"He is delightful," said Mr. Haveloc warmly. "But I cannot say much for his health; yet these sickly people often outlive stronger ones."
"That is very true," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick, with a satisfied air.
As they passed the place where Aveline had been sitting, Mr. Haveloc started forward and picked up a book.
"This is yours, Miss Fitzpatrick," he said, "do not deny it--now that I am your neighbour, I shall make a point of gleaning after you, and furnish my library with the books you lose."
"You have taken that villa then," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick, smiling at Aveline's confusion, for she was rather notorious for losing her things.
"I have. So you have been reading the dark old Florentine, again," said Mr. Haveloc, looking into the book he carried, "I thought, Mrs.
Fitzpatrick, you forbade Dante altogether."
"Not quite," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick; "but I was rather an advocate at Sorrento for studies of a lighter description. Aveline's health--"
"Oh, but I am better now, mamma!" exclaimed Aveline.
"You do, indeed, look better, Miss Fitzpatrick, than when I saw you last," said Mr. Haveloc.
"You think so--you really think so!" exclaimed Mrs. Fitzpatrick eagerly, "and you must be a judge. I, who see her every day, can form no idea of her looks."
"Can there be a doubt of it?" said Mr. Haveloc.
And who, indeed, would have traced the progress of disease in those sparkling eyes--that beautiful bloom. Her walk was no longer stooping; her step was not languid. Her mother was astonished at the renovation that seemed to have taken place within her, though she was enlightened as to the cause. And Aveline, the thought of her danger had vanished like lightning from her mind. She was well, strong, happy, she could never be ill again.
"And how long are we likely to have you for our neighbour, Mr. Haveloc?"
asked Mrs. Fitzpatrick.
"I have taken the villa for the summer," he said; "but if it pleases me, perhaps, I shall buy it. I should like to have something of a fishing cottage by the sea-side; and though the house is a nut-shell, it is large enough for that purpose. One puts up with any accommodation at the sea."
"And a single man ought to put up with a cupboard, you know," said Aveline.
"Ah! Miss Fitzpatrick, I am aware of the immense dignity a man gains when he is married," said Mr. Haveloc; "before that awful period, he is hardly looked upon as a member of society. Is this your house? What a paradise. Allow me to return you your Dante, and do me the honour to recollect that I rescued the old bard from the waves."
"No--you must come in, Mr. Haveloc," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick, "I cannot part so quickly from an old friend. We dine early on Aveline's account, and you can take your luncheon at the same time."
"I shall be too happy to come in," said Mr. Haveloc, "for luncheon, I disdain it altogether, as most men do."
"I believe you never eat, Mr. Haveloc," said Aveline, "you never did.
People talk of ladies living on air; I never could make out what you lived upon at Sorrento."
"Turkies, I believe, Miss Fitzpatrick; they were the staple commodity in that part of the world. I do not wonder that you were anxious to return to England," he said, looking round, as they entered the drawing-room.
"The wonder is, how you could ever leave so delightful a spot."
"One would go anywhere in search of health, Mr. Haveloc," said Mrs.
Fitzpatrick.
"True, but having found it, as I trust you have," said Mr. Haveloc, turning to Aveline, "you cannot regret the shores of the Mediterranean, here."
"No--I regret nothing, I have not a thing to wish for," said Aveline, as she sat tranquilly on the sofa, absorbed in the content of the present moment. He was with them; he was their near neighbour; they must often see him. Her happiness was only too great to be believed. She never dreamed that his heart was engrossed by another--she judged him by herself.
For Mr. Haveloc, he was really delighted at the rencontre. He was very partial to Mrs. Fitzpatrick; he respected her character, and admired the cultivation of her mind. They had been used, when they met at Sorrento, to hold long arguments on art and poetry; on society and politics; on every possible topic; in short, both had much knowledge, much originality, much power of expression. And Aveline sat and listened as to an oracle. But with the exception of a few bantering sentences occasionally passing between them, they never spoke to each other. And while he sought and admired the society of Mrs. Fitzpatrick, he only thought of Aveline as an interesting, sickly girl, whom he hoped would gain strength for the sake of her poor mother, who seemed to doat upon her. But although he was not what would be called a good-natured person, yet where his feelings were at all interested, he displayed an eager and watchful attention, which might easily be supposed to spring from a warmer source than that which actuated his conduct.
Aveline had taken off her bonnet, and her profuse curls of dark hair, of that finest silk that almost bespeaks great delicacy of constitution, hung over her face and shoulders, concealing in some measure the thinness of her outline. Mr. Haveloc was not sufficiently interested in her to mark her quick and unequal breathing; he merely thought as he had said, that she was looking much better than she had done at Sorrento.
"That is your harp, Miss Fitzpatrick," said Mr. Haveloc, as he wandered about the room. "Did you get any lessons from that person at Milan?"
"Mademoiselle S----; yes, a few. But I was obliged to leave off on account of my chest. She did me a great deal of good, however, and brought out my touch very well."
"I hope to hear you one day. Oh! by the way, Mrs. Fitzpatrick, did you ever succeed in finding an engraving of the Cenci that pleased you?"
"No, but I picked up a miniature copy at Rome which almost satisfied me."
"Almost! Ah that inimitable mouth, the colour as well as the form, the faded rose-leaves; but one cannot describe it. A man who had painted such a picture had better die; there would be nothing left for him to do--he could not surpass himself."
"Now I think, Mr. Haveloc," said Aveline, with something of her old playfulness, "he had better live to be thanked and admired for his good deeds: and having excelled others, he need not be concerned that he can no longer surpass himself."
"And what are you doing, and who have you surpassed in the arts?" said Mr. Haveloc, struck by her reply.
"Something wonderful is in progress," said Aveline laughing, "when I get better, I mean to astonish everybody." Mr. Haveloc was surprised and pleased with her conversation. Pain, whether mental or bodily, lulls the faculties of some people; but with others, it stings them into unnatural forwardness and activity. So it had been with Aveline. In accomplishment, in language, in general knowledge of every kind, she was singularly forward and perfected. Everything around her proclaimed the elegance of her mind; every trifle bore the stamp of that classic correctness of taste, which she had improved by travel, but which was a part of her natural tendencies.
When he rose to go, it was natural that Mrs. Fitzpatrick should beg him to repeat his visit; that she should assure him of being always a welcome guest.
"Thank you a thousand times," he replied, "you cannot imagine the pleasure I feel at renewing our acquaintance; but I cannot take myself off, until you consent to fix a day for our sailing expedition: do trust yourselves on board with me?"
"Come to-morrow," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick, "I shall see how Aveline is, and we will talk it over then."
"Be very well, Miss Fitzpatrick," said Mr. Haveloc, as he shook hands with her, "as soon as I get you on board, I shall make all sail for Algiers."
This was an allusion to a laughing conversation they had once held at Sorrento, respecting the price they would all fetch, if seized upon by some pirate of the Mediterranean, and carried to the slave market at Algiers. It was clear that he remembered all that had ever passed when they were together. Was it wonderful if she thought that love had prompted his memory?
There was a silence of some moments after he left the room, and Mrs.
Fitzpatrick, who was seated near the window watching Mr. Haveloc as he made his way down to the beach, said:
"What a curious sort of straw hat he wears."
"Does he?" said Aveline, coming near her mother.
"Yes, like the reapers in the 'Tempest.'"
And that was all that passed between them on the subject of Mr.
Haveloc's visit.
CHAPTER VI.
Lieben Freunde! Es gab schon're Zeiten Als die unsern--das ist nicht zu streiten!