 
 of her describing her past to Edgar. How he would 
 have liked to hear that story ! 
 
 As he put out his light and turned over to sleep, 
 he smiled again, this time at the oddness of the com 
 plication in his feeling for Priscilla. The smile was 
 a more amiable one than the other ; but there was 
 a bit of pain with it, for various reasons. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 A BIT OF SHADOW 
 
 FOR some little time Gordon did nothing further 
 in regard to Edgar ; but on the whole he felt en 
 couraged. The two saw almost nothing of each 
 other, and it was possible that Edgar was seeing 
 a good deal of the Countess. He never mentioned 
 her, however, on the occasions when he did meet 
 his tutor ; and the latter, believing any delay to be 
 a gain, and thinking it probable that he should 
 hear something of a marriage before such a thing 
 was definitely arranged, began to cherish a faint 
 hope that his words had made some slight impres 
 sion, after all. 
 
 So far as the Stantons were concerned, he tried 
 to stick to his resolutions, and was amazed to find 
 how hard it was to do so. It was altogether too 
 dismal passing the evenings alone at home. The 
 thought of Priscilla in her pleasant parlor would 
 keep coming. Then he tried going out, Mrs. Bar 
 ton s, and his various Roman acquaintance, tried 
 loafing in Morris s and other studios. He amused 
 himself and amused others ; it was born in him, 
 and he could not help it. Still, it was surprising 
 how the image of Priscilla haunted him through 
 all his gayety. 
 
204 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 The Stantons did not help him very much either. 
 He met Mr. Stanton at the bank, and was invited 
 to dinner. He met the ladies at Mrs. Barton s, and 
 was invited to dinner. It became clear that cour 
 tesy required that he should go to dinner. So he 
 went. It was very, very pleasant. Yet there was no 
 one there but the family, and uncle Edwin, and Mr. 
 Parsons, who quoted Shelley without ceasing, and 
 took occasion to mention that wealth was vulgar and 
 war outgrown. After dinner, however, Gordon 
 and Priscilla got a little apart, and chatted vaguely 
 and quietly of everything and nothing. Then, when 
 Mr. Parsons had gone to quote Shelley elsewhere, 
 Priscilla seated Gordon at the piano and made him 
 sing the latest songs from home, which he did with 
 his usual drollery, to the huge amusement of Mr. 
 Stanton. That gentleman was neither so old nor so 
 rich as not to be touched by reminiscences of a dance- 
 hall and a variety show ; while the curious delicacy 
 of the performance made it charming to Mrs. Stan- 
 ton and Priscilla, whose feminine recollections were 
 naturally of a less precise and vivid character. 
 
 Yes, it was all very, very pleasant ; and it ended 
 in a promise to drive with Priscilla on the first fine 
 day to the Protestant Cemetery and visit the graves 
 of Keats and Shelley. As Gordon walked home 
 he sighed to think of the extreme inefficacy of 
 human will when pitted against human weakness. 
 
 The next day was rainy, chilly, and hateful, and 
 the day after. The day following that, the sky 
 
A BIT OF SHADOW 205 
 
 cleared, the wind got into the south, and the air 
 had the touch of spring that comes at Rome even 
 in the middle of December. Gordon presented him 
 self at the Stantons at half-past two, as agreed 
 upon ; and while he was waiting for Priscilla to get 
 ready, he chatted with Mrs. Stanton. Why did 
 she not come with them, he urged. Well, she was 
 expecting friends that afternoon, and couldn t. 
 The truth was she thought Priscilla would rather 
 go alone, and she was a model American mother. 
 Not that she would have let her daughter go about 
 with an undesirable young man. Not for a moment. 
 But Mrs. Stanton liked Gordon. For the last year 
 the possibility of Edgar Payne had hung over her 
 like a nightmare ; and now she felt that Gordon had, 
 somehow or other, saved her from that possibility, 
 and she was kindly disposed to him in consequence. 
 Of course, she was mistaken ; but then almost all 
 our good fortune comes as a reward for something 
 we have n t done, does n t it ? Then, she knew that 
 Mr. Stanton also had taken to Gordon greatly. So 
 Priscilla was allowed to go alone and enjoy herself. 
 In a few minutes she appeared, in a long brown 
 coat, with her hands in her pockets, after the 
 approved modern fashion, a huge brown hat with 
 brown feathers overshadowing her eyes and fore 
 head. " Come ! " she said. " Come ! I have been 
 shut up in the house reading novels for two days, 
 till my eyes ache. Oh, how I want to get out of 
 doors ! " And out of doors they went. 
 
206 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 They drove through the Via dell Tritone, Piazza 
 Colonna, and the Corso, all alive with vehicles, and 
 noisy as only Italy is noisy. Priscilla was infinitely 
 gay, and Gordon also ; and they called each other s 
 attention to this, that, and the other oddity, making 
 unkind observations in a kindly spirit, and so har 
 monizing mirth and charity, to do which is the 
 highest philosophy of life. Then they threaded the 
 crooked streets at the foot of the Capitol and made 
 their way over toward the Tiber, and past the Tem 
 ple of Vesta, seeming always a monument of soli 
 tude, in the heart of the crowded city. Under the 
 west slope of the Aventine and along the barren 
 Via della Marmorata they drove more rapidly. 
 
 " Let us climb Monte Testaccio first," said Gor 
 don. He saw that the excursion would be over 
 much too quickly, and that it depended on him to 
 devise sleights for lingering and lingering it out. 
 
 "Very well," Priscilla agreed. "Let us climb 
 anything." 
 
 They drove to the foot of the singular agglom 
 eration of broken pottery which seems to have 
 served the orderly, or disorderly, ancients as a gen 
 eral rubbish heap. It is a sharp, steep walk to the 
 top, though only a few steps, and Priscilla s cheeks 
 glowed under her brown hat. 
 
 "Why did they put it here?" she asked, 
 looking about her with a pretty little gasp for 
 breath. 
 
 " Human egotism prompts the suggestion that it 
 
A BIT OF SHADOW 207 
 
 was made for me to climb with you. But there 
 may have been other reasons." 
 
 The near view from Testaccio is not charming, 
 consisting of stone-yards at the foot of the slope, 
 and broad, straight, barren streets a little further 
 off. Nevertheless, one sees, a little further still, 
 the slopes of the Aventine, with domes and spires 
 peeping over them, off to the east the strange, 
 symbolic pyramid of Cestius, with its line of 
 gloomy cypresses, and, furthest of all, the Alban 
 Mountains, with their crown of snow. 
 
 The tranquil blessedness of the afternoon sun 
 light made it all very lovely to Priscilla, after her 
 two days of rain and novels. She turned slowly 
 about, so as to sweep the whole horizon, and then 
 said in a thoughtful tone : " Thank you very much 
 for bringing me here." 
 
 " Thank you," said Gordon, in reply. That was 
 all. 
 
 Then they ran down the slope again, like two 
 children out for a holiday. In a few minutes, the 
 carriage brought them to the main object of their 
 excursion, the Protestant Cemetery. Like every 
 thing else in Italy, this cemetery was evidently 
 designed with a view to summer and scorching 
 heat. In the intensity of an August midday, when 
 the birds are asleep and the cicada is cutting the 
 blue air with his keen cry, the shadow of the vast 
 cypresses is touched with dreamy repose. There 
 could be no fitter resting place for poets, whose 
 
208 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 souls were full of love and sunshine. But in the 
 dead of winter there is something chill and bitter 
 there. The weak sun of December barely pierces 
 the cypresses at all. Even on bright days, the 
 damp does not dry from the gravestones and the 
 paths are green and slippery with moisture. It 
 seems as if the passionate heart of Shelley must be 
 numb with frost, where it rests forever under the 
 cold shade. 
 
 " Oh," said Priscilla, " let us come away from 
 here. I don t like it." 
 
 Gordon, in default of Mr. Parsons, tried in 
 vain to make her listen to the last stanzas of 
 " Adonais." "No," she said, "no, no! Poets must 
 live in sunlight and die in sunlight. This is no 
 place for them here." 
 
 The grave of Keats touched her more nearly. 
 Lying, as it does, without the formal precincts of 
 the cemetery, it escapes, to some extent, the gloom 
 which overshadows the rest. Even then, in mid- 
 December, a rose was blooming in the little in- 
 closure, and the slant sunlight fell softly on the 
 stone with its pathetic inscription : " Here lieth 
 one whose name was writ in water." 
 
 Priscilla read the words gently, almost to her 
 self. 
 
 " Yet he was a great poet," Gordon said, " one 
 of England s very greatest. Within a convenient 
 time after his death, the world found it out, and 
 much good it did him. He died of the thirst for 
 
A BIT OF SHADOW 209 
 
 glory, and glory came upon him, and he never 
 knew it." 
 
 " Perhaps he knows it now," Priscilla suggested, 
 gently still. 
 
 " Perhaps." 
 
 "Do you think so?" 
 
 " I don t know, I m sure. 
 
 What Adonais is why fear we to become ? 
 
 It is the best thing that has ever been uttered about 
 immortality, because it is so perfectly illogical." 
 
 When they were settled in the carriage again, 
 Gordon said : " Surely we are not going home yet. 
 The afternoon isn t half over." 
 
 " Surely not, if you don t wish it. You are my 
 guide to Rome, as I told you long ago." 
 
 " Well, then, let us drive up to San Pietro in 
 Montorio and see the view and the sunset. It is 
 all in Baedeker, to be sure ; but there are some 
 things that even Baedeker doesn t spoil." 
 
 They drove back again along the Via della Mar- 
 morata and the bank of the river, crossed the 
 bridge of Santa Maria del Sole, and made their 
 way through the narrow streets of Trastevere to 
 the foot of the Janiculum. 
 
 As they went, they chatted idly. 
 
 " It seems odd somehow that we should meet 
 over here and get so well acquainted, after never 
 having heard of each other at home," Priscilla re 
 marked. 
 
f 
 
 210 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 "Yes, it does seem odd. But then everything 
 seems odd to me. I walk through life like a man 
 through a shop full of jacks-in-the-box. At every 
 step something curious flies up and hits me in the 
 face. Yet there are people who find life monoto 
 nous. I think I must have an imbecile but happy 
 tendency to surprisability." 
 
 " Don t you get tired of yourself sometimes ? " 
 
 " Never. I find myself inexhaustibly interesting. 
 Sometimes I get tired of other people. You see I 
 can calculate a little on what I am going to do 
 myself, and then it is always amusing to find my 
 self not doing it. With other people I can t even 
 calculate." 
 
 "Do you make resolutions and then break 
 them?" 
 
 " I did when I was younger. I have learned 
 better now." 
 
 " Not to break them ? " 
 
 "Not to make them. But see here," Gordon 
 went on, laughing, "why are we talking about 
 me? Talking about one s self to a charming 
 woman is the most seductive of occupations ; but 
 after a certain age one learns to refrain from it." 
 
 " Is n t that a resolution ? " 
 
 " A broken one, if you like." Then he turned and 
 looked at his companion. " Now about you," he said. 
 
 " Oh," answered Priscilla, looking at him 
 steadily, but without a touch of coquetry, "a 
 woman does n t talk. She listens." 
 
1 
 
 A BIT OF SHADOW 211 
 
 " That is n t the common opinion." Then he 
 added, after a moment s reflection : " but it s the 
 true one. The man does nine tenths of the talking. 
 Then he finds fault with the woman because she 
 won t let him do the other tenth. But I ve done 
 my nine tenths now. Talk." 
 
 " That sounds just as if you were holding the 
 great brass ear of a graphophone or a reporter up 
 in front of me. What shall I say ? " 
 
 " Anything. Who is your favorite poet ? What 
 is the color of your parlor furniture ? How many 
 times have you been in love ? " 
 
 "Shelley. Ked. Never." 
 
 "Heavens! You take my breath away. How 
 exact and precise you are ! Your conversation lacks 
 atmosphere." 
 
 " But for the graphophone ? " she suggested 
 mischievously. 
 
 "And as to the matter of love," he went on, 
 taking no notice, " it can t be true. One always 
 hovers, you know, before one lights." 
 
 " I think there are some who never hover." She 
 was more serious now. 
 
 " And there are some who never light. It is 
 true. But those are the exceptions. One should 
 make it the aim of one s life not to be an exception 
 in anything." 
 
 " I suppose men always hover." She was still 
 serious and spoke slowly, gazing off into the 
 distance. 
 
212 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 " I don t know," he answered, thoughtfully also. 
 " I have hovered. I am tired of it and ready to 
 light now." Then, changing his tone : " There we 
 are talking about me again. Wonderful how at 
 tractive the subject is ; but let us get out and look 
 at the view instead." 
 
 They had reached the little platform or terrace 
 in front of San Pietro in Montorio, and certainly 
 the view was as attractive as any subject could be. 
 It is, of course, complementary to that from the 
 Pincian, but far vaster and more varied. And at 
 that hour the light was such as to show it in per 
 fection. The air, moistened by the warm south 
 wind, was full of a rich, soft haze ; and the low 
 sun gleaming through it poured a delicate golden 
 radiance over the hundred domes and towers spread 
 out at their feet. The eye turned from the Aven- 
 tine to the Palatine ; rested on the vast, low bulk 
 of the Colosseum, cut sharp against the purple 
 hills ; passed over the Capitol and the Quirinal and 
 all the churches of the medieval city, noting here 
 an obelisk and there the square roof of a palace- 
 fortress. Further still, it caught the keen points of 
 Soracte piercing the blue, and in the nearer fore 
 ground, the yellow symmetry of the Mole of Ha 
 drian. Still further to the west, rose Monte Mario, 
 crowned with its villas and gardens, and further 
 yet again, the dome of St. Peter s, the dome only, 
 hanging huge, clear, and quiet in the golden light. 
 
 " It is beautiful," was Priscilla s simple comment. 
 
A BIT OF SHADOW 213 
 
 " Yes," said Gordon. " It is beautiful, spirit 
 ually beautiful. There are a thousand views at 
 home, in New England, infinitely more beautiful 
 in themselves; for, after all, this is bleak and 
 barren in winter and parched and barren in sum 
 mer. What makes the beauty here is the tread of 
 human feet and the touch of human hands. Romu 
 lus, and Horatius, and Marius, and Caesar, and 
 Cicero, and Brutus, who were such a bore at school, 
 get their revenge here. They say St. Peter was 
 martyred on this spot, and I suppose it might have 
 been here as well as anywhere else. What is cer 
 tain is, that myriads of weary pilgrims have climbed 
 up hither, to gaze at the haven of their hopes. It 
 touches us, because we are men too and pilgrims 
 too." 
 
 " Pilgrims in search of what ? " asked his com 
 panion, with soberness. 
 
 " Ah, I do not know. Did they ? " 
 
 They lingered for a few moments longer. Then, 
 at Gordon s suggestion, they turned and went into 
 the church. It is a quiet little church, not much 
 visited even by those who come to the place for the 
 sake of the view without. 
 
 " I like the Catholic churches, especially these 
 out-of-the-way ones, more and more," said Pris- 
 cilla. " There is a calm about them which does not 
 seem to be anywhere else in the world." 
 
 " Did you visit the Certosa at Florence ? " Gor 
 don asked. 
 
214 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 " Ah, yes, that little garden in the midst of the 
 cloisters, that was more peaceful even than a 
 church, just like a corner cut right out of the blue 
 heaven over it." 
 
 " I should be glad to pass my life there, medi 
 tating and raising vegetables," Gordon added 
 thoughtfully. " Only I should n t. It is odd how 
 many things we at the same time wish and don t 
 wish." 
 
 They walked slowly about the cold and silent 
 building, peering up at the dim altar-pieces in the 
 chapels, mostly done by pupils, after the greater 
 masters. Everything had the touch of mediocrity 
 which belongs to many objects in Rome, medi 
 ocrity relieved by an atmosphere of moss-grown 
 dignity, not native to the things themselves. Our 
 travelers were loath to leave the place. There was 
 an intimate calm about it which seemed to bring 
 them nearer to each other than even the natural 
 joy of the outer world. 
 
 At length Gordon bestirred himself. It was too 
 intimate, too calm, to be compatible with the atti 
 tude he had decided to adopt. " If we stay longer 
 here, we shall lose the sunset," he said. 
 
 Priscilla would have preferred to stay, but she 
 could not well refuse to go ; and in a few minutes 
 they were driving along the great open sweep of 
 the Passeggiata Margherita. The view to the 
 westward from this new promenade offers a beau 
 tiful contrast to that in the opposite direction over 
 
A BIT OF SHADOW 215 
 
 the city. Here are no ruins, no palaces, no 
 churches, with their cold gray domes ; but villas 
 surrounded with groves and gardens, and great 
 rolling curves of hill and valley, at that moment 
 full of cavernous depth of shadow, overshot with 
 shafts of sunlight. The sky was clear and quiet, 
 deep blue, pale blue, golden. The cypresses on the 
 horizon stood out against the gold background, 
 sharp and stately. 
 
 " Let us get out and sit here for a few mo 
 ments," Gordon suggested. But, instead of sitting, 
 they went and leaned over the western parapet, 
 and it seemed as if they were voyagers setting out 
 into that golden sea. For a few moments they 
 gazed in silence. Then, with the fatal instinct of 
 love, which makes the universe play accompani 
 ments to its own passionate duo, they began to 
 speak of themselves, softly, absently, with tones 
 full of the golden light ; not directly either, but 
 through the medium of things apparently in 
 different. 
 
 " You have n t said a word to-day about your 
 what shall I say intended ? " Gordon began. 
 
 "Whom do you mean?" Priscilla answered 
 slowly. 
 
 " Ah, she feigns ignorance she is a coquette." 
 As Priscilla took no notice of this, he went on : 
 " Are n t you sorry for all the trouble you have 
 caused me ? " 
 
 " No," she said, still looking away into the sky. 
 
216 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 " Then you ought to be. Don t you know that 
 if it were n t for you the wedding bells would be 
 ringing merrily ? Don t you know that just because 
 of you they may soon be ringing for somebody 
 else ? " 
 
 Priscilla deserted the sky, and, still leaning on 
 the parapet, looked from under the rim of the 
 brown hat into her companion s eyes. " What do 
 you mean ? " she asked. 
 
 " What I say." 
 
 Who is to be married? To whom ? " 
 
 " Well, the cards are not out yet ; but it appears 
 that the young man whom you jilted, so unkindly, 
 consoles himself with a foreign lady of distinction." 
 
 "Who?" There was a grain of sharpness in 
 the question. Priscilla did not want Edgar, just 
 as Edgar did not want Priscilla ; yet neither was 
 quite pleased to have the other turn to some one 
 else. Just as Antonia, for her part, was extremely 
 displeased at seeing Gordon at Priscilla s feet. It 
 was an odd twist of purple threads in the tangled 
 skein of love. " Who ? " she said. 
 
 Gordon let his eyes rest on hers for a second and 
 then, in his turn, took refuge in the sunset. " The 
 Countess Markovski," he answered. 
 
 " Markovski, Markovski where have I heard 
 the name ? Oh, yes, I was introduced to her the 
 other evening at Mrs. Barton s. I did n t like her." 
 
 " That is unfortunate. And we met her driving 
 on the Pincian one afternoon. Do you remember ? " 
 
A BIT OF SHADOW 217 
 
 Priscilla nodded. " A Countess," she said mus 
 ingly. " But will she be a Countess ? The Countess 
 Edgar Payne ? " 
 
 " Well, not exactly. Just plain Mrs. Edgar 
 Payne, I should say." 
 
 " Plain but she is handsome, very handsome 
 if you like that kind. And is she rich? " Gor 
 don shook his head dubiously and Priscilla went on. 
 " Poor Mr. Payne ! Poor papa ! Poor Countess ! " 
 
 " Why don t you say 4 Poor Mr. Gordon ? 
 He turned to look at her, with a mixture of mis 
 chief and irritation. " Why don t you ? I m sure 
 you ought. It s awfully hard on me, you know. I 
 get everything so nicely arranged and then you go 
 back on me. Well, you did," as she shook her 
 head. " Then there comes up this other complica 
 tion ; and what am I to do ? You re bound to help 
 me so far, I think." 
 
 Priscilla did not answer f 01; a moment, but looked 
 once more steadily at the west. The sun had al 
 ready passed behind the hills. " Can t you buy the 
 lady off ? " she said, with the cold insolence of vir 
 tue. " They always do in novels." 
 
 "This isn t a novel. No, I think not." He 
 spoke a little shortly ; for he suddenly remembered 
 that he had loved this woman with whose name 
 virtue was so ready to play football. 
 
 Priscilla, struck by his tone, gave him a quick 
 and searching glance. " Do you know the Countess 
 Markovski ? " she asked. 
 
218 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 "Yes, I know her that is" He left the 
 sentence incomplete and turned away. 
 
 " Then I should go to her," was the young lady s 
 haughty comment. " I should think she was the one 
 to help you, if any one. I am so chilly. Supposing 
 we start." 
 
 She was chilly, a little, Gordon thought ; and they 
 started. That day the Countess Markovski s name 
 was no more named between them. The chill wore 
 off, however, in a few minutes, and Priscilla got to 
 speaking softly and happily of home and home ways 
 and how glad she should be to get back to them. 
 As they drove again through the crowded Roman 
 streets, in the pleasant blending of twilight and 
 moonlight, Gordon found once more the sense of 
 infinite restfulness which charmed him in Pris- 
 cilla s society. All the Edgars and Countesses in 
 the wide world troubled him not. 
 
 Once in his own room, however, he realized that 
 he had added another to the long and cheerful string 
 of broken resolutions. It is true, he still thought 
 that Priscilla cared nothing for him he thought 
 not ; but, even for his own part, the sweetness was 
 getting a little too sweet. Still, he would make no 
 more resolutions. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 A DUEL 
 
 THE Countess Antonia had a great desire to see 
 Miss Stanton. She had, indeed, been introduced 
 to her at Mrs. Barton s ; but it was only a glance, 
 a nod, and an eighth or a sixteenth of a smile. She 
 wanted to talk with her alone, to watch her, in 
 short, to fight one of those little duels in which 
 some women use their claws with purring polite 
 ness. She had no especial object in view, except 
 the gratification of her curiosity. The suggestion 
 made to Edgar, that Gordon proposed to marry 
 Priscilla if he could, had been merely a casual in 
 vention of spitefulness. It might very well be true ; 
 but she hardly expected to ascertain the truth of 
 it during a morning call. If it were true, she did 
 not know that she would meddle in the matter. 
 She hated Priscilla instinctively ; but perhaps there 
 would be no better way of gratifying her hatred 
 than to let a man marry the girl for her money. 
 If Gordon were married and rich, and she herself 
 were married and rich, they might meet again in 
 the American antipodes, after all. 
 
 But though she wished to call on Priscilla, she 
 had no particular desire to call on Mrs. Stanton. 
 
220 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 Through her maid, who was perfectly at home in 
 such matters, she ascertained that it was Mrs. 
 Stanton s custom to spend every Monday with an 
 invalid friend who occupied a villa beyond the 
 Porta Pia. As for Mr. Stanton, he invariably 
 passed the afternoon out, either driving, or visit 
 ing, or reading the papers at Piale s. Antonia 
 made her arrangements accordingly. 
 
 The Monday after Priscilla s drive with Gordon, 
 which had taken place on a Friday, was a dull, 
 damp, miserable day. A light, misty rain fell at 
 times ; but for the most part there was nothing but 
 fog, thick, drifting, opening up for a few minutes 
 and then settling down again, so that one could 
 hardly pursue ordinary indoor avocations without 
 a light. Priscilla was idle and out of sorts. She 
 had not been herself since Friday. The thought 
 of the Countess Markovski disturbed her a little. 
 There had certainly been something odd in Gor 
 don s tone when he referred to that lady. What 
 did it mean? Priscilla no longer concealed from 
 herself the fact that Gordon interested her very 
 much. When she told him that she had never been 
 in love, she told him the exact truth, so far as the 
 perfect tense was concerned. If he had asked her 
 whether she was in love, her answer would, of 
 course, have been exactly the same ; but perhaps 
 she could not have given it with quite so clear a 
 conscience. Not that she was ready to use the word 
 love even to herself. She would have preferred to 
 
A DUEL 221 
 
 have him use it for her. But she was coining to 
 feel that his company was pleasanter than any other 
 company, his voice more caressing than any other 
 voice, his hand strong and sweet, with a new 
 strength and a new sweetness. Now, just as she 
 was ready to admit this openly, there came up an 
 indefinable black shadow of a disagreeable black 
 Countess, who put tones into that caressing voice 
 which she, Priscilla Stanton, did not wish to hear 
 there. It was tiresome. Priscilla was not a tragedy 
 heroine. She was simply a demure, discreet, sensi 
 ble, American girl. Some people would have called 
 her cold. Nevertheless, I think I would rather have 
 had her love than that of the Countess Markovski. 
 Above all, when she wanted a thing, she wanted it 
 with the most commendable tenacity. 
 
 So on this particular day she was a bit blue and 
 a bit cross. Having a good deal of self-control, she 
 did not make her state of mind very apparent. Her 
 mother, indeed, observed it ; but as she had already 
 a dim inkling of the cause, and had been at one 
 time a demure, discreet, sensible, American girl 
 herself, she let her daughter alone, so far as possible. 
 
 Priscilla was grateful for this, and was still more 
 grateful for the absolute solitude which came after 
 luncheon, when her mother betook herself to the 
 invalid friend, and her father also had disappeared, 
 as usual. Yet, strange to say, no sooner were they 
 gone than she found that absolute solitude was not 
 quite what she wanted. She took up a book a 
 
222 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 good, serious book, in order to prove to herself that 
 she might be more bored than she was. It did not 
 answer. She went to the piano and tried to play a 
 sonata of Beethoven. But she found that the stupid 
 noise of the instrument interfered with her hearing 
 the approach of any visitor. Besides, she wanted 
 to be near the window. Some one might be coming 
 to see her this dull afternoon. What visitor ? Who 
 might be coming? Really, she thought she was 
 growing absolutely imbecile. 
 
 Then some one did come. Uncle Edwin, on his 
 way to a four-o clock concert, stopped in to see his 
 relatives for a few moments. Priscilla was very 
 fond of uncle Edwin, and always treated him with 
 a great courtesy which was delightful to behold. 
 Just at present she did not know whether she was 
 glad to see him or not ; but she would give him the 
 benefit of the doubt. 
 
 " Well, Priscilla," he said, leaning back in an 
 easy-chair, crossing his legs, and folding his hands 
 for a little chat. " Have they left you all alone ? " 
 
 " Yes, uncle Edwin, and I m desperately blue." 
 
 " Oh, at your age you don t know what blueness 
 is. Yours is only a little paler shade of rose than 
 usual." 
 
 " No, it s blue, blue, blue. I don t believe old 
 people know how to be blue." 
 
 " Well, perhaps gray is more the color for us. 
 But what s the matter ? " 
 
 " Nothing s the matter." As she said it she 
 
A DUEL 223 
 
 peered out of the window into the deepening nrist, 
 and drummed on the sill with her fingers. Then, 
 realizing that she was not being very civil, she apolo 
 gized. " I m rude," she said, " and not making 
 myself entertaining. Yet I m really glad to see 
 you, uncle Edwin. Now tell me all the news from 
 home. Anybody married or anything ? " 
 
 Uncle Edwin thereupon retailed the contents of 
 his latest letters, with facts as to the whole gener 
 ation of Stantons dead and living ; but it was not 
 tedious, and Priscilla did not find it so ; for there 
 was love through it all and a bright thread of gentle 
 humor. When there was a lull, however, it occurred 
 to her that she might get some information that 
 would be still more interesting ; so she changed the 
 subject. " Uncle Edwin," she began, with the air 
 of making small-talk, " do you know the Countess 
 Markovski ? " 
 
 Now I have mentioned elsewhere that the Coun 
 tess was rather a friend of uncle Edwin s. He 
 would allow no one to abuse her in his presence 
 and was always ready with ingenious defense and 
 denial when any one tried to do so. Nevertheless, he 
 felt, and was rather surprised and annoyed to find 
 that he felt, a decided reluctance to have his niece 
 Priscilla know the Countess Markovski, or even 
 mention her name. He showed his annoyance by 
 crossing his legs the other way and rubbing his 
 hands together a little nervously ; and Priscilla ob 
 served it. " Yes, I know her," he said, " do you ? " 
 
224 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 " Not at all. That is I met her at Mrs. Bar 
 ton s the other evening. She interested me. She is 
 so distinguished looking, you know." 
 
 " Yes, she is distinguished looking." Uncle Ed 
 win fidgeted again and appeared as if he would 
 prefer to drop the subject, which, of course, made 
 Priscilla, not at present in the mood to spare any 
 body, all the more anxious to continue it. 
 
 She did not quite know how to do this. So she 
 made a plunge. " People say she is rather rather 
 not quite " 
 
 This was too much for uncle Edwin. It was his 
 business to stand up for a friend, no matter what 
 the circumstances might be. He unclasped his 
 hands, placed one on the arm of the chair, and with 
 the other rubbed his chin restlessly, at the same 
 time tilting his suspended foot. " People say very 
 unkind things," he burst out, " and they don t know 
 why they say them. I have been acquainted with 
 the Countess Markovski for some years and I con 
 sider her a lady. It is very different over here from 
 what it is at home, where everybody knows every 
 body and everybody s grandfather. This cosmopol 
 itan life shifts like the sea. People come up like 
 bubbles. You see them for a while. Then they are 
 gone again. You don t know where they have gone 
 to, any more than where they come from. You have 
 to take them for just what they are, nothing more. 
 The Countess Markovski is eccentric and very in 
 discreet, I dare say ; but she is generous, and full 
 
A DUEL 225 
 
 of noble and kind impulses. As for the stories 
 people tell about her " Then he remembered 
 that he was talking to a young girl, stopped, and 
 was going to change the subject awkwardly, 
 when the servant brought Priscilla a card. 
 
 " Countess Antonia Markovski Oh, yes, 
 show her in at once." 
 
 Uncle Edwin was dismayed. " Talk of the devil, 
 etc.," was the first thought that occurred to him. 
 But what was he to do ? 
 
 " Well, well, well ! " said Priscilla under her 
 breath. Is n t this fun ? " 
 
 Then the Countess glided into the room. She 
 wore her usual black, relieved this time by a bit of 
 yellow in the heavy black hat. " My dear young 
 lady," she said to Priscilla, with her gentlest and 
 most insinuating manner, " I ventured to call on 
 your mother and you, because I have taken a great 
 fancy to you both. It is inexcusably unconven 
 tional, is n t it ? " Then she shrugged her shoulders 
 almost imperceptibly, as if to say, " What will you 
 have ? I can do nothing with my fancies." 
 
 Priscilla murmured something vague in appre 
 ciation of the compliment, and the dark lady turned 
 to uncle Edwin. The attitudes of the two as they 
 shook hands, she looking down on him, with the 
 slightest inclination of her graceful figure, he bent 
 and bowed in all possible angles, yet so digni 
 fied with it all, were a delightful picture. " Ah, 
 Mr. Stanton," she said, " I have n t seen you for so 
 
226 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 long ! Now that your country has become great and 
 imperial and world-subduing, you have forgotten 
 your old sympathies and poor little Poland." 
 
 " No," he answered, " I don t like world-subdu 
 ing. You know me well enough for that." 
 
 They had all seated themselves, the Countess on 
 a sofa near Mr. Stanton, Priscilla on the other 
 side, a little further off. Uncle Edwin took the 
 main burden of the talk, as was natural enough ; 
 and Priscilla watched. The Countess was charming 
 certainly, with that perpetual, sinuous grace of all 
 her movements. It was easy to see how she fasci 
 nated uncle Edwin and others. 
 
 The conversation turned on music, apropos of 
 Mr. Stanton s concert. " It is to be chamber music, 
 quartettes," he said, "Mozart and Schumann. 
 But here in Rome I like the church music better ; 
 although, to tell the truth, I hear less music in 
 Italy than in any other country and less in Rome 
 than in any other city of Italy." 
 
 " Ah, you are so fond of our church," observed 
 the Countess. " Do you know, Miss Stanton, I 
 think your uncle will certainly end by becoming a 
 Catholic?" 
 
 " We often tell him so," Priscilla agreed. 
 
 " No, no," was the half -humorous answer ; " I 
 have too many Catholic friends to become a Cath 
 olic myself." 
 
 " Mr. Stanton, that is not courteous." 
 
 " Well, but you know, every mystery loses its 
 
A DUEL 227 
 
 charm when you see it too much from the inside. 
 Yet I love the Catholic Church. It is the Church. 
 All the others are mere branches and offshoots." 
 
 " Why not enter it, then ? " 
 
 " I can t take my beliefs ready made, Countess. 
 The Church believes in authority ; I don t." 
 
 " But you must have some authority the Bible 
 perhaps ? " 
 
 "No, Countess, not even the Bible, though I 
 love it more than the Church." 
 
 " Ah, it is reason, then, your authority ? You 
 are a rationalist ? " 
 
 " What have I done that you should bait me 
 thus with theology? I like the rationalists less 
 than the Catholics. My authority is within. I feel 
 my belief I feel it feel it in my bones." 
 
 The Countess gave a little shrug of self-pity and 
 smiled at Priscilla. " This is what do you call 
 it ? Transcendentalism. It is above me. Let us 
 talk of people. That I can understand." Then she 
 asked Mr. Stanton various questions about his 
 friends, whom she had met at different times, about 
 distinguished American personages, political or 
 other. Her memory in these matters, which cer 
 tainly could not have interested her, was wonder 
 ful ; and more wonderful still, the tact and delicacy 
 with which she avoided any harsh, bitter, or satiri 
 cal remark, soothing and caressing the old man s 
 sympathies at every word. Priscilla, who by this 
 time had learned her uncle s peculiarities, appreci- 
 
228 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 ated this and was astonished. The woman might 
 be an adventuress, but she was clever, more than 
 clever. It was no wonder Gordon was interested 
 in her, if indeed he was. 
 
 Uncle Edwin soon grew fidgety, however. The 
 time for his concert was rapidly approaching. 
 Should he go and leave his niece unprotected? 
 What would her mother say to him ? Yet at that 
 moment it appeared to him that the concert was 
 the one thing he wanted to hear in the world. He 
 had been a bachelor for nearly eighty years ; and 
 though he was the most affectionate of men, he did 
 not love little sacrifices, nor make them. So he 
 went with a reluctance which was perfectly evi 
 dent to both the women and perfectly understood 
 by both, and which amused them both not a little. 
 
 " Dear Mr. Stanton is very fond of your so 
 ciety," said the Countess softly, when the door had 
 closed behind him. 
 
 " Of yours, I think," replied Priscilla, as softly. 
 
 Then they talked of the weather for a few mo 
 ments. Each was gauging the other. 
 
 At length the Countess said what she had come 
 to say, but more softly and politely than ever, and 
 as if she were speaking of the weather still. " I am 
 told we are to congratulate you on your approach 
 ing marriage, Miss Stanton ? " 
 
 It was a piece of supreme insolence and Priscilla 
 knew it ; but she kept her countenance and her 
 temper. Who was this woman that she should 
 
A DUEL 229 
 
 quarrel with her? "Ah! and whom am I to 
 marry ? " she asked calmly. 
 
 The Countess played confusion with easy grace. 
 " I beg a thousand pardons," she stammered. " I 
 surely heard the name of Mr. Edgar Payne " 
 
 Then Priscilla hit back without gloves. " That 
 is odd. Do you know, I had heard he was going to 
 marry you ? " 
 
 Antonia took the blow and respected her op 
 ponent for it ; but she countered. With an air of 
 innocence as natural as nature, and no more so, 
 she replied : " My dear Miss Stanton, is n t that 
 curious. But you have been altogether misinformed. 
 Mr. Payne seems to like my poor residence. Per 
 haps he enjoys the ease and freedom of it. But 
 in short, I assure you you know people will 
 talk " - 
 
 " Yes, I have found it so myself," Priscilla 
 quietly assented. 
 
 Decidedly this was to be no easy victory and the 
 Countess felt it ; but she went on in the same tone : 
 " Some one must have misinformed you purposely, 
 I think. So many people have an interest to in 
 jure a solitary woman like myself." 
 
 Then Priscilla made a mistake. When one has 
 a candid disposition and happens to be in love for 
 the first time, one is woefully hampered in contests 
 of this nature. " I had my information from a very 
 reliable source," she said. 
 
 Antonia smiled, a brief little gleam of a wicked 
 
230 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 smile, and Priscilla could have bitten her tongue out. 
 " Ah, yes," said the dark lady, " I see where the 
 shot came from. Naturally, Mr. Gordon has an in 
 terest in this matter, and I know no one who can 
 have more the appearance of being a reliable source 
 of information than he, when he chooses." 
 
 Priscilla s pride was breaking now. Why was 
 this creature allowed to torture her? But she 
 would fight it out a little longer. " Mr. Gordon is 
 an old friend of yours, I think ? " she asked, with 
 all the coldness she could command. 
 
 " Indeed he is. I have known him for years and 
 known him well. Very, very charming, is he not ? 
 A little idle, I fear, and not quite genuine espe 
 cially with women. There are stories but there, 
 we must n t gossip, you know." Even she did not 
 dare to turn the screw another hair s breadth ; so 
 she resorted to the weather again and kindred topics. 
 In a few minutes she rose and bowed herself out, 
 with the same unfailing grace. " Do remember me 
 to your mother, my dear. I am so sorry to have 
 missed her. Nothing would make me more proud 
 than to see both of you at 24 Via Ludovisi." 
 
 Priscilla made little or no response to this. 
 When she was alone, she threw herself down on 
 the sofa, buried her face in the pillows, and wept. 
 She could not really believe that Gordon was in 
 love with this woman. Yet why not ? And what 
 could an artless babe like herself do in battle with 
 such a creature ? 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 EDGAR SPEAKS HIS MIND 
 
 MR. STANTON, as well as Priscilla, had taken a 
 fancy to Gordon ; though the father s was, doubt 
 less, of a less ardent nature than the daughter s. 
 Gordon did not always have this luck with men. 
 Women liked him almost invariably, because he 
 almost invariably liked them, and showed it. Men 
 he did not always like ; and he showed that also, 
 even when policy would have suggested to him to 
 conceal it. But Mr. Stanton attracted him with 
 something of Priscilla s restfulness ; and then, 
 Priscilla s father received some attentions which 
 were expected indirectly to reach her. Of course, 
 Mr. Stanton had not yet thought of Gordon as a 
 possible son-in-law ; but he had reached the point 
 where such an idea might be expected to come to 
 him without a shock. He knew, indeed, that Gor 
 don had no money and was not likely to have any ; 
 but he cared as little for wealth as any man ever 
 does who is in possession of it ; and the marriage 
 of millions, as personified in Edgar Payne, had dis 
 gusted him sufficiently to make him quite contented 
 with something else. 
 
 On the Sunday afternoon just preceding the 
 
232 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 Countess s call on Priscilla, Gordon and Mr. Stan ton 
 had strolled together for an hour and Gordon had 
 talked over some of his difficulties. It goes with 
 out saying that he made no reference to his own 
 acquaintance with the Countess ; but he did explain 
 his anxiety as to Edgar s situation and the possibil 
 ity of a very undesirable marriage. 
 
 " It would be just good enough for the young 
 cub," said the elder gentleman, who did not like 
 to have his daughter slighted, even by the veriest 
 cub in existence. " Just good enough. The woman 
 is an adventuress pure and simple, of course ? " 
 
 Gordon shrugged his shoulders. " She is hand 
 some and very clever." 
 
 " You could n t buy her off ? Surely, a bright 
 woman would rather have ten thousand dollars than 
 such an oaf as that on an uncertainty." 
 
 " I don t think so," was Gordon s somewhat hes 
 itating answer. " From what I hear, she is a lady 
 whose whims are more to her than any amount of 
 money. She is not an ordinary personage. Your 
 uncle, Mr. Edwin Stanton, is a sworn ally of hers." 
 
 Mr. Stanton used an unquotable word not strictly 
 favorable to his uncle s powers of discrimination. 
 Then he repeated : " Yes, it would be just good 
 enough for the cub himself ; but then there is the 
 cub s father. Poor Harrison ! After all the hopes 
 he had about Edgar and Priscilla ! Bah ! The very 
 idea makes me sick. And as clear-sighted a man 
 as Harrison Payne cannot really no, it is im- 
 
EDGAR SPEAKS HIS MIND 233 
 
 possible. Now that I have seen the boy, I under 
 stand better some things his father wrote me that 
 seemed queer at the time. By the way, you ve 
 written to Mr. Payne about all this, of course ? " 
 
 " Well, no," said Gordon apologetically, " I 
 have n t yet. I did n t see what he could possibly 
 do at that distance. Then I hoped it would blow 
 over. And then I was ashamed of myself." 
 
 " You ve no need to be, by George ! I d sooner 
 run the Northern Pacific Road than take the con 
 tract you ve got on your hands." 
 
 He was a comforting man, Mr. Stanton ; and 
 Gordon felt him to be so. 
 
 For a few minutes they walked along in silence. 
 At length Mr. Stanton said : " See here, I don t 
 feel as if I d done the right thing altogether by 
 that boy. I was so disgusted with him at the be 
 ginning, so sick, so thoroughly disappointed, that 
 it seemed as if I could n t bear the sight of him. 
 To be sure, it s hard work to get a sight of him ; 
 but my heart has n t been in it hitherto. Now I 11 
 make another trial. I ll write him the kindest 
 note I know how and beg him to dine with me. 
 If he comes, I 11 have a little talk with him about 
 his Countess and so on." 
 
 Gordon shook his head dubiously. He did not 
 think Edgar would go to dinner ; and if he did, it 
 was more than likely that Mr. Stanton s eloquence 
 would drive him in the wrong direction. It seemed 
 hardly worth while to mention the last consideration, 
 
234 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 however. As to the first, Mr. Stanton recognized 
 the force of it ; but thought he would at least make 
 the attempt. Then Gordon, thanking him for his 
 friendly assistance, went his way. As he was wan 
 dering slowly homeward, he remembered Edgar s 
 threat of telling Mr. Stanton his suspicions as to 
 his tutor and Priscilla ; but it did not seem possible 
 that even Edgar s impudence would go so far as 
 that. 
 
 When Mr. Stanton reached home, he wrote the 
 following note : " Dear Edgar, I feel very badly 
 that we should be so near you and see so little 
 of you. When your father and I were your age, 
 hardly a day passed that we were not together. 
 And now that I have a chance to get acquainted 
 with " he tried hard to write " to love," but 
 the words would n t come " his son, I do not 
 want to lose the opportunity. Can t you dine with 
 us some evening ? I will say Tuesday ; but any 
 other evening that suits you will do as well for me. 
 Do come. Affectionately yours, George Stanton." 
 
 Edgar perused this friendly epistle with a shrewd 
 grimace. " At the old game again, is he ? By Jove, 
 I 11 go there and settle it once for all." So he an 
 swered as follows : " Mr. Stanton, Dear Sir, Hav 
 ing no other engagement on Tuesday, will dine with 
 you on that evening. Yours truly, Edgar Payne." 
 
 Mr. Stanton did not show this note to his wife 
 and daughter, but simply announced that Edgar 
 would dine with them. Mrs. Stanton consented to 
 
EDGAR SPEAKS HIS MIND 235 
 
 make the sacrifice under the circumstances, and 
 Priscilla, though she expressed some annoyance, 
 had a certain curiosity to see more of Gordon s 
 pupil and the Countess Markovski s future hus 
 band. The Stantons had long since made them 
 selves perfectly at home at the Hotel Bristol, and 
 had their own private dining-room, so that at least 
 they would escape the misery of exhibiting their 
 guest to strangers. 
 
 Dinner was supposed to be at seven ; but Mr. 
 Stanton had omitted to mention the fact, and 
 Edgar consequently appeared at a quarter past six. 
 Priscilla was in the drawing-room alone, as her 
 father and mother had come in late and had only 
 just gone to dress. She was somewhat dismayed at 
 the appearance of her visitor, but then she thought, 
 " After all, he can t eat me." 
 
 She rose and was going to shake hands ; but he 
 merely nodded, with a curt " how d ye do," and 
 went and placed himself with his back to the fire. 
 Whereupon Priscilla sat down again. 
 
 " What a fine day it has been ! " she remarked, 
 anxious to say something safe, if not particularly 
 brilliant. 
 
 " Oh, yes, if you like it. I don t care for any 
 thing in Rome myself." 
 
 Priscilla thought she would let him start the 
 next topic and waited a moment. He did not seem 
 to feel the silence very much ; but at length, after 
 staring at her for a little while, he began : " Say, 
 
236 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 that was a neat thing about you and me, was n t 
 it ? " He chuckled grotesquely. 
 
 " About you and me ? " Priscilla answered; and 
 then saw she had made a mistake. 
 
 " Sure. Who would it be about ? You need n t 
 play shy. You know just as well as I do that my 
 father and your father had it all patched up be 
 tween em, me and you to marry and say, there 
 would have been money though, would n t there ? " 
 
 " Would there ? " said Priscilla, with demure 
 simplicity. The young man s impudence was so 
 perfect that she was beginning to enjoy it and to 
 think she might amuse herself a little. 
 
 Edgar stared at her again, with his eyebrows 
 raised. "I told Gordy they couldn t work any 
 such put-up job as that. You may be all right 
 I m not saying anything against you. But you 
 are n t my kind." 
 
 " How can you be so sure ? " It would have 
 taken keener vision than Edgar s to see the fun 
 under the grave eyes that were turned toward his. 
 
 " Is she trying to jolly me ? " he thought to him 
 self. " Hang it, no." Then he replied aloud, " Oh, 
 I can tell a thing or two. I know the kind of wo 
 man I want. I want something with snap and 
 go something that will make folks look at me, 
 don t you see ? " 
 
 " I m afraid I am not like that," said Priscilla 
 sadly, gazing down at her hands folded in her lap. 
 
 Edgar was puzzled. It could n t be, it could n t 
 
EDGAR SPEAKS HIS MIND 237 
 
 be that this simple, silly chit was trying to bluff 
 him ! Why, not even Antonia was sandy enough 
 for that. He looked at his boots for a moment and 
 frowned. Then he began again. " I came round 
 to-night because I saw your pa could n t tell when 
 he d got enough, and I thought I d fix him once 
 for all. See?" 
 
 Priscilla was startled out of her equanimity. 
 Her eyes flashed, as she cried : " Do you mean to 
 say " Then she realized that she was foolish, 
 and that her father was able to take care of him 
 self ; so she wilted. " It was very good of you to 
 take all that trouble," she concluded. 
 
 Edgar understood less and less ; but on the 
 whole he thought she was trying to make fun of 
 him, and his temper got a little unsteady. " Look 
 here," he said, " I don t believe you know what 
 you ve lost. I can tell you there are women that 
 do. As for that Gordon, I wish you joy " 
 
 But Mr. and Mrs. Stanton entered ; and Pris 
 cilla felt that their arrival was very opportune. 
 How she should have met this last attack she could 
 not imagine. Indeed, she was so discomposed at 
 the idea of it, that she excused herself for a few 
 moments and retired to her own apartment to think 
 things over. Had Gordon really confided anything 
 to this intolerable creature ? Oh, no ! It was quite 
 impossible. But what an intolerable creature he 
 was. 
 
 It is, fortunately, not necessary that I should 
 
238 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 dwell upon that dinner. A novelist has some char 
 acters with whom he lingers just for the simple 
 charm of every word and gesture. It is a pleasure 
 to see them move and hear them speak and to think 
 their thoughts. But there are others whom one 
 exhibits no more than is absolutely necessary ; and 
 even that seems sometimes too much. 
 
 Mr. Stanton strove with all his might to keep 
 the conversation on general topics. But no matter 
 what the topic was, Edgar managed to give it a 
 certain twist, which kept his auditors perpetually 
 in a state either of exasperation at what had just 
 been said or of fear of what he might say next. 
 When questioned about his father, he made it evi 
 dent that he regarded that gentleman simply as a 
 magnificent machine for getting money and show 
 ering it on his son. The machine was a success and 
 was therefore entitled to respect that was all. 
 When questioned as to his boyhood, it appeared 
 that he never had had any. When questioned as to 
 his travels, he simply poured forth a flood of vulgar 
 abuse of everything and every person European, 
 which did more credit to his patriotism than to his 
 manners. At last, Mr. Stanton referred to some of 
 his former business experiences, and then he found 
 that he had struck the vein. Edgar s eyes bright 
 ened, he began to ask questions on his side, and 
 the problem of talk was solved for the moment. 
 Indeed, his familiarity with the history of the stock 
 market for the last twenty-five years astonished the 
 
EDGAR SPEAKS HIS MIND 239 
 
 elder gentleman, and would have interested him, if 
 it had not been for the painful vulgarity with which 
 it was expressed and the impudence with which his 
 own failures and successes were discussed and 
 criticised. 
 
 Such as it was, however, the conversation lasted 
 out the dessert ; and then, Edgar having sat quietly 
 by and let Mr. Stanton open the door for the la 
 dies, the two gentlemen found themselves alone 
 with their wine and cigars. 
 
 " Pretty good drink ! " remarked Edgar. " I 
 can t afford anything like it. What do you have 
 to pay for it ? " 
 
 " I don t know, I m sure," answered Mr. Stan- 
 ton absently. He was thinking how he should begin 
 his attack. It seemed rather difficult. As for Edgar, 
 he had no wish to speak unless spoken to, and fell 
 to thinking of the Countess. 
 
 On the whole, a gradual approach seemed best. 
 " I wish your father were here," the elder gentle 
 man observed at length. 
 
 " So don t I," said Edgar, with a slow wink, 
 sticking his thumbs in the sleeves of his waistcoat 
 and tilting back his chair. 
 
 " There s nothing I should enjoy more than 
 wandering about Rome with him." 
 
 " Huh ! There s nothing I should enjoy less." 
 
 This did not seem very promising. So Mr. Stan- 
 ton started in another direction. " Do you think, 
 on the whole," he began rather aimlessly and, as he 
 
240 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 himself felt, rather absurdly, " that you are getting 
 much from your trip over here, much profit, you 
 know?" 
 
 " What do you mean, profit ? " 
 
 " Why, I mean, as everybody does, are you learn 
 ing much, getting much education from these dif 
 ferent countries and sights and so on?" 
 
 " Hardly," said Edgar. " Do you think I want 
 to be a professor in some mouldy old college ? I 
 like to see the pretty women over here ; but I can 
 see them at home." 
 
 " The pretty women ! " Mr. Stanton echoed. 
 Here was his opportunity. He went on, with that 
 amusing mixture of would-be knowingness and sol 
 emn reprehension which most older men affect when 
 they talk to young men on such matters. " The 
 pretty women ! Now, my dear boy, I have been 
 thinking that I ought to say a word or two to you 
 about that very thing. You know people will talk 
 foolishly sometimes. I understand they are begin 
 ning to talk a little about you. Of course, it is n t 
 my business to find any fault. A young man will 
 have his fling. It was so in my own day, too. But 
 you know, I stand, as it were, in your father s place 
 here ; and sometimes we don t realize ourselves just 
 how things look to another person outside. It s 
 risky to get one s self mixed up too much with one 
 particular woman. If she is a sharp one, and most 
 women of that class are, one is apt to find one s self 
 in trouble before one knows it. I don t mean to 
 
EDGAR SPEAKS HIS MIND 241 
 
 preach to you, of course ; but it seems as if just a 
 friendly word in the right place that s all " 
 
 Edgar had uttered never a sound during this 
 harangue ; but he stared up at the ceiling, chewing 
 the end of his cigar viciously. Now he burst out : 
 " But it is n t all, though. Now, look here, Stanton, 
 you just listen to me. I can see through you, as 
 plain as through a piece of window glass ; and I want 
 you to understand, once for all, it won t do it 
 won t do. That daughter of yours is a nice enough 
 girl, I dare say. Looks like a china doll ; but that s 
 nothing to me. Only you just get on to the fact 
 that she don t suit and she won t suit. When you 
 understand that, perhaps you 11 quit insulting other 
 women who are just as good as she is. Oh, if 
 there s anything I do hate, it s these people who 
 put on airs because others ain t good enough for 
 em. See?" 
 
 Mr. Stanton hardly did see. He was too full and 
 overflowing with wrath to see much of anything. 
 " My daughter ! " he gasped. " My daughter ! 
 Young man, I think you d better go, before I 
 say anything more ! " He stood up, but he was so 
 shaken by passion that he had to rest his hand on 
 the back of his chair. 
 
 " Who cares what you say ? ejaculated Edgar, 
 rising also and moving towards the door. " Oh, 
 yes, I 11 go ; but I ? 11 tell you another thing first. 
 Gordy s going to run off with the bone. Oh, ho ! 
 What do you think of that ? She 11 take up with 
 
242 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 him, that sanctimonious daughter of yours. I dare 
 say she D run away with him. He s a beggar, you 
 know, and always will be. What do you think of 
 that ? " So saying, the young man left the room 
 and slammed the door. 
 
 Mr. Stanton made his way into the parlor, in a 
 state of mind unusual with him ; for he was not 
 a choleric man. When there, he paced irregularly 
 up and down, uttering broken ejaculations, to the 
 utter amazement of Mrs. Stanton and Priscilla ; 
 although the latter, considering her own experience 
 before dinner, was less astonished than her mother. 
 " The cub ! The insolent, low-bred cub ! When I 
 was giving him a piece of friendly advice to go 
 and abuse me like a pickpocket. I insult My 
 daughter, indeed my daughter ! Psha ! dam 
 nation ! " Then, happening to pass directly in 
 front of Mrs. Stanton, he noticed the expression of 
 blank bewilderment on her face, stopped a mo 
 ment, and burst out into a hearty peal of natural 
 laughter. Blessed be the broad and happy temper 
 which can find matter for mirth in its own mistakes 
 and mishaps as well as in those of others. 
 
 " A piece of true comedy, my dear," he said. 
 " The fellow ought to be on the stage or in a 
 novel. I played myself right into his hands, after 
 all. He thought I was still trying to catch him for 
 that girl there," and he looked fondly towards Pris 
 cilla, who, at the moment, was embroidering very 
 busily and kept her eyes close on her work. " If 
 
EDGAR SPEAKS HIS MIND 243 
 
 he thought so, it was natural that he should give 
 me a piece of his mind ; though, as the other fel 
 low said, his language would have been impudent 
 from God Almighty to a black beetle." Then he 
 added more softly and thoughtfully : " He also 
 tried to annoy me by suggesting that Gordon 
 wanted to marry our Pris. I suppose he would 
 lie a little more easily than he would speak the 
 truth. But I like Gordon. He s a gentleman 
 and a straightforward, honorable fellow. And, by 
 George, he deserves a gold mine, after all he s 
 been through with that cub. Well, now I 11 go 
 finish my cigar in peace." 
 
 When he had left the room, the two ladies were 
 silent for a moment. " Mamma," said Priscilla at 
 length, still keeping her eyes on her work, " did 
 you hear what papa said ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear," answered her mother gently. 
 
 " Do you agree with him ? " 
 
 "Do you?" 
 
 " Yes, mamma." 
 
 " Then, my dear, I agree with you." 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 THE MAGIC OF THE MOON 
 
 SINCE his drive with Priscilla, Gordon had re 
 flected more than usual. It seemed that he was 
 always reflecting nowadays, and it bored him. The 
 result of his reflection was, however, a certain 
 modification of his attitude toward the young lady. 
 He still felt that he had no reason at all to sup 
 pose that she cared anything for him ; but it was 
 getting very evident that he cared a great deal for 
 her. Under the circumstances what was to be 
 done ? Was it necessary that he should give her 
 up, simply because of the peculiar circumstances 
 under which they had met ? If he really cared for 
 her and if, by any chance, she was beginning to 
 care for him, would not such a separation be fan 
 tastic, Quixotic? It was true, he had been com 
 missioned to see her married to somebody else. But 
 had he not done what he could to bring about such 
 a consummation ? Would he not, even now, most 
 gladly give way to Edgar, if such a thing were 
 possible, conceivable even ? Was it not absolutely 
 certain that, if he had never come near Priscilla, 
 such a marriage would have been just as much out 
 of the question as it was at present? As he de- 
 
THE MAGIC OF THE MOON 245 
 
 bated this difficulty, in the intervals of debating 
 that other difficulty about Edgar and the Countess 
 Markovski, he smiled again and again at the ludi- 
 crousness of it all. Was ever before an idle, profit 
 less young man so tossed and gored on the horns 
 of disagreeable moral dilemmas? But the upshot 
 was the decision that, when he was once out of his 
 present situation, he would address himself to the 
 wooing of Miss Priscilla Stanton, without fear or 
 delay. It was true she was rich and he was poor ; 
 but he was quite clear with himself that if he mar 
 ried her, it would not be for her money. Indeed, 
 he thought it more than probable that her father 
 would refuse his money, perhaps even his consent. 
 So much the better. An incentive for work was 
 just what our hero felt that he needed. It was time 
 he did work. 
 
 For the present, the thing to do was to get 
 clear of the Payne connection, as speedily as was 
 consistent with doing his best for all parties 
 concerned. Here he gave a few moments thought 
 to the suggestion, which had disturbed him a little 
 ever since it was made by Priscilla and re-made by 
 her father, as to buying the Countess off. Doubt 
 less, Mr. Payne would gladly give ten thousand 
 dollars, or a hundred thousand dollars, to get 
 Edgar out of such a scrape. Yet, after all, would 
 he ? He was a man who did not like to be done. 
 In the present case he would be very apt to be 
 more angry with Edgar than with Antonia, and to 
 
246 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 say that he had richly deserved his fate. More 
 over, Gordon himself was unable to overcome his 
 repugnance to such bargaining. Antonia might 
 accept a bribe or she might not. In any case, he 
 was not the person to offer it to her. Nor would 
 he. With this decision, he put the question en 
 tirely on one side. 
 
 He then wrote a letter to Mr. Payne, as Mr. 
 Staiiton had suggested, stating the facts in regard 
 to Edgar s present position, explaining the apparent 
 impossibility of the Stanton marriage, and asking 
 for advice and directions. This he did, although 
 conscious that advice and directions from that 
 quarter could hardly arrive in time, if they were 
 really needed. He said not a word about himself 
 and Priscilla, feeling that he could not do so as 
 yet with any justice to her. Meantime was he to 
 avoid her entirely ? He did not see why. He had 
 made up his mind as to the future and certainly 
 nothing definite need be said at present. Indeed, 
 he hardly saw how he could avoid her without what 
 must seem like gratuitous discourtesy. 
 
 His conclusions on this point were tested, when, 
 on Thursday morning, he received the following 
 note : " Dear Mr. Gordon, We are going to visit 
 the Colosseum by moonlight this evening and should 
 be very glad to have you continue your Cicero 
 nian functions, if you feel so disposed. Sincerely 
 yours, Priscilla Stanton." Priscilla had hesitated 
 some time before writing this. She was by no 
 
THE MAGIC OF THE MOON 247 
 
 means anxious to run after Gordon ; and it was 
 very clear that hitherto most of the invitations had 
 come from her. On the other hand, he had always 
 been ready to accept them, and, so far as she could 
 tell, he had always enjoyed himself when he did 
 accept them. She was not without a shrewd sus 
 picion of the scruples and reserves which held him 
 back from seeking her society. " He is unwilling 
 to step in between Edgar and me," she thought. 
 " Pooh ! As if that were a reason ! " So she wrote 
 her note as above. Needless to say that Gordon 
 was more than willing to go. 
 
 They left the hotel at half-past eight. Uncle 
 Edwin had joined the party, also Mr. Parsons, 
 who was delighted to visit the Colosseum, or any 
 place where he could talk. Priscilla had insisted on 
 walking both ways, rather to the disgust of Mr. and 
 Mrs. Stanton, who were not much accustomed to 
 that form of locomotion. The young lady greeted 
 Gordon kindly. Nevertheless, she attached her 
 self, on starting, to her father and the two older 
 gentlemen, leaving the younger cavalier to escort 
 her mother s somewhat lagging footsteps. That 
 matter of the Countess was rankling still just a 
 little, and Priscilla hoped to clear her mind of it 
 before the evening was over. Meantime, she did 
 not wish Gordon to think she was too hungry for 
 his society. If she had any idea of making him 
 jealous by such conduct or of troubling him in any 
 way, she did not yet know the man she was dealing 
 
248 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 with. He was thoroughly in love with her, and 
 knew he was ; but his disposition did not permit 
 him to take such small matters in dudgeon, espe 
 cially when such taking would have involved any 
 neglect of gentle courtesy to a lady. So he devoted 
 himself entirely to Mrs. Stanton, lingered long to 
 chat with her by the Fountain of Trevi and the 
 Column of Trajan, which stood out sharp and clear 
 in the moonlight, and did not arrive at the Forum 
 until Mr. Parsons had delivered at least two 
 tirades on the vulgarity of wealth and the obsoles 
 cence of war. We may fully acquit Gordon of 
 calculation in the matter ; yet it is certain that 
 Mrs. Stanton liked him better afterwards. What 
 stout mother of fifty is not pleased to have her 
 daughter s young man talk to her for half an hour, 
 without an obvious desire to be somewhere else ? 
 
 Then they passed around to the south side of 
 the Forum under the Palatine, where they were 
 themselves in darkness and could look out upon the 
 moonlit scene below them. It was very beautiful. 
 The rough angles and harsh colors of the ruins were 
 softened and mellowed. Vague depths of shadow 
 lay under the crumbling arches; and the broken 
 columns reflected their uneven heights on the 
 marble pavement. Over opposite, the Basilica of 
 Constantine rose gigantic, filled full of rich light, 
 which gleamed and glittered on the fragments of 
 sculpture scattered over the floor. Uncle Edwin 
 recalled to them all, with a word or two, the tre- 
 
THE MAGIC OF THE MOON 249 
 
 mendous contrast of past and present, the hurrying 
 throngs which had crowded that little space to hear 
 Cicero and to slay Clodius, the idlers who had 
 lingered there in the days of Horace, cheating and 
 gossiping, the strange and motley tumults of the 
 later empire, when a discontented regiment unset 
 tled the fate of the world. And all was quiet now, 
 ruined, absolutely gone, that old Roman fame a 
 plaything for the curiosity and pity of mankind. 
 " In the same way," said Mr. Parsons, " in a 
 thousand years, the native of Sydney or Auckland 
 will travel to inspect the ruins of Washington. 
 But no, because the ruins of Washington will 
 hardly last like these. They were a great people 
 a great people a great people hum hum 
 hum." Then, after gazing a moment in silence, 
 he went on: "But for all that, the present is with 
 us the present is ours and that is enough. Who 
 cries out for the past, or sighs for it, its old customs, 
 its dead aristocracies, its faded religions ? I do not. 
 Even the art of the past let it go. Nothing is 
 good that we do not make for ourselves. If a man 
 wants to be an artist, let him fill himself with life, 
 life, and not go mumbling over the skeletons of an 
 other age. That is the trouble with American lit 
 erature. It is all a pale reproduction of Europe. 
 Longfellow Whittier they call that poetry. 
 When a people has such a grand, new, glorious 
 country as ours, they should never look back. The 
 future ! The future ! All is there." 
 
250 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 " Perhaps I am mistaken, Mr. Parsons," said 
 Priscilla, who took some liberties with her friend 
 which he would have resented in a young man ; 
 " but I think that the other day I heard you pro 
 claiming the exact opposite." 
 
 " Did you ? I dare say. I contradict everybody 
 else, and why not myself ? " 
 
 Then they made their way onwards, passing 
 through the eastern end of the Forum into the Via 
 Sacra, and so, by the Arch of Titus, down the long 
 slope to the Colosseum. Inside the huge building 
 numerous groups of sight-seers, attracted like them 
 selves by the splendor of the night, were scattered 
 about, some here and there in the arena, others dot 
 ting the vast circles of the sides with shifting black 
 points. But where a hundred thousand Romans 
 had established themselves comfortably, a few dozen 
 Americans, English, and Germans did not do much 
 to break the solitude. It was indeed a solitude, 
 singularly so in that clear tide of moonlight, which 
 added just the element of mystery necessary for 
 perfect charm. The whole inner surface of the 
 building, where it was flattened into the sloping 
 tiers, was fully illuminated ; but this even, shining 
 level was constantly broken by the sharp shadows 
 of projecting fragments, by vague, dim openings, 
 filled with mystery, beginning nowhere and ending 
 in nothing. Now and again a little group of peo 
 ple would plunge into one of these gulfs. Faint 
 sounds of voices and laughter would tinkle in the 
 
THE MAGIC OF THE MOON 251 
 
 darkness. Then the figures would emerge again 
 elsewhere. Overhead glittered, clear and quiet, 
 the sparkling clusters of the winter stars. 
 
 Our friends all remained standing, for a time, 
 in the centre of the arena. " Ah," began Priscilla, 
 " I have never before seen anything like this. It 
 seems as if the ghosts of the martyrs were in every 
 one of these shadows." 
 
 " Oh, no," laughed Gordon, " only malaria. The 
 spirits of a hundred years ago, or two or three hun 
 dred years ago, are all reduced to germs at present. 
 Such is science." 
 
 " Science has never really dispelled the mystery 
 of life or of death and never can," muttered 
 uncle Edwin, who had all a transcendentalist s hor 
 ror of nineteenth-century positivism. 
 
 " And life and death they are at the bot 
 tom of all mystery, are n t they ? " Mr. Stanton 
 suggested. 
 
 " It is at times like this that you have to turn 
 to Shelley," said Mr. Parsons. " Wordsworth for 
 bright summer mornings, when the wind sweeps 
 through sunlit grass, and the white clouds, loaded 
 with sunlight, roll over you. Keats for sunny nooks 
 in autumn, yellow and purple, with the rich flavors 
 of harvest. Byron for storm and the wrath of rains 
 and lightnings. Shelley for the unearthly quiet of 
 moonlight and midnight, soft creeping motions, 
 vague, breathless whispers, infinite depths of ele 
 mental suggestion, a musical sob of language that 
 
252 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 harmonizes in the most intimate inwardness with 
 the feeling expressed. 
 
 The sun is set, the swallows are asleep ; 
 
 The bats are flitting fast in the gray air ; 
 The slow, soft toads out of damp corners creep ; 
 
 And evening s breath, wandering here and there 
 Over the quivering surface of the stream 
 Wakes not one ripple from its summer dream. 
 
 Vital tranquillity that is what you have in those 
 verses, that is what we have here in a different way 
 vital tranquillity " 
 
 So Mr. Parsons. But Gordon and Priscilla, 
 who were perhaps more vital than tranquil on this 
 occasion, were not contented to leave the expres 
 sion of their feelings wholly to Mr. Parsons, or 
 even to Shelley. " Why don t we climb up there, 
 Miss Stanton, and plunge into some of the black 
 gulfs ourselves?" 
 
 " I certainly propose to. Mamma, will you 
 come?" 
 
 " No, dear, I think not. I have had all the ex 
 ercise I want and am quite ready for a cab home. 
 We will wait here a little while for you. Don t be 
 gone long." 
 
 Side by side the two climbed the ragged steps, 
 as actively as a pair of chamois. On one of the 
 upper tiers they sat down, in the shadow of a gaunt 
 doorway, and gazed at the great amphitheatre be 
 neath, reeking, as Gordon said, with spectres, from 
 Flavian to Daisy Miller. But Priscilla had not 
 come there for spectres. 
 
THE MAGIC OF THE MOON 253 
 
 " I had a call the other day from whom do 
 you think?" she began. 
 
 " Edgar, perhaps ? " Gordon suggested. 
 
 " No, though we did have him to dinner and 
 such a dinner. This was another friend of yours." 
 
 " I can t imagine " 
 
 " The Countess Markovski." 
 
 Gordon was silent for a moment. Below them, 
 in the wondrous moonlit calm, they could just 
 catch Mr. Parsons s voice, repeating the last line 
 of " The Question " 
 
 " That I might there present it Oh, to whom ? " 
 
 " The Countess Markovski ? Why ? " 
 
 " Charmed with me, I suppose." 
 
 " Of course. Did she a tell you her his 
 tory? It is a mania she has." 
 
 " She was more inclined to foretell, I think." 
 
 There was another silence and again the voices 
 from below, but indistinct. 
 
 " She is a very charming person," Priscilla said 
 indifferently. 
 
 Very." 
 
 " Clever, I should say." 
 
 " Immensely clever." 
 
 " You admire her very much ? " 
 
 I do." 
 
 Then followed another question, which Pris 
 cilla would have kept back if she could ; but she 
 could n t : " You are very much interested in her ?" 
 
254 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 " I was very much interested, as you say, in her, 
 at one time." Gordon spoke with the slow, color 
 less tone which often adds weight to the most im 
 portant words. " I am interested in some one else 
 now." 
 
 " She rather implied," Priscilla went on, once 
 more against her will, " that your statements were 
 not altogether to be trusted." 
 
 " Did she ? " Gordon spoke without the least 
 irritation. " What can I do about it ? I must 
 leave you to your personal impression of her and 
 me." Could he have said anything better ? So 
 Priscilla thought, at any rate, and was satisfied. 
 
 But at that interesting moment Mrs. Stanton s 
 voice was heard in the calm air. " Priscilla, dear, 
 come now." 
 
 " Yes, mamma," said Priscilla dutifully ; but 
 she was not well pleased with her mother just 
 then. 
 
 " We cannot freeze here any longer," urged 
 that lady, when her daughter had descended. 
 " We are all going to ride home. You will come 
 too, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Oh, mamma, I had so much rather walk." 
 
 " But Mr. Gordon has walked enough, I im 
 agine." Mrs. Stanton had a bit of the salt of mis 
 chief mixed with the gravity of age. Gordon, 
 however, protested that he never rode, unless in 
 his own carriage. "Very well, then. But you 
 must come right along. It is getting late." 
 
THE MAGIC OF THE MOON 255 
 
 " Yes, mamma." 
 
 So the elders departed, Mr. Parsons and Mr. 
 Stanton carrying on an active conversation as to 
 the Panama Canal, a subject on which they fortu 
 nately agreed. 
 
 Priscilla and Gordon stood for a moment alone, 
 listening to the echo of Mr. Parsons s sonorous 
 declamation and looking up at the moonlit ruins. 
 " I suppose we must go," said Priscilla. 
 
 " I suppose so," Gordon agreed, somewhat 
 doubtfully. " Duty is what one does not want to 
 do. That is a sure mark to know it by." 
 
 When they had left the building, Gordon sug 
 gested that they should return by the Via dei Ser- 
 penti and the Quirinal Piazza, so as to get the 
 view of the city in the moonlight. He gave his 
 arm to his companion and they walked on slowly, 
 each burning to speak, each realizing that the pre 
 cious minutes of solitude in that entrancing atmos 
 phere were slipping away from them, yet neither 
 ready or able to say the only thing each wished to 
 say. 
 
 At length Gordon broke the silence : "As con 
 versation does n t seem to be very active, perhaps 
 I might beguile the tedious way by telling you a 
 little story." 
 
 Priscilla thought she did not want to hear a 
 little story ; so she said nothing. But, after the 
 first few words, she changed her mind, and showed 
 it unconsciously by just the least little pressure of 
 
256 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 her fingers on the story-teller s arm. " This is it," 
 Gordon went on. " Once upon a time, in a far 
 eastern country, there was a very wise and a very 
 rich old king. This king had one son, who was 
 neither wise, nor rich, nor amiable ; but, being an 
 only son and heir to the kingdom, his father was 
 anxious to do what he could to make him worthy 
 of his high position. Now it happened that in an 
 other country far away from that one there was 
 preserved, in an old temple, a very beautiful dia 
 mond, which was not only beautiful, but had the 
 curious and exceptional property of making any one 
 who could succeed in getting possession of it for 
 tunate and happy forever after. Only, it was a dif 
 ficult thing to get possession of it. So many had 
 tried and tried in vain that common people had al 
 most given up the attempt. The king whom I am 
 telling you of, however, thought that his son had 
 better make the venture and would be very likely 
 to succeed. , Surely, a king s son must succeed, no 
 matter who had failed. So he selected from among 
 his friends and counselors a very wise old man, 
 who had been particularly fortunate in directing 
 his own concerns all his life, and ordered him to 
 take the prince in charge, escort him to the far 
 country, and bring him safely home, after the ad 
 venture of the diamond should be achieved. 
 
 " The wise old man was a little too wise to like 
 the undertaking. As he got on further and saw 
 more of the prince, he liked it less. Indeed, he 
 
THE MAGIC OF THE MOON 257 
 
 soon came to feel that the end of the journey 
 would be one of the pleasantest events of a long 
 and not unpleasant career. He had more reason 
 still to feel so, before the end came. 
 
 " Well, they reached the far country at last and 
 they found the diamond. What happened ? In the 
 first place, it became evident that the prince, prince 
 though he was, could not get the diamond. It ap 
 peared that when the right person should come, he 
 would have nothing to do but reach out his hand, 
 and the precious stone would be lifted from its 
 place, as easily as a pebble ; but at the touch of 
 the wrong hand, it remained rooted in its socket, 
 so that dynamite could not stir it. Now the 
 prince s hand was the wrong hand. What is more, 
 although his tu although the wise old man suc 
 ceeded in persuading him to make one or two 
 feeble efforts, he soon lost his interest in the dia 
 mond ; indeed, he had never felt very much. 
 
 " It so happened that in the very same temple, all 
 about the diamond, were gorgeous bits of colored 
 glass, cheap, but showy to the inexperienced eye. 
 Whoever chose one of these, instead of the real 
 jewel, cut himself off from the diamond forever. 
 The unlucky prince no sooner cast his eye on a 
 particularly sparkling green gewgaw then he de 
 clared that he must have it. Diamonds were no 
 thing compared to such a treasure as this. The 
 wise old man argued, persuaded, commanded in 
 vain. The prince possessed himself of his choice 
 
258 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 bit of sparkling vanity, and there the story ends, 
 as regards him. 
 
 " Meantime, the wise old man, who was neither so 
 old nor so wise as he ought to have been, had got 
 it into his head that he should like to have a try at 
 the diamond himself. He was not vain enough to 
 be confident. He was a little too wise and too old 
 for that. But some things had given him a hope, 
 a sort of presentiment. You see it was a foolish 
 old man after all. Now, under all the circum 
 stances, what do you think he ought to do ? Does 
 honor require that he should put that diamond out 
 of his mind, trudge wearily back to his own coun 
 try, and face the anger of the king all for nothing? " 
 
 They had come out into the great piazza in front 
 of the Quirinal Palace, and were standing at the 
 foot of the noble statues, gazing over the city, which 
 lay quiet in the witchery of the moonlight. Pris- 
 cilla did not speak for a moment. Gordon could 
 feel the tremulous pressure of her fingers on his 
 arm. At length she said softly, but decidedly: "I 
 think the wise old man would do wrong if he went 
 back so. If the diamond was really for him, if his 
 hand was the right hand and no other, surely it 
 was his duty to stay and take the stone and profit 
 by it." 
 
 They spoke no more then on the matter of dia 
 monds ; but as they stood there in the soft moon 
 light, looking over the black dome of St. Peter s 
 into the west, towards home, Priscilla felt a deli- 
 
THE MAGIC OF THE MOON 259 
 
 cious, quiet, fulfilling ecstasy of joy which she had 
 never even dreamed of before. 
 
 While they were walking slowly back, through 
 the shadowy streets, to the hotel, Gordon told his 
 companion just what the immediate situation was. 
 He had written to Mr. Payne, explaining the whole 
 state of affairs, so far as Edgar was concerned, and 
 asking for advice as to what he should do. He 
 thought it very probable that Mr. Payne would 
 come over himself. In that case he, Gordon, would 
 be free, his own man again, with obligations to no 
 one. If Mr. Payne did not come, the freedom would 
 necessarily be deferred for a time. But the chief 
 object now was to obtain such freedom, just as soon 
 as was consistent with what he felt to be his duty 
 in the task he had undertaken. He explained all 
 this in clear, business-like language, without a word 
 of sentiment; but Priscilla understood him per 
 fectly. She did not sleep much that night, nor 
 Gordon either. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 A BUSINESS PROPOSITION 
 
 FOR four or five days after the evening at the 
 Colosseum, Gordon heard nothing of the Countess 
 or of Priscilla, and saw very little of Edgar ; but 
 he had made up his mind to wait, and he waited. 
 Finally he received one morning a little note in the 
 well-known handwriting, with the black coronet on 
 the envelope. " She won t like giving up that coro 
 net," he thought to himself, as he examined the 
 contents of the epistle. They were as follows : 
 " Dear Mr. Gordon, Could you make it conven 
 ient to call on me this afternoon, on a matter of 
 business, about five o clock ? If it were not impor 
 tant, I would not trouble you. Sincerely yours, 
 Antonia Markovski." 
 
 Now what was all this about ? When he called 
 on her last, she had said that it would be better 
 for him not to come again ; and when she had said 
 so, she had expressed his own feelings exactly. 
 What did she want ? Well, there was one simple 
 way to find out. To be sure, he did not care par 
 ticularly about finding out. Still it was clear that 
 he must go. 
 
 Then there came once more into his mind that 
 
A BUSINESS PROPOSITION 261 
 
 question of buying off. Now was the opportunity, 
 if ever. He would at least be on the watch for any 
 suitable occasion that might present itself. 
 
 So at five o clock punctually he was in the 
 Countess s drawing-room. She was there to receive 
 him ; but her general aspect had none of the win 
 ning grace which had been so marked at his last 
 visit. She wore her out-of-door habiliments, even 
 her heavy black hat, even her gloves, having evi 
 dently just returned from her daily drive. At the 
 first glance, he thought she looked much graver, 
 older, more worn even, than he had ever seen her 
 look before. Then he remembered that it was in 
 her power to look exactly as she wished. 
 
 She shook hands with him, and pointed to a 
 chair. " Thank you for coming so promptly," she 
 said. Her manner was courteous and cold, a shade 
 haughty even, as if she had sent for a tradesman, 
 or a lawyer say, to talk business. 
 
 Gordon seated himself and waited for her to 
 begin. He had nothing to say. She did not keep 
 him waiting long. After a moment s reflection, 
 during which she might have been observing him, 
 but did not appear to be doing so, she spoke in the 
 same reserved, cold fashion as before. " I invited 
 you to come here, Mr. Gordon, for a definite pur 
 pose. I have a statement and a proposition to make 
 to you." 
 
 Gordon bowed gravely, as a respectful trades 
 man would, and prepared himself to listen. On the 
 
262 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 whole, her mood suited him as well as any other 
 could have done. 
 
 She hesitated just a second, as if to give him the 
 opportunity of speaking, then went on, as before : 
 " I told you the other day that I intended to marry 
 Edgar Payne. I intend so still. The affair is pro 
 gressing steadily towards the end I have in view, 
 and you have doubtless discovered that nothing you 
 can do is likely to delay the progress." Clearly 
 she looked for some answer at this point ; but Gor 
 don still kept silence, guided now by policy as well 
 as inclination. He simply looked at her with the 
 same quiet air of courteous interest. 
 
 If she was annoyed, she did not show it. " Of 
 course you have," she continued, " but although I 
 am perfectly satisfied as to the result of my 
 love affair, I want it to go faster. The young man 
 is a boor, an oaf, a brute, as you know, but he is 
 a little shrewd. He holds off, and gives me more 
 trouble than I imagined he would. You see, I am 
 frank with you. I can afford to be, your enmity 
 is so little dangerous. Now, time is rather impor 
 tant to me. I cannot stay much longer in Rome, as 
 I am, for reasons political and financial both. Do 
 I make myself clear ? " 
 
 "Perfectly. Your statement is lucidity itself 
 and fills me with curiosity as to your proposition." 
 
 " Very good." She paused a moment, watching 
 him closely, while she seemed to collect her 
 thoughts. She had got him placed, as does every 
 
A BUSINESS PROPOSITION 263 
 
 skillful manoeuvrer in talk, so that his face was 
 lighted and hers in shadow, though the whole 
 lighting of the room was dim enough. " You re 
 member, I charged you the other day with wishing 
 to marry Miss Stanton?" Gordon s brows drew 
 together a very little. " Don t be impatient till 
 you have heard me out. That was a random shot. 
 Nevertheless, I thought I would go and see the 
 young lady and find out what it all means. I sup 
 pose she told you ? " 
 
 " She did," replied Gordon, without further ex 
 planation. He was beginning to think that all his 
 conversations with the Countess were to be mono 
 logues, and on the whole, he preferred them that 
 way. 
 
 " Good. She is a clever young woman. She is 
 pretty, and may be beautiful. Above all, she is 
 young. Give us every other advantage, and youth 
 will throw us every time. Very well. I suppose 
 she will make you happier than I should ; but that 
 is neither here nor there. My proposition is simply 
 this. Help me and I will help you. Facilitate my 
 match and I will facilitate yours." 
 
 Gordon sat up straighter and opened his eyes 
 wide ; but still he said nothing. 
 
 " Do you understand ? " This in a tone almost 
 harsh, in its clear coldness. 
 
 " No," said Gordon slowly, hoarsely. " I did n t 
 quite understand." 
 
 " You are dull. I say, help me, and I will help 
 
264 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 you. Your young man there is just hanging on 
 the edge. I can get him over, but it may be a 
 little troublesome. Just one tactful word from you 
 would save me all the trouble. Then I take hold 
 for you. Edgar appeases his father. His father 
 appeases Mr. Stanton. There you are. The 
 daughter needs no inducement. I can see that. 
 No woman does with you. Do you understand at 
 last?" 
 
 She spoke with quick, sharp phrases and light, 
 eager gestures, all the chilly acuteness of the mod 
 ern woman of affairs. And Gordon felt at once 
 the truth of what Edgar had foreseen as to her 
 success in the stock market. The thought occupied 
 him for only a second, however, for his mind was 
 chiefly engaged with the infinite disreputableness 
 of the proposition she was making. Had he really 
 laid himself open to this? Was it possible that 
 even such little contact as he had had with the 
 people of this woman s world had put him on 
 their level, till she could confidently ask him to do 
 something so despicable ? The very air of the room 
 seemed to stifle him. 
 
 With this tumult in his thoughts he was slow 
 in answering, even when she repeated her ques 
 tion. While he delayed, she tapped her little foot 
 impatiently on the floor. 
 
 " I don t know what you think of me,* he 
 said at length. "This isn t a sort of thing I am 
 used to." 
 
A BUSINESS PROPOSITION 265 
 
 " I think you are a fool," she said, with all the 
 sharp snap of her nervous irritation. " And I am 
 a greater fool for trying to talk business to you. 
 That Edgar, who isn t a fool, whatever else he 
 may be, has taken your measure thoroughly. But 
 that you should have scruples and a conscience ! 
 They don t suit you. You ought to live for plea 
 sure, and ease, and peace ; and you ought to know 
 that you can t have those things and be virtuous. 
 Virtue is a luxury which is hardly purchased with 
 all the charm of life ; and when you ve sacrificed 
 everything for it, it is a drug on your hands. 
 Still, there is a virtue even one like me can re 
 spect, hard, clear, cold, and consistent, which does 
 not trifle with itself or with others. But your vir 
 tue ! Ah, dear me ! What a pale and simple thing 
 it is. Shrinking into corners with its fingers 
 over its eyes sometimes and then again start 
 ing out when nobody expects or wants it, least of 
 all its owner. Pah ! " 
 
 Gordon had continued his reflections during 
 this tirade. On the whole, he was glad such a crisis 
 had arrived. His duty was clearer to him now. 
 He would have the whole thing out with Edgar. 
 Then he would cable to Mr. Payne to come at once. 
 Perhaps even yet he might arrive in time. But 
 now, before doing all this, he would at least take 
 his turn at making a proposition. Certainly, after 
 what had just passed, it would not be her place to 
 accuse him of any lack of delicacy. 
 
266 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 " Antonia," he began, " supposing we don t talk 
 about my virtue. The subject is of secondary im 
 portance." She made a scornful gesture of assent. 
 " But since you have begun putting things on a 
 business basis, I will take my turn. What should 
 you say ? I mean it occurred to me " It was 
 very disagreeable, and she did not help him a bit ; 
 just sat and stared icily. But he floundered on. 
 " It occurred to me that perhaps Mr. Payne would 
 make it worth your while, you know " 
 
 Then she burst out. " You ve come to it, at last, 
 have you? I expected this long ago and perhaps 
 long ago I might have listened to you. It is of 
 no use now. I want the boy himself. I want his 
 father. I want the millions all of them, do you 
 see? I mean at least to have a try at them. I 
 want to start over again, a new woman in a new 
 world. And I want to win. I want to beat you. 
 It is a poor triumph ; but it will be one to me. At 
 last I think we understand each other. Now go." 
 
 There seemed to be nothing more to be said. So 
 Gordon went. 
 
 When he had left the room, the scorn and wrath 
 instantly faded from Antonia s face. For a long 
 time she sat quiet, drawing her gloves back and 
 forth through her hands, absently. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 WILL YOU WALK INTO MY PARLOR 
 
 NEARLY three weeks have passed since we saw 
 Edgar and the Countess driving together in the 
 Campagna. During that time Edgar s progress 
 had been slow, but, as Antonia said, sure. The 
 skill with which he was manipulated was bound 
 to tell in the end. Gradually, very gradually, he 
 found himself admitted into an intimacy which 
 was all the more charming and the more binding, 
 because he could hardly mark the steps by which 
 it grew. Appointments at more familiar hours 
 early in the afternoon, late in the twilight ; soli 
 tary walks in the morning to lonely churches and 
 quiet palaces ; those delicious bits of whispered in 
 tercourse in public places, which are the subtlest 
 sweets of growing love: all these slight favors 
 vouchsafed made Edgar feel more at home with 
 the lady of his affections, but also fixed his mind 
 more and more on a permanent relationship. 
 Perfectly free and easy as she was in all her talk 
 and manner with him, she made him appreciate 
 that any undue liberty would be not only impru 
 dent, but simply impossible. 
 
 The effect of Gordon s talk upon his pupil had 
 
268 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 been null. Edgar really believed that Gordon was 
 a natural liar ; but so far as the Countess was con 
 cerned, he did not specially care whether Gordon 
 had lied or not. She might have had lovers in the 
 past, but he was interested in the future. If she 
 married him, it might be partly for money. Sup 
 posing it was so. He was not the one to respect 
 her less for that. Again, she might not have much 
 money herself. On this point he was certainly very 
 anxious and would have given a good deal for in 
 formation ; but his acquaintances in Rome were 
 not of a sort that could give him any. Such mys 
 terious rumors as had come to him were vague and 
 evidently of a most unreliable nature. Yet, after 
 all, it was she he was after, not money. He could 
 make money for both. The more he saw of her, 
 the more the idea of fatality about her grew upon 
 him. He felt more and more confident that, with 
 her beside him, he could go home and plunge and 
 make big money from the start. So it was coming 
 about that marriage was almost always in his 
 thoughts. Only, he was a prudent young man and 
 preferred to walk carefully. It would take just a 
 few more of those delicious little interviews to de 
 cide him. 
 
 On the same day on which the Countess had 
 requested a call from Gordon, she also sent a little 
 note to Edgar. "Dear Mr. Payne, Come and 
 see me this evening. I am dining out so tire 
 some ; yet I must. But I shall be at home by ten 
 
WILL YOU WALK INTO MY PARLOR 269 
 
 certainly. Come in for a few minutes and cheer 
 me up. Sincerely yours, A. M." She had not re 
 ceived him before in the evening, except once or 
 twice, when she had other guests, who had annoyed 
 and irritated him beyond measure. This was a 
 golden opportunity indeed. All the afternoon his 
 attention was distracted from the stock-lists by 
 thoughts of what was coming, and vague gleams of 
 amorous witchery flitted across the arid columns of 
 quotations. 
 
 At ten precisely he rang the Countess s bell and 
 was ushered into her sombre, quiet drawing-room ; 
 no Countess. Well, he had no proprietorship in 
 her yet and could not find fault if she kept him 
 waiting for a little ; but by George ! let her only 
 be married to him . He amused himself with a 
 careful inspection of the room. Everything looked 
 like money, certainly pictures, furniture, books, 
 flowers. But he thought he knew enough to know 
 that such appearances were deceptive. Yet, after 
 all, if she had n t much money, perhaps she would 
 be more obedient, more dutifully acquiescent to a 
 husband s plans and desires. For, though he was 
 madly in love, he shrewdly suspected that her will 
 and his might have some fierce battles in days to 
 come. Then he thought of Priscilla and realized 
 that it was just those battles that he looked for 
 ward to, or, at any rate, the splendid faculty of 
 battling. 
 
 It was half-past ten now. He threw himself im* 
 
270 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 patiently on a sofa and began to gnaw his nails 
 with irritation. What did she mean by keeping 
 him waiting like this ? He would make her under 
 stand that he was not a child to be taken up and put 
 away at the convenience of her fancy. He would 
 tell her straight out what he thought. Where 
 was she now? Why should she stay so late, if she 
 was not enjoying herself? What business had 
 she to enjoy herself without him ? But then, it was 
 true that he had as yet no right to abuse her in 
 the matter. Ah, he must get that right as soon as 
 he possibly could. His mind was made up. What 
 was the use of wasting time and being bothered? 
 All which reflections, as the sapient reader will 
 naturally gather, were exactly in the line of what 
 the Countess intended when she arranged this little 
 matter. 
 
 It was eleven o clock, and Edgar had just made 
 up his mind that he would wait no longer, con 
 scious, nevertheless, that he should wait till morn 
 ing, if necessary, when a carriage stopped below ; 
 and in a minute there was a ring at the door of 
 the apartment. Then voices were heard in the hall 
 Antonia s and that of a man, speaking French 
 low and rapidly. The colloquy lasted for a minute 
 or so, which seemed an hour to Edgar s jealous ex 
 asperation, and he ended by getting up and going 
 towards the door, determined to find out who was 
 this midnight intruder on his peace. But before he 
 had taken more than a step or two, the talking 
 
WILL YOU WALK INTO MY PARLOR 271 
 
 ceased, and the outside door opened and closed 
 again. The portiere which covered the entrance to 
 the drawing-rooin was put aside and Antonia 
 entered. 
 
 She paused a second on the threshold ; and the 
 sight of her, as she stood there, changed Edgar s 
 feelings instantly. She was dressed in black as 
 usual, an evening gown of the most complete 
 description ; but this was only barely observable 
 under the heavy cloak which she was just loosen 
 ing from her shoulders. The cloak was pure white, 
 silk, trimmed with swan s-down, and reached in 
 long, unbroken folds to her feet. She wore a large 
 white hat also, with white plumes, one small, deep 
 red plume in the middle of them, like a splotch 
 of blood. As she stood there, black and white, 
 her black-gloved hands silhouetted against the 
 white silk, a dark, heavy, crimson curtain behind 
 her, she was a wonderful picture, as no one knew 
 better than herself. 
 
 It was only for a second. Then she came quickly 
 towards Edgar, with both hands extended in warm, 
 eager comradeship. " Ah, my friend, how good you 
 are to come to me. I have kept you waiting shame 
 fully, shamefully. Will you forgive me ? " 
 
 He forgave her with his whole heart. She sat 
 herself down in the corner of a sofa and let him 
 sit beside her. The heavy cloak was thrown half 
 back from her shoulders, with a petulant gesture, 
 and the hat laid aside. The disorder of her hair 
 
272 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 and the glow in her cheeks, partly owing to the 
 chilly winter wind, and partly to her evening s ex 
 citement, made her lovely to look upon. Eound 
 her neck, in delicate contrast with the subtle tones 
 of her clear skin, was a double necklace of pearls, 
 large, soft, radiant. As she drew off her gloves, 
 the ever-present opal threw its pale sparkle from 
 her finger. 
 
 For a moment she let Edgar enjoy the intimate 
 charm which comes from being part of a woman s 
 home, from feeling that for you she has laid aside 
 her varied wrappings of artifice and convention, 
 and relaxed perfectly into the simple habit of her 
 inward life. Then she spoke softly and absently : 
 " I am so tired, so tired, and so bored. You thought 
 I stayed because I was enjoying myself, and were 
 a little angry with me ? Was it not so ? " Her 
 hands were playing idly with the long black gloves, 
 but now she suffered him to seize one of them and 
 keep it, though she took no notice of his pressure. 
 " Ah, my friend, how tedious it is, the world, and 
 what fools they are to run after it ! Did you hear 
 that man speak to me when I came in ? " Edgar 
 nodded, still holding the white hand with the opal. 
 "I thought so. That man is a French marquis 
 who wants me to marry him. Fancy ! And he is 
 fifty years old, and a beast, and hideous. And he 
 bores me so." A little real shudder ran through 
 her frame if it was real. At any rate, it ruffled 
 the fairness of her skin, as a little breeze ruffles 
 
WILL YOU WALK INTO MY PARLOR 273 
 
 the surface of a summer lake. " Shall I marry 
 him?" 
 
 " What ? A cursed, frog-eating Frenchman ? I 
 knew he was spoony when I heard him. Why 
 did n t I throw him downstairs ? " 
 
 " Ah, if you are going to throw downstairs all 
 the disagreeable people who want to marry me" 
 
 There was silence for a moment. She had re 
 claimed her hand and was again drawing her gloves 
 through it slowly and gently. Edgar felt that now 
 was the time. He must speak, he would speak. 
 No frog-eating, beggarly French marquis should 
 come between him and his prize now. He was sit- 
 ting with his face turned towards her, his arm 
 resting on the back of the sofa, while she was look 
 ing straight away from him at the further side 
 of the room, her eyes fixed perhaps on the deep 
 shadows in the red curtains or perhaps on things 
 and people far away. " Antonia," he began hesi 
 tatingly. 
 
 She read his tone at once ; but she was not quite 
 prepared ; and she interrupted him softly. " Do 
 you know," she said, " I had a call from Mr. Gor 
 don this afternoon ? " 
 
 " Gordy ? What did he want ? Some mean 
 trick, I 11 be bound." 
 
 She did not answer immediately, so Edgar s 
 mind reverted to the former and more important 
 subject : " Never mind Gordy, what do we care 
 about him. But I say " 
 
274 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 " He came with an odd proposal," she inter 
 rupted again, speaking in a thoughtful tone, with 
 her eyes still fixed on distance, her hands still 
 trifling with her gloves. " What do you suppose ? 
 He asked me whether I would get you to help him 
 marry Miss Stanton." 
 
 " The confounded impudence ! I say, that fellow 
 does beat all for cool, perfect cheek. Of course, 
 I don t want the girl, you know. Why should I ? 
 Hey? I can get something better than that I 
 hope. But to expect me to help him ! Oh, won t 
 I give him a piece of my mind ? " 
 
 " No, no, don t do that. After all, he came to 
 me in confidence." 
 
 " But what did you say to him ? " 
 
 Antonia assumed a lovely air of injured dignity. 
 " I told him I really could n t meddle in such in 
 trigues at all, that I had no sort of claim on you 
 which would entitle me to make such a request of 
 you" Here Edgar tried to interrupt, but she 
 would not let him " that it seemed to me under 
 the circumstances, it was, to say the least, not very 
 dignified for him to try to marry a young lady 
 whom her parents had destined for a young man 
 that was under his charge." 
 
 " By Jove ! I dare say you fixed him all right." 
 But Edgar s mind was on another subject now. 
 How did it happen that she and Gordon were so 
 intimate ? Of course, he knew of their former ac 
 quaintance, and that Gordon occasionally visited 
 
WILL YOU WALK INTO MY PARLOR 275 
 
 her ; but such an interview as this implied a closer 
 relation than he was aware of. " I say," he began 
 abruptly, staring 1 at her, with just a trace of a frown 
 on his cheerful brow, "how did you and Gordy 
 get so thick all of a sudden ? " 
 
 Antonia turned and looked him straight in the 
 eye, with the most natural and frank astonishment. 
 " Why," she said, " I thought you knew that Mr. 
 Gordon and I were old friends." 
 
 " Friends ! What do you call friends ? " was the 
 harsh response. 
 
 " Has n t he ever spoken to you about me ? It 
 is a reticence which he has not always practiced. 
 Talking is his weakness and saying things that 
 he should n t say." 
 
 " I know that ; but what do you mean, anyhow ? 
 What is it aU about ? " 
 
 Antonia hesitated and re-settled herself in her 
 corner. " It is only for one s best friends that one 
 is willing to stir up these harsh and bitter mem 
 ories ; so you see what I think of you." In reply 
 Edgar made another effort again a successful 
 one to possess himself of her hand. Then she 
 went on softly, quietly, almost with tears in her 
 voice : " When Mr. Gordon came here three years 
 ago, he was three years younger than he is now. 
 So was I. He was a green, inexperienced youth, al 
 ways doing and saying foolish things, handsome, no 
 doubt, but so ignorant of the ways of the world that 
 he could not secure any entrance into good society. 
 
276 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 I had the charity of youth then. I befriended him, 
 introduced him, helped him on in the world, did 
 everything for him, though perhaps I ought not to 
 say so. Apparently, he misunderstood my kindness, 
 as men always do, and thought I was in love with 
 him. If you could have known him then, you would 
 laugh at the idea, a great, clumsy, hopeless, self- 
 conscious boy." 
 
 " I can see him from here," said the delighted 
 Edgar. 
 
 " Exactly. So he asked me to marry him. I 
 was completely taken aback, for, so far as I could 
 make out, he had no money, no occupation, no posi 
 tion. Is it not so ? " 
 
 " Of course it is just a beggarly loafer no 
 thing else." 
 
 " Besides, I did not love him. Well, I told him 
 all this, kindly, as you can imagine. I said I hoped 
 he would not change towards me. If I could not 
 have him for a husband, I wanted him for a friend. 
 But it would not do. He is of a proud and jealous 
 disposition, it seems." 
 
 " I should say so." 
 
 " My kindness returned to me, as it usually does. 
 He would have nothing more to do with me, threw 
 me over completely. That was not all. Would you 
 believe it? He began to tell all sorts of stories 
 about me, scandalous, abominable. He said that I 
 that I I cannot repeat it." 
 
 Here the unfortunate lady, in whose voice the 
 
WILL YOU WALK INTO MY PARLOR 277 
 
 tears had been growing more and more prominent, 
 gave way to a passion of them, burying her face in 
 her hands. 
 
 " Damn him ! " Edgar shouted, completely over 
 come by that mixture of pity and helpless irritation 
 which possesses every man in the presence of fem 
 inine weeping, the proportion of the mixture vary 
 ing with the man s character and his relation to the 
 lady concerned. " Damn him I " 
 
 Recovering herself, with an effort, at this vehe 
 ment ejaculation, and smiling gently at her adorer, 
 Antonia resumed : " You may wonder that, after 
 all this, I was willing to receive him again. But 
 he is a hard person to resist, where he is determined 
 to make his way. Then, I thought it better to 
 conciliate than to irritate him ; for I was absolutely 
 at the mercy of his tongue. When a woman is 
 alone, it is hard, so hard " 
 
 The tears began to flow again and Edgar could 
 endure it no longer. Slipping off the sofa on to one 
 knee, he put his arm about her, and forced her to 
 look down at him through her tears. " Antonia," 
 he said, " Antonia " 
 
 " Don t pity me," she murmured, " I can t bear 
 that." 
 
 " No, no ! You don t need any pity. It was n t 
 of that I was thinking. Antonia, I want you to be 
 my wife." 
 
 Her face lighted up with a wonderful sad smile. 
 "You are like the others," she said. 
 
278 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 " No, I m not like the others ! You try me and 
 see. I 11 make something of you and you 11 make 
 something of me. I tell you, together we 11 just 
 make em stare. We 11 go into the stock market 
 and I 11 cut a figure, and we 11 go into society 
 and you 11 cut a figure. By Jove ! It 11 be great. 
 Come now, there s a good girl ! " 
 
 She listened thoughtfully to love s rapturous 
 vaticinations, stroking his harsh, colorless locks 
 with one pale, fine hand. But I doubt if she heard 
 him. She was dreaming of the others, perhaps of 
 one other. Then the comedy of the situation grew 
 upon her. She thought she had never seen a more 
 grotesque figure than the one kneeling before her, 
 a Chinese idol, say, or the hideous illustration of a 
 funny paper. 
 
 When she heard this last ardent request, she 
 smiled again, more sadly still. " Not now, child, 
 not now ! " she said. " What would papa say, 
 and Gordon, and Miss Priscilla ? " 
 
 "Don t make fun of me," he cried, in anger. 
 " What do you suppose that s got to do with it ? 
 I m not a child, don t treat me like one." 
 
 " How petulant it is ! " The smile got a grain 
 of mischief in it. The caressing hand put a shade 
 more tenderness in its caress. " I only want to 
 say that you must not speak to me so now, when I 
 have been working on your feelings, like a naughty, 
 selfish thing as I am. God knows I love you 
 enough. You are honest. And that is just the one 
 
WILL YOU WALK INTO MY PARLOR 279 
 
 thing I care for in the world, honesty and straight 
 forwardness. I love you enough to be unwilling to 
 injure you. Go away now. It is midnight. Go ; 
 and when you come again, it shall be as if these 
 words had never been spoken. We will be friends 
 together, as we have been. Go, I insist. No ! No ! 
 No ! " for Edgar, going in obedience to her orders, 
 stopped yet a moment to lean over and kiss her 
 again and again, muttering passionate exclamations 
 of hope, rapture, and entreaty. When he reached 
 the door, turning to look back, he cried, " You 
 shall be mine, mine, mine ! " Then she herself 
 threw him one little kiss, with playful witchery. 
 
 When he had gone, she sank back in the corner, 
 dull, listless, exhausted ; and an expression of intol 
 erable, sickening disgust settled on her face. 
 
CHAPTEK XXIII 
 THE CRISIS 
 
 WHEN Gordon left the Countess s drawing-room, 
 he felt that the crisis had arrived. If there was 
 anything farther to be done, he must delay not a 
 minute longer in doing it. He would see Edgar at 
 once, make one last appeal to him, referring, if 
 necessary, to his own personal experiences. Failing 
 in this, as of course he should fail, he would cable 
 to Mr. Payne to come out, if possible, and take 
 his own measures, if he should arrive in season to 
 take any measures at all. Meantime, he, Gordon, 
 would simply throw up all responsibility for the 
 whole affair. 
 
 With this decision clearly formed in his mind, 
 he went directly home, hoping to find Edgar and 
 go to work at once. In this he was disappointed. 
 Edgar had gone out, leaving word that he should 
 not be in till late in the evening. There was no 
 thing for it but to wait. Gordon, however, had 
 the gift, which is denied to so many, of waiting 
 with perfect equanimity, even in very trying cir 
 cumstances. He did not pass his time in dwelling 
 on disagreeable details of the approaching inter 
 view, and forming neat and appropriate turns of 
 
THE CRISIS 281 
 
 phrase to accomplish his object. Perhaps he would 
 have accomplished his object better if he had done 
 so ; but he would have been much more uncom 
 fortable in the interval. 
 
 As it was, he went and dined placidly and en 
 joyed his dinner. Then he thought he would go 
 around to Morris s studio and have a chat. He 
 had not recently seen much of Morris, who had 
 been devoting himself to a wild and wealthy young 
 lady from Kansas City. On the few occasions 
 when they had met, Morris had inquired with 
 great interest about the progress of Gordon s tutor 
 ship ; but there had been no opportunity for afford 
 ing him much information. Now, however, Gordon 
 felt as if it might be pleasant to talk the matter 
 over thoroughly with some one, and he knew of no 
 one else to whom he could so easily go. 
 
 Morris s studio did not have exactly the appear 
 ance of a genuine shrine of art. As indeed, why 
 should it ? The various paraphernalia were there, 
 easels, palettes, and brushes, canvases piled back 
 outward against the wall in gray dismalness, casts 
 of feet, hands, etc., old armor, oriental costumes, 
 and all the rest of it. But somehow, those things 
 seemed to be there for amusement and not for work. 
 
 The proprietor of this dubious establishment 
 received Gordon with enthusiasm, and immediately 
 set him at the piano to sing songs of indescribable 
 and delectable humorousness, while the assembled 
 young gentlemen half a dozen or more shouted 
 
282 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 with glee and filled and emptied their pipes and 
 glasses of brandy and soda. When the singer was 
 at the end of his repertory, the party fell to con 
 versation on Italian politics, American art, virtue, 
 and other kindred and original topics. The fury 
 of argument increased as the brandy and soda 
 diminished ; but always when the former reached 
 a state which threatened violence, Gordon, without 
 the least affectation, threw in a scrap of a jest, 
 or a word of humorous non-comprehension, which 
 turned the storm into general laughter. Vehement 
 disputation always bored him. It seemed to waste 
 the serenity of life. 
 
 Gradually the brandy and soda went and the 
 company went also ; until Morris and Gordon 
 found themselves alone, in the smoky atmosphere, 
 before the dying fire. 
 
 " I suppose you d like me to go too," Gordon 
 suggested. 
 
 " My dear fellow, I never wanted to be alone in 
 my life." Morris put more coals on the fire and 
 produced more brandy and soda, from an appar 
 ently inexhaustible receptacle. " Besides," he went 
 on, " now is the very time for you to tell me all 
 about it." 
 
 "All about what?" 
 
 " Your tutorship." 
 
 Gordon did not reply for a moment, but refilled 
 his pipe and his glass, leisurely. Then he said, 
 " I m in a devil of a mess." 
 
THE CRISIS 283 
 
 "You always are. But you don t seem to 
 mind it." 
 
 " I do mind it this time." 
 
 " Yet, after all, I don t see that you re much to 
 blame ? " Morris continued inquiringly. 
 
 " Why, what do you know about it ? " 
 
 " Oh, I ve watched you all along. I think I 
 understand the situation. The two old fathers fix 
 up a match and expect you to bring it about. The 
 lady won t, and the gentleman won t, and the two 
 old ones hammer you. I take it that s something 
 the size of it." 
 
 " It is n t the size of it at all not a tenth part 
 the size of it. You can t see half so far as you 
 think you can." 
 
 " I can t, hey ? " Morris rejoined, rather in a 
 huff. " Then what is the situation, if you please ? " 
 
 " Well, to put it briefly : the gentleman wants 
 to marry the Countess Markovski, and the lady 
 wants to marry me." 
 
 " The devil ! " Morris almost dropped his pipe 
 in astonishment. 
 
 " Well, I hope I m not so bad as that, but I 
 sometimes think I must be." 
 
 " As to the Countess," Morris observed, grad 
 ually collecting his senses, " you must remember 
 that I prophesied it long ago ; though I must con 
 fess I did n t believe it when I said it." 
 
 " You prophesied it ! Yes. Like all prophets, 
 who take delight in foreseeing their friends mis- 
 
284 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 fortunes. Why could n t you have done something 
 useful, and told me how to prevent it ? " 
 
 " Did you ever hear of a prophet doing anything 
 useful?" 
 
 " See here, Morris," said Gordon, sitting up 
 straight, puffing away with redoubled vigor, and 
 looking his friend earnestly in the face. " See here. 
 I haven t done right about this business at all. 
 The first minute I saw the thing was going on, I 
 ought to have had a frank talk with Edgar. I ought 
 to have told him what good grounds I had to know 
 the Countess s character thoroughly, and to have 
 made it plain to him just what sort of a woman she 
 was. Probably it wouldn t have done any good." 
 
 " Certainly, you might say," Morris interjected. 
 
 " And it would have been very disagreeable." 
 
 " Very," was the sympathetic echo. 
 
 "And I didn t do it. Instead, I have hinted 
 once or twice vaguely at all the scandal floating 
 about, as if I had heard it second or third or tenth 
 hand. Naturally Edgar paid no attention to it 
 whatever. If I tell him the real facts now, he will 
 think I am inventing the whole thing." 
 
 " I should if I were he," suggested the comfort 
 ing commentator. 
 
 " And yet," continued Gordon slowly, " I shall 
 do it just the same. I shan t feel that I have made 
 every possible effort in the matter, until I have at 
 least appeared to speak with the authority of 
 experience." 
 
THE CRISIS 285 
 
 " Oh, Rob," said Morris, smiling, as he refilled 
 his pipe, " of course you are doing the right thing. 
 Tell the young man the whole story of your unfor 
 tunate love affair and what a thoroughly wicked, 
 abominable creature you know the charming Coun 
 tess to be. But don t suppose that you will ever 
 appear to speak with authority or experience. You 
 aren t built that way." Then, after a moment s 
 pause, he went on : " But about the other point. 
 That was what astonished me, you know. Miss 
 Stanton you said " 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Gordon, " I d forgotten her. 
 That s another charming feature." 
 
 " You said she wanted to marry you." 
 
 " Did I ? That was literary gorgeousness. I like 
 to round my periods effectively." 
 
 " With the name of a young lady ? " 
 
 44 It certainly gives them a charming embonpoint. 
 What I meant was simply, that I want to marry 
 her. Can you imagine anything more trying under 
 the circumstances ? " 
 
 44 Well, that depends. Is it all on one side ? " 
 
 44 Don t lay traps for my susceptible vanity. I 
 have reason to suppose that is " 
 
 " I understand." And Morris added, with a 
 sigh of envy: "Why the deuce is it that they 
 all like you so ? I suppose you don t try to make 
 them?" 
 
 44 Don t know how." 
 
 44 That s it. Happy blunderer ! And the papa ? " 
 
286 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 " Does n t know anything about it. "We like each 
 other, though." 
 
 Another silence of a minute or two, with more 
 puffing and sipping. Then Gordon went on : 
 " Well, what am I to do ? " 
 
 " Why should I settle it? " Morris replied, with 
 mock anger. " I m not your confessor." But at 
 a deprecatory gesture from Gordon, he added : 
 " Oh, well, if you want my advice, I should ask the 
 young lady for her hand. She s a peach." Gordon 
 nodded emphatically. " Of course, you 11 get a wig 
 ging from the old gentleman at home ; but you 11 
 get that anyway." 
 
 " I 11 tell you what I m going to do." Gordon 
 spoke emphatically and decidedly again. " I m go 
 ing to cable to him to come out here and then throw 
 myself on his mercy." 
 
 " That will be so convenient for a man who has 
 half a dozen railroads and trusts and so forth on his 
 hands!" 
 
 " What s the use of being worth forty or fifty mil 
 lions, if you can t go to Europe when you want to ? " 
 
 " You can t be worth forty or fifty millions and 
 do anything you want to, so far as I see. It is only 
 those who have nothing who can do whatever they 
 please." 
 
 "Very witty and sententious," said Gordon, 
 with approval. " But I must tear myself away. My 
 young charge will be getting home ; and I want to 
 have the interview over." 
 
THE CRISIS 287 
 
 "You have my sympathy," Morris observed, 
 standing up to superintend the process of getting 
 Gordon into his overcoat. "And see here," he 
 went on, " have n t I advised you to do everything 
 you wanted to do ? " 
 
 " You have, you have. That s what I came to 
 you for." So, with a cordial good-night, they sep 
 arated. 
 
 It is not necessary that we should follow Gor 
 don s steps on his way home. When he arrived 
 there, Edgar Payne had not returned, although it 
 was nearing midnight, and Gordon sat himself 
 down to wait. Even he did not find the waiting 
 very pleasant this time. It was not that he had 
 any dread of anything Edgar might say, or do ; 
 but the meeting, in itself unpleasant, seemed to be 
 the crisis of a long experience of unpleasantness, 
 which had been growing in intensity as it ap 
 proached this culmination. Then, since his mind 
 naturally refused the disagreeable, as a cork refuses 
 to stay under water, he remembered that, if this 
 was the crisis and the culmination, it might be 
 followed by something more attractive ; and grad 
 ually his thoughts became full of the elements of 
 that possible attractiveness, so remaining until 
 he was disturbed by the well-known flat and heavy 
 tread outside. Coming to himself, he hurried to 
 the door. 
 
 " I say, Edgar, step in here just a minute. I 
 want to speak to you." 
 
288 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 " It s late," was the discouraging reply. 
 
 " Never mind. I won t keep you long, but what 
 I have to say is important." 
 
 The young man answered nothing, but came sulk 
 ily into the room and stood near the door, taking 
 no notice of the chair which Gordon pointed out to 
 him. This was not a very propitious beginning cer 
 tainly. There was a moment s silence, Gordon also 
 remaining standing, with one hand in his pocket 
 and his other arm resting on the mantel. At length 
 he spoke. "The Countess Markovski sent for me 
 to call on her this afternoon. I went." 
 
 Still no reply ; but the frown on Edgar s face 
 grew blacker, if possible. 
 
 Gordon continued slowly, watching his compan 
 ion with a keen glance : " I wonder what you 
 would say if you knew the proposition she made 
 tome?" 
 
 Then the thundercloud on Edgar s brow burst : 
 " Proposition she made to you ! The coolness of 
 it ! When the man went there to make an impu 
 dent proposition himself ! " 
 
 " What is this ? " asked Gordon, somewhat taken 
 aback. 
 
 "What is this? The impudence of it! Didn t 
 you go there yourself to get her to help you to 
 marry that Stanton girl ? Answer me now, did n t 
 you?" 
 
 " Oh, that was the way of it ? " said Gordon, be 
 ginning to take in the humor of the situation. "And 
 
THE CRISIS 289 
 
 she said, perhaps, that I offered to help her marry 
 you in return, did n t she ? See here, Edgar, that 
 woman is making a fool of you." 
 
 " I dare say. I d rather have her do it than 
 you." 
 
 " Can t you leave me out of the question ? Ask 
 all Home what she is. Ask Mrs. Barton " Edgar 
 made a gesture of perfect impudence " ask any 
 decent fellow, if you know any, ask " 
 
 " Come ! " cried Edgar roughly, " what s the use 
 of all this? I don t believe a word you say, you 
 know. And if I did, what difference would it make 
 to me ? What do you know about it anyway ? A 
 parcel of lies that a lot of old women and lazy 
 loafers like you get together and hatch up they 
 would spoil the character of an angel. You can t 
 prove anything. If that s all you ve got to talk 
 about, I 11 go to bed." 
 
 He turned and laid his hand on the door knob. 
 " Hold on a minute," murmured Gordon. Then he 
 paused, while Edgar waited with the knob half- 
 turned. 
 
 " Well," growled the latter at length, " speak up, 
 can t you ? You re infernally slow." 
 
 It was hard work, awfully hard work. Gordon 
 had n t realized what it would be, till the tug came. 
 He still stood in the same position, his arm on the 
 mantel, his head resting on his hand, reflecting even 
 now, at the last minute, whether it was not better 
 to hold his tongue. At length he spoke : " You 
 
290 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 say I have no proof and you force me to tell you 
 what I had rather not have told you. I am the 
 last person to make unfounded assertions about a 
 woman s character ; but it so happens that in 
 this case I know more than you suppose. Three 
 years ago, when I was here, I the Countess 
 Markovski " 
 
 But Edgar let go the door knob, took three steps 
 right close up to Gordon, and shook his fist in his 
 face. " You damned liar," he said in fury, " you 
 damned, insolent liar. I know all about that story. 
 She s told me the mean trick you played her. And 
 what a fool you are too ! Don t you suppose I can 
 see that if you had anything true to tell, you would 
 have told it long enough ago, told it all the first 
 day, when you tried to set me against the smartest 
 woman alive ? You claim that you did n t like to 
 hurt her character! Huh! Don t I know you? 
 It s much you d care about hurting her character, 
 if there was any lie you could get up that would do 
 you any good. But they won t ! They won t ! They 
 won t ! " 
 
 The fellow had worked his cold temper into an 
 unnatural frenzy ; and if his tutor had shown the 
 slightest sign of fear, doubtless there would have 
 been a set-to on the spot. But Gordon was per 
 fectly brave in a quiet way, and paying no more 
 heed to Edgar s fist than to his insolence, he kept 
 the same tranquil posture, without taking his hand 
 from his pocket or his arm from the mantel. It was 
 
THE CRISIS 291 
 
 impossible for Edgar to do anything against such 
 an attitude as this. 
 
 When his wrath had spent itself in a sufficient 
 amount of ugly imprecation and he had drawn 
 away a step or two, Gordon said serenely : " Have 
 you done ? " 
 
 " Done with you, by God, yes," was the hoarse 
 reply. 
 
 " Then go." 
 
 " I will go ; but if ever I hear of your telling 
 any of this damned nonsense again about my wife 
 she will be my wife, do you hear that ? She 
 will ! " When he had gone out of the door, he 
 put his head back once more into the room and 
 shouted : " She will ! " 
 
 " Ouf ! " said Gordon, drawing a long breath. 
 " Have I got to the end yet ? " It was not all over 
 certainly, since there was Papa Payne to be met 
 and a little explanation there not very pleasant 
 to anticipate. Still, it did seem as if he had got 
 by the worst ; and, as he went to bed, he was sur 
 prised to find that he had absolutely no feeling of 
 irritation against Edgar a touch of pity rather. 
 If he could have saved him even now and mar 
 ried him to Priscilla, he would have tried to make 
 the sacrifice, so far as he himself was concerned 
 but he was glad there was no necessity for such a 
 trial. Then he remembered Edgar s saying that 
 Antonia had told him all about her relations with 
 himself. Forestalled again ! How clever she was ! 
 
292 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 How he would like to know what extraordinary 
 version of the affair her lively imagination had 
 concocted ! 
 
 Meanwhile, if Mr. Payne were needed at all, he 
 was needed now. So the next morning, early, Gor 
 don sent the following dispatch : " Come at once. 
 Will write Liverpool." 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 AN ARCH^OLOGICAL FAILURE 
 
 WHEN Gordon had sent his cable, it seemed to him 
 that it would be better to leave Rome until affairs 
 should have reached a new stage. It so happened 
 that on the preceding evening Morris and his 
 friends had planned a short trip of two or three 
 weeks to Siena, partly for artistic purposes, partly 
 for mere diversion. They had urged Gordon to join 
 them, but he had given no positive answer, waiting 
 to see what twenty-four hours would bring about. 
 Now, he thought, on the whole, that he could not 
 do better than go. So he went, starting with the 
 rest, by the noon train that day. 
 
 He had seen nothing of Edgar in the morning, 
 but he left word of his destination with the con 
 cierge, so that he might be informed if anything 
 particular happened. Especially, he left directions 
 that any telegram should be forwarded at once. 
 
 Just before starting, he wrote a little note to 
 Priscilla as follows : " Dear Miss Stanton, I have 
 cabled to Mr. Payne to come out here, if possible. 
 It seemed the best thing to do. Meantime, I am 
 running up to Siena for two or three weeks (Al- 
 bergo della Scala). I shall return the instant I have 
 
294 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 definite news of Mr. Payne and shall hope to see 
 you, the instant I return. Most sincerely yours, 
 Robert Gordon." 
 
 The day after he reached Siena, he received a 
 reply, in a handwriting he had already learned to 
 study and to love : " Dear Mr. Gordon, You 
 have done just the right thing, I am sure. We 
 shall be glad to see you as soon as you come back. 
 Sincerely yours, Priscilla Stan ton." 
 
 Ten or twelve days ran away pleasantly enough 
 at Siena. Gordon could not have been a pining 
 lover, if he had wished it ; and I do not think he 
 wished it. He was with gay young fellows, who 
 knew how to amuse themselves ; and no one of 
 them understood the art better than he. On fine 
 days they rambled about the streets or took long 
 drives or walks into the country. When it rained, 
 as it frequently did, they sought refuge in galleries 
 and churches, or congregated in the studios of the 
 few artists who had the courage to establish them 
 selves for any length of time in the beautiful, but 
 sepulchral city. The evenings were passed in 
 theatres and cafes, which were, perhaps, none the 
 less attractive for the faint odor of the mediaeval 
 that belongs to everything in the place. 
 
 What pleased Gordon was the sense of freedom. 
 He had been used to being free all his life, too 
 used to it ; and the slavery of the last six months 
 had become simply intolerable. Now he was his 
 own man again, not obliged to pose perpetually 
 
AN ARCHAEOLOGICAL FAILURE 295 
 
 as a model of manners and graces to a young im 
 possible, not bound to lie awake framing lectures 
 on the cardinal virtues to be delivered to an unap- 
 preciative audience. Then, too, all the preciousness 
 of liberty was sweetened, as with the faint, de 
 licious breath of lilies, by the memory of a fair, 
 merry face, grown more precious to him now than 
 even liberty. 
 
 The only break in his halcyon tranquillity was 
 the necessity of writing a letter to Mr. Payne at 
 Liverpool. This task he accomplished, inside of 
 the first week, by setting himself to it with repeated 
 efforts. It was a long letter and need hardly be 
 set down here. In it Gordon tried to give and 
 in the main succeeded in giving an honest ac 
 count of the gradual progress of events up to his 
 departure from Kome. Naturally, he said nothing 
 directly of his own former love for the Countess 
 Markovski ; but he spoke rather favorably of that 
 lady, thinking that she would probably be Mrs. 
 Edgar Payne, and that there was, therefore, no 
 need of unduly prejudicing her future father-in-law 
 against her. The match was, of course, a very, very 
 undesirable one, he said, and he had done every 
 thing that lay in his power to prevent it, even to 
 the point of endeavoring to buy the lady off. Still, 
 she was a woman of the world, cultivated, intelli 
 gent, accustomed to good society, and might, in 
 some respects, do Edgar an immense deal of good. 
 In his own heart of hearts Gordon thought, though 
 
296 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 he did not write it, that such a marriage might be 
 the best thing that had ever happened to Edgar 
 in his life. 
 
 What to say about Priscilla, he did not know. 
 It did seem intolerable, certainly, to write that he 
 was in love with the young lady and should pro 
 pose to her as soon as Mr. Payne arrived. Yet if 
 such were the fact, it ought to be stated ; and such 
 evidently was the fact. He therefore contrived 
 some miserable circumlocution, as he himself felt 
 it to be, neither excusing nor accusing his own 
 conduct, but halting between the two ; and after 
 rewriting and remodeling, in the wearisome fashion 
 which always makes a bad matter worse, he sent 
 off his epistle. In any case, there must be a 
 very disagreeable interview between himself and 
 Mr. Payne when the latter should arrive. No 
 thing that he could write beforehand would make 
 that much easier. And when that was once over, 
 everything would be over, so far as he was con 
 cerned. 
 
 As to Mr. Payne s attitude in the matter, Gor 
 don often reflected very curiously, and very sympa 
 thetically also. How would he take it ? That he 
 understood Edgar thoroughly and had no great 
 affection for him Gordon shrewdly suspected. But 
 the father was a proud man, and especially a man 
 who liked his own way and was accustomed to hav 
 ing it. Would he be rough and angry? Would 
 he be hurt and sensitive ? Would he see, by any 
 
AN ARCHAEOLOGICAL FAILURE 297 
 
 chance, the humor of the thing and enter into it in 
 a spirit of philosophic appreciation ? These ques 
 tions were rather anxiously debated in the inter 
 vals left by Sodoma and Pinturicchio, beer and 
 cigars, and the merry song and jest of an idle 
 company. 
 
 When nearly two weeks had passed and Gor 
 don began to think he had better be making his 
 way back, without regard to telegrams, he received 
 one morning the following brief note from Edgar : 
 " Dear Gordy, She will be mine at last. Mar 
 riage to-morrow night. You d better come back, 
 you know. She wants to see you. Yours, etc., 
 E. Payne." 
 
 Gordon made no reply to this note, not having 
 the slightest desire to see either Edgar or his wife. 
 On the very next afternoon, however, a dispatch 
 from Liverpool was forwarded to Siena. " Shall 
 be in Rome Tuesday noon. Hotel Royal." There 
 was no time to be lost, and, bidding good-by to 
 Morris and the rest, Gordon took the night train, 
 feeling that the critical tide in his affairs was very 
 near the flood. 
 
 As soon as he reached Rome, he went directly to 
 his lodgings and inquired for Edgar, but was told 
 that he had been absent a great deal of late, often 
 not returning even at night. This seemed perfectly 
 natural under the circumstances, and without giv 
 ing the matter any further thought, the eager lover 
 at once hastened to Hotel Bristol. Mr. and Mrs. 
 
298 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 Stanton were both out ; but Priscilla was at home 
 and received her visitor immediately. 
 
 " Well," he said, holding her hand a moment 
 longer than propriety required, "well, here I 
 am." 
 
 " Which means, I suppose, that Mr. Payne has 
 arrived. Have you seen him?" She spoke with 
 that indifferent frankness which women, trained 
 from their infancy, can so easily assume, talking 
 about the weather, or the musical glasses, or any 
 thing but the subject which is nearest their hearts 
 and must be furthest from their tongues. Gor 
 don s spirit sank within him and he told himself 
 he had been a fool. Well, he could go out as a 
 private to the Philippines and lead a strenuous life 
 still. Meantime, she had asked him a question. 
 
 "No, I haven t seen him. He hasn t arrived 
 yet, I imagine. Will be here this noon." 
 
 Ah ! " she said. " And Edgar ? " 
 
 " Married." 
 
 " You don t mean it. Who told you ? " 
 
 " He wrote me a note with his own fair hand and 
 invited me to return and congratulate the bride." 
 
 " Well, so you ought." They had been standing 
 hitherto, but now Priscilla suggested chairs. This 
 did not suit Gordon, however. He had a good deal 
 to say and he did not care to risk being interrupted 
 at an important moment. 
 
 " Why not go out somewhere ? " he suggested. 
 " It is so much pleasanter." 
 
AN ARCHAEOLOGICAL FAILURE 299 
 
 " I should like it of all things. Do you know, I 
 was wishing the other day that you would show me 
 the Palatine. I have been there, of course ; but it 
 is different when one has one s own guide all to 
 one s self. Will you take me there this morning ? " 
 
 There was more of the old, sweet, intimate man 
 ner in this, and Gordon began to revive. " The 
 Palatine, by all means," he answered. " Nothing 
 would suit me better." 
 
 Priscilla could get ready as quickly as any girl, 
 which, of course, is not very quickly from a man s 
 point of view; but in fifteen minutes they were 
 making their way through the crowded streets in 
 a melancholy cab. As they went along, Priscilla, 
 who seemed to Gordon to feel an unusual and 
 painful necessity for conversation, went into a not 
 very interesting description of her doings during 
 the past two weeks, the names of various places 
 and people getting themselves oddly mixed up with 
 the harsh Italian street cries and the rattle of in 
 numerable vehicles. 
 
 When they had parted with the cab, however, 
 and had entered the sacred precincts of the palace 
 of the Caesars, everything was different. It was im 
 possible for Priscilla to be nervous or restless amid 
 the quiet loveliness of the loveliest of ruins, and in 
 a minute she settled down into her customary tran 
 quil sunny mood. The day was as fair and fit for 
 love-making as that inclement season could afford 
 them. The west wind, blowing strong and fresh 
 
300 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 after a storm, had swept every bit of vapor from 
 the clear heaven, but had not brought any trace of 
 bitterness or cold. The fresh morning fog had 
 covered the ivy and the stones with moisture. 
 The birds sang clear and loud. In the sunny nooks 
 a flower still lingered here and there, brave and 
 defiant of the wintry season. 
 
 Our two sight-seers made their way leisurely 
 round the back of the hill, past the walls of the 
 primitive city, and so to the summit. But I fear 
 their minds were less on the past than on the 
 present. 
 
 " Do you know," said Priscilla suddenly, " I have 
 an idea." 
 
 " Ah, that s very interesting," was the sympa 
 thetic response. 
 
 " It is interesting. Just as soon as ever I get 
 home, I shall send and invite Mr. Payne uncle 
 Harrison, I call him to dine with us to-night." 
 
 " That will be very interesting certainly 
 for uncle Harrison." 
 
 " Stop a minute. I expect you to come to and 
 Mr. and Mrs. Edgar. Won t that be fun ? " 
 
 " No," said Gordon, with decision. " I think it 
 would be the messiest kind of a mess I ever got 
 into. Pray, don t think me rude." 
 
 " No, not rude, but very disagreeable. Let me 
 see, I think you said this was the palace of Tiberius? " 
 
 So they resumed their archaeological investiga 
 tions and Gordon strove to do his duty like a man. 
 
AN ARCHAEOLOGICAL FAILURE 301 
 
 They explored the house of Livia, then the palace 
 of Augustus. Gordon explained the method of as 
 certaining the age of any particular ruin by the 
 quality of the brickwork, pointed out the names 
 of the manufacturers engraven on the lead water 
 pipes, and otherwise displayed all that he knew on 
 the subject and a good deal more, as one does on 
 such occasions. It was very proper and very instruc 
 tive ; but they both felt that it was rather hollow, 
 as compared with their day at Hadrian s Villa. 
 Ruins make a most satisfactory foundation for 
 love-making, but when it comes to the superstruc 
 ture they leave something to be desired. 
 
 After an hour or so of this kind of thing, they 
 found themselves in a sunny nook at the back of 
 the hill, looking toward the south. It might have 
 been the cabinet of some deceased emperor, where 
 he made the world tremble with the nod of his 
 after-dinner nap. They cared very little what it 
 might have been ; but at that moment it was full 
 of the soft noon sunshine. While they sat there 
 quiet, a small green lizard started out from the 
 weeds and ran with marvelous lightness up the 
 wall beside them. Far away, they caught a glimpse 
 of the distant mountains and the bare hills of the 
 Campagna. 
 
 Suddenly, without any premeditation whatever, 
 Gordon rose and stood in front of Priscilla, look 
 ing down into her eyes, which were raised to his in 
 wonder at the precipitancy of his action. " Miss 
 
302 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 Priscilla Stanton," he said, " I have decided to 
 throw over all considerations of duty, gentlemanli- 
 ness, and general respectability, and ask you for 
 the honor of your hand." 
 
 Priscilla, too, rose. Her color was a little height 
 ened, but she continued to look at him steadily 
 from under the shadow of her brown hat, and a 
 sweet, quiet, little smile played round the corners 
 of her mouth. "Mr. Robert Gordon," she an 
 swered, as clearly as if she were pronouncing the 
 marriage vow, " you know very well that if you 
 were throwing over any one of those fine things, I 
 would not give you my little finger. Here is my 
 hand." And she gave it to him, and they sat down 
 again. It was a broad, flat stone that they had 
 chosen, large enough for two, under the circum 
 stances, and no face of prying Italian guide, or 
 sight-thirsty American wanderer, happened to turn 
 the corner while they sat there. Yet I dare say 
 the Countess Markovski would have thought them 
 a very frigid pair of lovers. I myself admit that 
 their affection was of a calm and tranquil char 
 acter ; but I think it was destined to hold deeper 
 and last longer than some that flame up with more 
 volcanic fury. 
 
 " I suppose I ought to have spoken to your 
 father first," remarked Gordon, a little later, 
 " but the circumstances were peculiar." 
 
 " Yes," Priscilla agreed, " they were peculiar. 
 I am glad you spoke to me first." 
 
AN ARCHAEOLOGICAL FAILURE 303 
 
 What will he say ? " 
 
 "He will be pleased and proud, as he ought 
 to be." 
 
 " That is very kind of you. But I am so awfully 
 poor, you know." 
 
 " But he is so awfully rich, you know. Just 
 now he is putting up daily thanksgivings for his 
 escape from a rich son-in-law." 
 
 " But I must go to work," Gordon urged. " It 
 will be ages before I can earn enough to provide 
 you with carriages, and gowns, and that sort of 
 thing." 
 
 " Well, I can t be happy without carriages, and 
 gowns, and that sort of thing ; but I m not in the 
 least worried. You shall work. I 11 see that you 
 do. There now, let s talk of something else. To 
 return to my dinner." 
 
 " Oh, yes, that dinner." 
 
 " Do you still disapprove of it ? " 
 
 " Well, I think it will be queer, you know." 
 
 " Of course it will be queer at first ; but that 
 would all wear off. You men don t know how to 
 manage these things. I 11 arrange to see uncle 
 Harrison before papa comes, and I 11 make him 
 forgive everybody. Only will Edgar and Mrs. 
 Edgar come ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, they 11 come. She 11 make him." 
 
 " By the way," added Priscilla. She went on to 
 ask a few more explanations in regard to Gordon 
 himself and the Countess Markovski. Very little 
 
304 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 was needed between two souls so perfectly honest 
 and loyal to make it clear that the future Mrs. 
 Gordon need not give a moment of anxiety in that 
 direction. 
 
 " Now," said Gordon, " for Mr. Payne." He 
 looked at his watch and gave a long whistle of 
 dismay. 
 
 " Mr. Payne ? What about him ? " 
 
 " Nothing. Only he was to arrive at noon and 
 it is after, now. I must go and quickly." 
 
 " You had better leave it all to me. Just wait 
 till I see him this evening. I will explain every 
 thing." 
 
 " That is a very sweet offer ; but I don t think 
 I can begin shielding myself behind you yet. I 
 dare say I shall soon enough." 
 
 " But you will not have a pleasant time at all. 
 You may spoil everything." 
 
 " You express my own feelings exactly. Never 
 theless " and Gordon got up, as if to move on. 
 
 " We have so much to talk over," said Priscilla, 
 pouting. 
 
 Gordon sat down and attended to the pout. 
 " You don t think I want to go," he murmured. 
 " Let us stay here forever." 
 
 But Priscilla, having gained her point, changed 
 her mind, as was to be expected. " No," she sighed, 
 " we must go ! " She got up in her turn. Before 
 they started, however, she gave one more thought 
 ful look about her. " We shall remember this 
 
AN ARCH^OLOGICAL FAILURE 305 
 
 spot," she murmured softly. " It is sacred to Caesar 
 and to us. Perhaps we shall come here again, 
 in a dozen years or so." 
 
 " Or to-morrow ? " Gordon suggested. 
 
 " No, not to-morrow. It would not seem quite 
 the same to-morrow." 
 
 They made their way quickly back toward the 
 gate, the warm light of noon falling rich and mel 
 low about them, and the pale, wintry verdure 
 gleaming in it, over the eternal tranquillity of those 
 sombre walls, which had seen and sheltered so 
 many, many other lovers. Gordon, urging the for 
 lorn cab-driver to unprecedented speed, left Pris- 
 cilla at home, and then drove to meet his fate at 
 the Hotel Royal. 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 THE TUTOR S AUDIT 
 
 HARRISON PAYNE was a very remarkable man. 
 Born in New England, of an old and most re 
 spected family, he had lost his father when quite 
 young and his mother had been wholly unable to 
 manage him. At an early age he had run away 
 from home, wandered out to what was then the 
 west Illinois and plunged into the struggle for 
 existence, with all the ardor of his Yankee blood. 
 Though a rapid reader of such books as came in 
 his way, he had had little regular education and 
 had hardly felt the need of it. What was most in 
 teresting about him, what had made his success, 
 was the union of a romantic, sensitive, imagina 
 tive temperament, always carefully concealed under 
 the sternest reserve, with an unalterable will. In 
 the Middle Ages he would have been a terrible 
 knight-errant. In modern America he was a ter 
 rible man of business ; not one of the plodders, 
 who make money because it comes in their way, 
 but restless, scheming, full of vast, ideal enter 
 prises, yet always reducing those enterprises to the 
 sternest rules of practical common sense. This was 
 what made him feared at the Exchange. You never 
 
THE TUTOR S AUDIT 307 
 
 knew what extraordinary and portentous combina 
 tion he was holding up his sleeve. 
 
 His heart was as tender as a child s, if you could 
 touch it. He loved strong and strongly contrasted 
 emotions. The theatre enchanted him. The tears 
 would run down his cheeks at the crisis of a sen 
 timental melodrama ; and then, when the act drop 
 fell, he would cry out : " Now let s have a little of 
 that snare drum." Poverty and suffering appealed 
 to him at once : he would do anything to relieve 
 them. Yet neither poverty nor suffering, no thing 
 and no body, counted for a moment, as an inter 
 ference with the execution of his plans. 
 
 It was into the presence of this personage that 
 Gordon was ushered, in a private parlor at the 
 Hotel Royal ; and the young man entered not with 
 out certain tremors, it must be confessed. Mr. 
 Payne was tall, very slight, somewhat awkward 
 and ungainly in movement ; and so far there was 
 resemblance to Edgar, although the father had 
 something dignified, even in his awkwardness. But 
 the face and head were altogether different from 
 Edgar s. An abundance of somewhat coarse black 
 hair was brushed up high from the broad, low 
 forehead. The lower part of the face was thin, and 
 the chin not large, though strong and cleanly cut. 
 The nose was rather prominent and the cheek 
 bones ; but the feature which at once seized your 
 attention was the great brown eyes, which could 
 be filled with infinite depths of tenderness, and 
 
308 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 could veil themselves, as it were, and be as hard as 
 steel. 
 
 The eyes were hard when Gordon entered the 
 room, and they continued so. Mr. Payne shook 
 hands with him, received him with all necessary 
 courtesy, uttered no word of reproach or unkind- 
 ness ; but his air was exactly that with which he 
 would have received a drummer who had taken 
 charge of a valuable case of goods and had it 
 stolen. Oh, that business manner! How often a 
 man, and especially a woman, feels it, happening 
 to visit a friend, even a relative, at noonday, in 
 a down-town office ! It seems as if an armor were 
 put on, stiff, formal, impenetrable, selfish ; and 
 the creature inside of it is so different from 
 the man at home, standing on the hearth rug, or 
 dawdling over his eggs Sunday morning, in old 
 coat and slippers. Never once during the inter 
 view did Mr. Payne drop that business manner. 
 Never once did his eyes gleam or his lip tremble. 
 Gordon would a thousand times rather have been 
 sworn at. 
 
 When they were seated, Mr. Payne drew Gor 
 don s letter from his pocket. " I have here yours 
 of the eighth," he said ; " but I do not find it in 
 all respects perfectly clear. Perhaps you will allow 
 me to ask you a few questions." 
 
 " Certainly," said Gordon. Then he went on, 
 with one vain attempt to get in first and plead his 
 cause in his own way. " Mr. Payne," he began, " if 
 
THE TUTOR S AUDIT 309 
 
 you will allow me, there are a few things I should 
 like to say" 
 
 But Mr. Payne interrupted, with quiet bland- 
 ness : " Pardon me ; but I always find more is 
 accomplished by proceeding in an orderly, business 
 like manner." 
 
 Gordon drooped and made no further efforts. 
 The one thing now was to get it over. 
 
 "I believe," Mr. Payne inquired, as if really 
 seeking information, " that you had some difficul 
 ties with my son before your arrival in Rome ? 
 Am I correctly informed ? " 
 
 " Perfectly. I never had anything else." 
 
 " I think, however, that you never suggested 
 making any change in the arrangement ? " 
 
 " It was my impression that I was paid because 
 I was to have difficulties." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Mr. Payne. Then he continued, 
 still holding the letter in his hand, but not in any 
 way referring to it : " After your arrival in Rome, 
 you made efforts to keep Edgar in contact with 
 respectable people ? " 
 
 " I did." 
 
 "And failed?" 
 
 " Most lamentably." 
 
 " But it was through you that he first met this 
 person what is her name ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Edgar Payne. I would have mentioned 
 it at first, if you had thought best." 
 
 Mr. Payne did not alter his manner in the least, 
 
310 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 but merely said : " Already ? You have put me to 
 useless trouble, it seems." 
 
 " I am sorry," was the humble response. 
 
 " It was through you, then, that he became ac 
 quainted with her ? " 
 
 " It was." 
 
 " Yet you knew her character ? " 
 
 " I did. But pray believe that as soon as I saw 
 what was going on " 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Payne, with the same deadly 
 quiet, " I understand. Now as to Miss Stanton." 
 Gordon squirmed ; but his tormentor either did 
 not notice or did not care. " Your efforts to bring 
 my son into her society totally failed ? " 
 
 " Never anything more so." 
 
 "And as far as I can make out from this," 
 touching the letter, " which is not very explicit on 
 the point, so soon as you found that she would 
 have nothing to say to Edgar, you began to pay 
 attention to her yourself. Again, am I right ? " 
 
 Gordon hesitated, in very great and evident dis 
 tress. Finally he said : " Yes, although I should 
 like to put the matter differently." 
 
 " Facts are what we are looking for in business," 
 said Mr. Payne. " Ways of putting them are so 
 apt to be misleading." Then he placed the let 
 ter in the breast pocket of his coat and buttoned 
 the coat over it. "Mr. Gordon," he said, "I do 
 not think we have anything further to say to 
 each other. If you will send me your account at 
 
THE TUTOR S AUDIT 311 
 
 your earliest convenience, it will be settled imme 
 diately." 
 
 As he spoke, he rose from his chair, and Gordon 
 was compelled to rise also. The bitter coldness of 
 this reception, which was not quite what he had 
 expected, took him entirely aback. Yet now, when, 
 if ever, it was manifestly his turn, he could not 
 control the flood of feeling which rushed to his 
 lips. " Mr. Payne," he cried, in anguish, " Mr. 
 Payne, I could put this all so differently " 
 
 " Excuse me," said Mr. Payne, " but I have al 
 ready said that I do not believe in different ways 
 of putting things. Good-afternoon." Then he 
 turned and walked out of the room. 
 
 After all, Gordon did not know what he could 
 have said. Mr. Payne s clear, hard statement of 
 the matter was, in a certain sense, the absolute 
 truth. Any attempt at excuse would have involved 
 accusation of Edgar, of Antonia, of Mr. Payne 
 himself, of Priscilla even. It was better to take the 
 punishment in silence. 
 
 Nevertheless, as he left the Hotel Royal his gen 
 eral impression was that his best course would be 
 to throw himself into the Tiber. Yet the Tiber was 
 such a very muddy and disgusting stream. The 
 idea of what his friends would see, when he was 
 fished out, was unpleasant to his aesthetic suscepti 
 bilities. Besides, he had promised to dine with 
 Priscilla. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 WHAT CAME OF IT ALL 
 
 PKISCILLA had laid her plan of campaign with 
 great care. She had made her father send a note 
 to Mr. Payne, explaining that he was prevented 
 from calling that afternoon, but hoped that his old 
 friend would dine with them. Mr. Payne had re 
 plied that he would, at any rate, call, somewhere 
 between five and six, " implying," said Priscilla, 
 " that he will stay to dinner if we can persuade him 
 to. We 11 see about that." 
 
 A note, written by Priscilla herself, was also sent 
 to Mrs. Edgar Payne, frankly explaining the cir 
 cumstances and the writer s desire of bringing 
 about a reconciliation, and expressing the hope that 
 Mrs. Payne would do her part by coming to dine. 
 No answer was received ; but Priscilla attributed 
 this to the shortness of the time and hoped that the 
 lady would reply in person. 
 
 Priscilla further made such other little arrange 
 ments as were necessary, the most essential being 
 that her father and mother and Gordon should not 
 appear until they were wanted. Then she sat her 
 self down in the parlor, at a little before five, lest 
 Mr. Payne should be ahead of his hour. It may be 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT ALL 313 
 
 as well to add that she was dressed in a soft, vague 
 diffusion of pink, which, with her blond hair and 
 blue eyes, made her look simply like an angel. 
 
 At half-past five Mr. Payne was ushered in. 
 When he saw who was to receive him, he tried to 
 sustain as much of the morning s chilly aspect as 
 was possible with a lady ; but Priscilla melted this 
 in half a second. " O uncle Harrison," she said, 
 giving him both her hands and one cheek, " how 
 lovely of you to come way over to Rome and so 
 unexpectedly too. Sit right down on the sofa beside 
 me. I want to talk to you." 
 
 Evidently the business air would not do now. 
 So Mr. Payne, who was full of resources, tried an 
 other, the patronizing, the " my-dear-little-girl-what 
 is-your-dolly s-name ? " as it were. " Is your papa 
 well ? " he asked. " I should like to see him, if he 
 is in." 
 
 " Yes, he is in, and you will see him, when you 
 are through with me." 
 
 But Mr. Payne would take no hints of this 
 kind. He had not come four thousand miles to be 
 done immediately, even by an exquisite symphony 
 in pink. " I suppose you like Rome ? " he asked 
 blandly. " The shops are pretty ? And the churches 
 are interesting ? And the ruins ? " 
 
 " I adore the ruins," said Priscilla, with enthu 
 siasm. Then laying her hand on his arm, she went 
 on, in a changed tone, with all the incredible inso 
 lence of beauty : " This is of no sort of use, uncle 
 
314 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 Harrison, none whatever. I am a woman now and 
 you have got to listen to me." 
 
 The hand on his arm was too much. His irri 
 tation was slowly giving way to charm and amuse 
 ment. He leaned back in the corner of the sofa, 
 with a sigh. " Well ? " he asked. 
 
 " Ah, now we shall get on famously." It was 
 Priscilla s turn to assume a business air, Mr. 
 Payne s to submit, as Gordon had done in the 
 morning. " I believe Mr. Gordon has already had 
 a talk with you ? " 
 
 " Well, yes, I had a talk with him." Mr. Payne s 
 eyes smiled a little. 
 
 " That is very unfortunate," continued Priscilla. 
 " Men always say the wrong thing to each other 
 and then are proud of it." 
 
 A solemn bow testified to the truth of this piece 
 of profound wisdom. 
 
 " I ve got to scold you, uncle Harrison," the 
 young lady went on. " I m sorry, but it s neces 
 sary." 
 
 " Oh, I thought it was I that was going to " 
 
 " That s another mistake men always make. If 
 anything goes wrong, scold a woman. A great deal 
 has gone wrong in this case that is, for you. 
 Shall I tell you whose fault it has all been? 
 Yours." 
 
 He was positively getting interested. It certainly 
 was better for Priscilla to manage the thing than 
 for Gordon. 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT ALL 315 
 
 She went on again, remorselessly, knowing per 
 fectly well that with a man like that, the high tone 
 was the only tone : " Yes, it has been all your fault. 
 I ll tell you how. There s poor Edgar" Mr. 
 Payne s brow contracted a shade. " Do I hurt 
 you, as the dentist says, when he jabs particularly 
 hard ? We must take Edgar first. Don t you 
 think you ought to have brought up a boy like that 
 differently ? You ought to have kept him near you 
 and trained and guided and softened him by affec 
 tion and tenderness. Considering what he is, I 
 don t think you could have expected him to turn 
 out any better." 
 
 It was rather bold play ; but the young lady was 
 acute for a miss of her years. She shrewdly sus 
 pected that Mr. Payne was more hurt in his pride 
 than in his affection, which she did not believe to 
 be very intense, so far as Edgar was concerned. 
 Now affection must be soothed ; but pride may be 
 battered. 
 
 She went on, having received no response : 
 " Then Mr. Gordon comes along. Now, uncle Har 
 rison, you ought to have seen through Mr. Gordon 
 just as quickly and just as clearly as I could. 
 You thought he was a gentleman and would make 
 Edgar one ; but gentlemanliness is n t caught by 
 contact, like measles. You ought to have known 
 that in the whole wide world there was nobody less 
 fit to manage Edgar than Mr. Gordon. Didn t 
 you know it ? " 
 
316 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 " It appears not," was the genial answer. 
 
 " Well, ought n t you to have known it ? " 
 
 " I suppose I ought." 
 
 "Of course you ought. To proceed. Edgar 
 comes over here and he sees a countess. You 
 know what that means to one of us. Now, don t 
 you believe that Mr. Gordon did everything he 
 possibly could ? " 
 
 " I am perfectly willing to render him that 
 justice." 
 
 " And do you believe he could possibly do any 
 thing?" 
 
 "Anybody could have foretold that he could 
 not." Mr. Payne was really beginning to enjoy 
 himself. Priscilla was entirely right in supposing 
 that he had little affection for Edgar ; he had al 
 ways been ashamed of him, although he had meant 
 to give him everything a father could. In this 
 affair, it had been his pride that had suffered, and 
 he was taking bitter-sweet medicine for it now. 
 
 " So you see," continued his physician, " the said 
 countess logically becomes Mrs. Edgar Payne. 
 Who is to blame, unless in the first place, you? 
 But it may not be so bad after all," she added 
 caressingly. " Wait till you have seen her. She is 
 a beauty. Of course, she s older than he but I 
 think she will manage him all the better for that. 
 She may make you very happy." 
 
 " Thanks for your encouragement, I m sure. I 
 had n t thought of it in that light. You are cer- 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT ALL 317 
 
 tainly very magnanimous to your triumphant 
 rival." 
 
 " Don t be so bitter, uncle Harrison. I was just 
 coming to myself last. Now, you see, Mr. Gor 
 don has fallen in love with me. I suppose that may 
 be a little my fault." She looked down, with a 
 mock imitation of coquetry, which, in her frank 
 nature, was comically bewitching. 
 
 " Oh," said Mr. Payne, gently bewitched. " It 
 is refreshing to find something at last that I am 
 not responsible for." 
 
 " But surely," she went on, with the same man 
 ner, " Mr. Gordon is not to blame. I suppose he 
 found me quite fascinating and there were so 
 many opportunities, so much to explain, you know. 
 In short," and here she sank down on her knees 
 before him and raised both hands in melodramatic 
 supplication, " in short, I want you to forgive us 
 all right here and now Robert, and papa, and 
 mamma, and Edgar, and Mrs. Edgar, and me. 
 And I will never, never rise from my knees until 
 you do, although the position is already becoming 
 very painful." 
 
 What could he do, what did he wish to do, but 
 take both her hands and raise her gently and kiss 
 her forehead and say that he would forgive the 
 whole list, " although it is hardest to forgive you," 
 he added. " Ever since you were a little, little 
 girl 1 counted on your being my daughter. I am 
 so unused to having my plans thwarted." 
 
318 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 " That is because you are used to managing 
 animated dollars and cents, which can be handled 
 and calculated. It takes a nicer touch to deal with 
 women." Then looking up and seeing an unwonted 
 dimness was it even moisture ? in the deep 
 brown eyes, she said softly : " But I will be your 
 daughter. Robert and I will be a son and daughter 
 to you, and you shall come and visit us so often, 
 so often, just as often as papa and mamma." 
 
 Then he kissed her forehead again, with a deli 
 cate tenderness, and seemed ready to change the 
 subject. " If I have paid a sufficient penance for 
 everybody s else sins, perhaps I might be allowed 
 to see your papa ? " 
 
 " Well, yes," answered Priscilla thoughtfully, 
 " perhaps you might." She touched a bell, and the 
 door opening, with a promptitude which suggested 
 pre-established harmony, Mr. and Mrs. Stanton 
 entered. 
 
 The greeting between the old friends was much 
 more cordial than it would have been an hour 
 earlier. Mr. Stanton spoke a word or two about 
 recent unpleasantnesses, which was gently received. 
 Then they fell to talking of the money market. 
 But this did not suit Priscilla ; so she touched the 
 bell again, and Gordon appeared. Mr. Payne hes 
 itated just an instant. Then he stepped forward 
 and held out his hand. " Good-evening, Robert," 
 he said. " We had our little business interview 
 this morning. This time it is for pleasure." 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT ALL 319 
 
 " I hope it will be all for pleasure in future," 
 Gordon answered, in his easy way. " I prefer it." 
 
 " That will depend on the way you treat this 
 young person," and Mr. Payne smiled at Priscilla, 
 who smiled back. 
 
 " It is she who will do the treating," Gordon 
 rejoined. " I have a tutor of my own now." 
 
 " By the way," asked Mr. Payne, turning to Mr. 
 Stanton, " what time do you dine, George ? You 
 did n t mention in your note." 
 
 " We ought to be dining at this moment, I sus 
 pect." 
 
 " Not quite yet," objected Priscilla. " I want to 
 wait a few moments longer." She looked inquir 
 ingly at her father and neither of them seemed per 
 fectly satisfied. 
 
 Just then a note was brought in to the young 
 lady. Gordon s quick eye observed the black coro 
 net on the envelope. " Edgar s economy already," 
 he murmured, " using up the old stationery." 
 
 Priscilla glanced at the epistle and seemed quite 
 overcome. Then she read it aloud : " Dear Miss 
 Stanton, I have been out all day and only this 
 moment it is dated 5.30 P.M. received the 
 kind note which I suppose you intended for me, 
 although the address is somewhat singular. I am 
 not Mrs. Edgar Payne ; nor have I the slightest 
 intention of ever becoming that fortunate lady. 
 Under the circumstances, perhaps it would be bet 
 ter for me not to accept your invitation to what 
 
320 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 appears to be a strictly family party. If I knew 
 the whereabouts of young Mr. Payne, I would for 
 ward your note to him. As it is, I have no doubt 
 he will soon be in the arms of his affectionate par 
 ent. Pray believe me to be, dear Miss Stanton, 
 sincerely yours, Antonia Markovski. " 
 
 For a few moments no one spoke. Then Mrs. 
 Stanton said : " Well, I don t see what it all 
 means ; but as there seems to be no way of finding 
 out, suppose we go to dinner." 
 
 They went to dinner ; but curiosity was stronger 
 than appetite, and they conjectured more than they 
 consumed. Yet no amount of conjecture afforded 
 any satisfactory explanation of affairs. 
 
 Nor did Edgar s appearance the next morning 
 to partake of the paternal embrace help matters 
 much. He explained his absence from his lodgings 
 during the last day or two on the ground that he 
 expected Gordon s return and wished to avoid him. 
 The ill-treated lover further expressed unqualified 
 disgust at his father s arrival in the Eternal City ; 
 but he absolutely refused to discuss countesses or 
 marriages and seemed only eager to pack up and 
 be off to his beloved America. 
 
 The mystery was solved, however, when a letter 
 came to Gordon from Siena, having been forwarded 
 from Rome the day before he left the former city. 
 The contents were as follows : " Dear Robert, 
 I could have had him ; but when it came to the 
 point, I did n t want him. Why ? How do I know ? 
 
WHAT CAME OF IT ALL 321 
 
 After all, the great thing was to beat you. Such a 
 poor triumph ! Since beating or beaten, you are 
 happy just the same. But he is so hideous. And 
 then, I might not have got the money. And then, 
 what difference does it make? And it was such 
 fun to hear him storm ; for I gave him no reason 
 except that I had changed my mind. Such oaths ! 
 Such intolerable picturesqueness of your low Amer 
 ican insolence. I had to threaten to have him put 
 out of the house at last. Robert, I believe I did it 
 out of love of you, after all, just to please you a 
 little bit. And why should I love you ? And do I 
 love you ? Never mind. It is all an abominable 
 puzzle anyway. 
 
 " Only, when you are happy with your Priscilla 
 you will have to show her this and I hope it 
 will annoy her a little, at any rate just think of 
 me as having done one good deed, against my in 
 clinations. Think of me as hunting down another 
 golden calf and sparing him or as playing 
 politics in Paris or St. Petersburg or as a nun, 
 telling my beads all day, all day, all day or as a 
 crooked spinster, in a lonely tower, on a barren 
 moor or as just taking morphine to have done 
 with it. I shall leave Rome the middle of the 
 week and you will hear nothing more of me. 
 Good-by, Robert Gordon." 
 
 It will be easily imagined that this remarkable 
 epilogue to the drama of Edgar s love affair was 
 not shown to Mr. Payne or to the elder Stantons, 
 
322 THE PRIVATE TUTOR 
 
 who had to be contented wiih the simple informa 
 tion that the Countess herself had seen fit to break 
 off the match. 
 
 "Even she couldn t stand him," said Mr. 
 Stanton confidentially to Gordon. "I don t 
 wonder." 
 
 The letter was, of course, read by Priscilla ; 
 but the few further explanations with which it was 
 supplemented prevented her annoyance from being 
 very deep. At the same time. I think she was 
 well contented that the Atlantic Ocean should roll 
 between her future and that terrible black Countess. 
 
Electrotyfed and printed by H. O. Houghton <5r- Co. 
 Cambridge, Mass., U.S.A. 
 
YB 73155 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY