"Christina Thayer!" exclaimed Dolly, as the other young lady came forward; and there was a joyful recognition on both sides.
"Who is your friend?" Mrs. Thayer next went on. "Won't you introduce him?--St. Leger? Don't I know your father? Ernest Singleton St.
Leger?--Yes! Why, he was a great beau of mine once, a good while ago, you know," she added, nodding. "You might not think it, but he was. Oh, I know him very well; I know him like a book. You must be my friend.
Christina, this is Mr. St. Leger; my old friend's son.--Mr. Thayer."
Mr. Thayer was nothing remarkable. But Christina had fulfilled the promise of her girlhood, and developed into a magnificent beauty. Her skin showed the richest, clear, creamy white tints, upon which in her cheeks and lips the carmine lay like rose leaves. Her hair was light brown and abundant, features regular, eyes sweet; she was one of those fair, full, stately, placid Saxon types of beauty, which are not very common in America and remarkable anywhere. Her figure was roundly and finely developed, rather stately and slow moving; which characteristic harmonised with all the rest of her. The two girls were as unlike each other as possible. It amused and half fascinated Lawrence to watch the contrast. It seemed to be noon of a summer day in the soul of Christina, a still breadth of light without shadow; there was a murmur of content in her voice when she spoke, and a ripple of content in her laugh when she laughed. But the light quivered on Dolly's lip, and gleamed and sparkled in her brown eyes, and light and shadow could flit over her face with quick change; they did so now.
Meanwhile people had forgotten the old cathedral. Christina seemed unaffectedly glad at the meeting with her friend of the school days.
"I'm so delighted," she said, drawing Dolly a little apart. "Where are you? where do you come from, I mean? How come you to be here?"
"We come from Dresden; we are on our way"----
"You are living in London, aren't you? I heard that. It's too good to meet you so! for Europe is full of people, no doubt, but there are very few that I care for. Oh, tell me where you are going?"
"Venice first."
"And further south? you are going on into Italy?"
"Yes, I think so."
"That's delightful. Oh, there's nothing like Italy! It is not your wedding journey, Dolly?"--with a glance at the very handsome young man who was standing in waiting a few paces off.
"What are you thinking of!" cried Dolly. "Christina, we are travelling for mother's health."
"Oh, well, I didn't suppose it; but it might be, you know; it will be, before you know it. It isn't _mine_, either; though it only wants two things of it. Oh, I want to tell you all about myself, Dolly, and I want to show you somebody; I have got somebody to show, you see. You will come and make us a visit, will you not? Oh, you must! I must have you."
"You said it wanted only _two things_ of being your wedding journey?
What things?"
"The presence of the gentleman, and the performance of the ceremony."
And as Christina said it, a delicate peach-blossom bloom ripened in her cheeks; you could hardly say that she blushed. "Oh, the gentleman is somewhere, though he is not here," she went on, with that ripple of laughter; "and the ceremony is somewhere in the distance, too. I want you to see him, Dolly. I am proud of him. I think everything in the world of him."
"I suppose I may know his name?"
"Christina," cried Mrs. Thayer, "where are you? My dear, we cannot stand here and talk all the afternoon; our friends have got to see the church. Isn't it a delicious old place? Just go round and examine things; I could stay here for ever. Every little place where there is room for it is filled with the quaintest, queerest, charmingest paintings. Where there is room for it, there is a group; and where there is not a group, there is an apostle or a saint; and where there is not room for that, there is something else, which this unintelligible old guide will explain to you. And think--for years and years it has held the richest collection--oh, just wait and see! it is better than the church itself. My dear, the riches of its treasures are incalculable. Fancy, a mitre, a bishop's mitre, you know, so heavy with precious stones that the good man cannot bear it on his head but a few minutes; over three thousand pearls and precious stones in it; and the work, oh, the work of it is wonderful! just in the finest Renaissance"----
"We have just come from the Green vaults at Dresden," put in Mrs.
Copley. "I suppose that goes ahead of everything else."
"Oh, my dear, I don't know; I don't see how anything can be superior to the show here. Is Mr. St. Leger fond of art?"
"Fonder of nature," Mr. St. Leger confesses with a bow.
"Nature,--well, come to see us at Naples. We have got a villa not far from there--you'll _all_ come and stay with us. Oh, we cannot let you off; it is such a thing to meet with one's own people from home. You will certainly want to see us, and we shall want to see you. Venice, oh yes, after you have seen Venice, and then we shall be at home again; we just set off on this journey to use up the time until the 'Red Chief'
could come to Naples. We are going back soon, and we'll be all ready to welcome you. And Mr. St. Leger, of course. Mr. St. Leger, I could tell you a great deal about your father. He and I flirted dreadfully once; and, you know, if flirting is _properly_ carried on, one always has a little sneaking kindness for the people one has flirted with."
"No more than that?" said St. Leger with a polite smile.
"Why, what would you have? after one has grown old, you know. You would not have me in love with him! Here is my husband and my daughter. Don't you have a kindness for the people you flirt with?"
"I must not say anything against flirting, in the present company"---- Lawrence began.
"No, of course you mustn't. We all flirt, at a certain age. How are young people to get acquainted with one another and find out what they would like? You never buy cheese without tasting it, you know, not in England. Just as well call things by their right names. I don't think anybody ought to deny flirting; it's nature; we must do it. Christina flirts, I know, in the most innocent way, with everybody; not as I did; she has her own style; and your daughter does it too, Mrs. Copley. I can see it in her eyes. Ah me, I wish I was young again! And what a place to flirt in such an old church is!"
"O mamma!" came from Christina.
"Very queer taste, I should say," remarked Mrs. Copley.
"It isn't taste; it is combination of circumstances," Mrs. Thayer, smiling, went on. "You see if I don't say true. My dear, such a place as this is full of romance, full! Just think of the people that have been married here; why, the first church was built here in 814; imagine that!"
"Enough to keep one from flirting for ever," said Dolly, on whom the lady's eye fell as she ended her sentence.
"Just go in and see those jewels and hear the stories," said Mrs.
Thayer, nodding at her. "That old woman will tell you stories enough, if you can understand her; Christina had to translate for me; but, my dear, there's a story there fit to break your heart; about a blood jasper. It is carved; Mr. Thayer says the carving is very fine, and I suppose it is; but all I thought of was the story. My dear, the stone is all spotted with dark stains, and they are said to be the stains of heart's blood. Oh, it is as tragical as can be. You see, the carver, or stone-cutter,--the young man who did the work,--loved his master's daughter--it's a very romantic story--and she"----
"Flirted?" suggested St. Leger.
"Well, I am afraid she did; but it is the old course of things; her father thought she might look higher, you know, and she _did;_ married the richest nobleman in Verona; and the young man had been promised her if he did his work well, and the work is magnificently done; but he was cheated; and he drove a sharp little knife into his heart. Christina, what was the old master's name?"
"I forget, mamma."
"You ought not to forget; you will want to tell the story. Of course _I_ have forgotten; I did not understand it at the time, and I never remember anything besides; but he was very famous, and everybody wanted the things he did, and he could not execute all the commissions he got; and this young man was his best favourite pupil."
"How came the stains upon the stone?" asked Lawrence. "Did it bleed for sympathy?"
"I don't know; I have forgotten. Oh yes! the stone was in his hand, you know."
"And it was sympathy?" said Lawrence quite gravely, though Dolly could not keep her lips in order.
"No, it was the blood. Go in and you'll see it, and all the rest. And there---- Where are you going? to Venice? We are going on to Cologne and then back to Rome. We shall meet in Rome? You will stay in Venice for a few weeks, and then be in Rome about Christmas; and then we will make arrangements for a visit from you all. Oh yes, we must have you all."
Lawrence accompanied the lady to the door, and Christina following with Dolly earnestly begged for the meeting in Rome, and that Dolly would spend Christmas with her. "I have so much to tell you," she said; "and my--the gentleman I spoke of--will meet us in Rome; and he will spend Christmas with us; and I want you to see him. I admire Mr. St. Leger, very much!" she added in a confidential whisper.
"Mr. St. Leger is nothing to me," said Dolly steadily, looking in her friend's face. "He is father's secretary, and is taking care of us till my father can come."
"Oh, well, if he is not anything to you _now_, perhaps--you never know what will be," said Christina. "He is very handsome! Don't you like him? I long to know how you will like--Mr. Rayner."
"Who is he?" said Dolly, by way of saying something.
"Didn't I tell yon? He is first officer on board the 'Red Chief,' one of our finest vessels of war; it is in the Mediterranean now; and we expect him to come to us at Christmas. Manage to be at Rome then, do, dear; and afterwards you must all come and make us a visit at our villa, near Naples, and we'll show you everything."
"Christina," said Mrs. Thayer, when she and her daughter and her husband were safe in the privacy of their carriage, "that is a son of the rich English banker, St. Leger; they are _very_ rich. We must be polite to him."
"You are polite to everybody, mamma."
"But _you_ must be polite to him."