of old-fashioned
operas; hanging against the wall an inlaid guitar and some faded laurel
crowns; moreover, a fine engraving of a composer, twenty years ago the
most popular man in Italy; lastly, an oil-colour portrait, by Winterman,
of a fascinating blonde, with very bare white shoulders, holding in her
hands a scroll, on which were inscribed some notes of music, under the
title Giulia Petrucci. In short, the private parlour of an elderly and
respectable Diva of the year '40.
"Brigida!" cried Madame Petrucci, going to the door. "Brigida! our
charming English friend is arrived!"
"All right!" answered a strong hearty voice from upstairs. "I'm coming."
"You must excuse me, dear Miss Hamelyn," went on Madame Petrucci. "You
must excuse me for shouting in your presence, but we have only one
little servant, and during this suffocating weather I find that any
movement reminds me of approaching age." The old lady smiled, as if that
time were still far ahead.
"I am sure you ought to take care of yourself," said Miss Hamelyn. "I
hope you will not allow Goneril to fatigue you."
"Gonerilla! What a pretty name! Charming! I suppose it is in your
family?" asked the old lady.
Miss Hamelyn blushed a little, for her niece's name was a sore point
with her.
"It's an awful name for any Christian woman," said a deep voice at the
door.
Pages:
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247