Chapter 2 - Page 2

Abbott. And
here she was in a legno, solitary, dusty, frightened, with
as much to answer and to answer for as the most dashing
adventuress could desire.

They shook hands without speaking. She made room for
Philip and his luggage amidst the loud indignation of the
unsuccessful driver, whom it required the combined eloquence
of the station-master and the station beggar to confute.
The silence was prolonged until they started. For three
days he had been considering what he should do, and still
more what he should say. He had invented a dozen imaginary
conversations, in all of which his logic and eloquence
procured him certain victory. But how to begin? He was in
the enemy's country, and everything--the hot sun, the cold
air behind the heat, the endless rows of olive-trees,
regular yet mysterious--seemed hostile to the placid
atmosphere of Sawston in which his thoughts took birth. At
the outset he made one great concession. If the match was
really suitable, and Lilia were bent on it, he would give
in, and trust to his influence with his mother to set things
right. He would not have made the concession in England;
but here in Italy, Lilia, however wilful and silly, was at
all events growing to be a human being.

"Are we to talk it over now?" he asked.

"Certainly, please," said Miss Abbott, in great
agitation. "If you will be so very kind."

"Then how long has she been engaged?"

Her face was that of a perfect fool--a fool in terror.

"A short time--quite a short time," she stammered, as if
the shortness of the time would reassure him.

"I should like to know how long, if you can remember."

She entered into elaborate calculations on her fingers.
"Exactly eleven days," she said at last.

"How long have you been here?"

More calculations, while he tapped irritably with his
foot. "Close on three weeks."

"Did you know him before you came?"

"No."

"Oh! Who is he?"

"A native of the place."

The second silence took place. They had left the plain
now and were climbing up the outposts of the hills, the
olive-trees still accompanying. The driver, a jolly fat
man, had got out to ease the horses, and was walking by the
side of the carriage.

"I understood they met at the hotel."

"It was a mistake of Mrs. Theobald's."

"I also understand that he is a member of the Italian nobility."

She did not reply.

"May I be told his name?"

Miss Abbott whispered, "Carella." But the driver heard
her, and a grin split over his face. The engagement must be
known already.

"Carella? Conte or Marchese, or what?"

"Signor," said Miss Abbott, and looked helplessly