A moment afterwards the
signorino entered. While he was greeting her hostesses, Goneril cast a
rapid glance at him. He was tall for an Italian; rather bent and rather
grey; fifty at least, therefore very old. He certainly was brown, but
his features were fine and good, and he had a distinguished and
benevolent air that somehow made her think of an abbe, a French abbe of
the last century. She could quite imagine him saying "Enfant de St.
Louis; montez au ciel!"
Thus far had she got in her meditations, when she felt herself addressed
in clear, half-mocking tones--
"And how, this evening, is Madamigella Ruth?"
So he had seen her this evening, binding his corn.
"I am quite well, padrone," she said, smiling shyly.
The two old ladies looked on amazed, for of course they were not in the
secret.
"Signor Graziano, Miss Goneril Hamelyn," said Miss Prunty, rather
severely.
Goneril felt that the time was come for silence and good manners. She
sat quite quiet over her embroidery, listening to the talk of Sontag,
of Clementi, of musicians and singers dead and gone. She noticed that
the ladies treated Signor Graziano with the utmost reverence; even the
positive Miss Prunty furling her opinions in deference to his gayest
hint. They talked, too, of Madame Lilli; and always as if she were still
young and fair, as if she had died yesterday, leaving the echo of her
triumph loud behind her.
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