Chapter 9 - Page 2

and this first glimpse
of a wider world was intensely interesting to her. Who can help
being pleased, indeed, with that wonderful St. Gothard--the crystal
green Reuss shattering itself in white spray into emerald pools by
the side of the railway; Wasen church perched high upon its
solitary hilltop; the Biaschina ravine, the cleft rocks of Faido,
the serpentine twists and turns of the ramping line as it mounts or
descends its spiral zigzags? Dewy Alpine pasture, tossed masses of
land-slip, white narcissus on the banks, snowy peaks in the
background--all alike were fresh visions of delight to Herminia;
and she drank it all in with the pure childish joy of a poetic
nature. It was the Switzerland of her dreams, reinforced and
complemented by unsuspected detail.

One trouble alone disturbed her peace of mind upon that delightful
journey. Alan entered their names at all the hotels where they
stopped as "Mr. and Mrs. Alan Merrick of London." That deception,
as Herminia held it, cost her many qualms of conscience; but Alan,
with masculine common-sense, was firm upon the point that no other
description was practically possible; and Herminia yielded with a
sign to his greater worldly wisdom. She had yet to learn the
lesson which sooner or later comes home to all the small minority
who care a pin about righteousness, that in a world like our own,
it is impossible for the righteous always to act consistently up to
their most sacred convictions.

At Milan, they stopped long enough to snatch a glimpse of the
cathedral, and to take a hasty walk through the pictured glories of
the Brera. A vague suspicion began to cross Herminia's mind, as she
gazed at the girlish Madonna of the Sposalizio, that perhaps she
wasn't quite as well adapted to love Italy as Switzerland. Nature
she understood; was art yet a closed book to her? If so, she would
be sorry; for Alan, in whom the artistic sense was largely
developed, loved his Italy dearly; and it would be a real cause of
regret to her if she fell short in any way of Alan's expectations.
Moreover, at table d'hote that evening, a slight episode occurred
which roused to the full once more poor Herminia's tender
conscience. Talk had somehow turned on Shelley's Italian wanderings;
and a benevolent-looking clergyman opposite, with that vacantly
well-meaning smile, peculiar to a certain type of country rector,
was apologizing in what he took to be a broad and generous spirit of
divine, toleration for the great moral teacher's supposed lapses
from the normal rule of tight living. Much, the benevolent-looking
gentleman opined, with beaming spectacles, must be forgiven to men
of genius. Their temptations no doubt are far keener than with most
of us. An eager