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Page 7
Philip thought of Italy, and the situation was saved.
Caroline, charming, sober, Caroline Abbott, who lived two
turnings away, was seeking a companion for a year's travel.
Lilia gave up her house, sold half her furniture, left the
other half and Irma with Mrs. Herriton, and had now
departed, amid universal approval, for a change of scene.
She wrote to them frequently during the winter--more
frequently than she wrote to her mother. Her letters were
always prosperous. Florence she found perfectly sweet,
Naples a dream, but very whiffy. In Rome one had simply to
sit still and feel. Philip, however, declared that she was
improving. He was particularly gratified when in the early
spring she began to visit the smaller towns that he had
recommended. "In a place like this," she wrote, "one really
does feel in the heart of things, and off the beaten track.
Looking out of a Gothic window every morning, it seems
impossible that the middle ages have passed away." The
letter was from Monteriano, and concluded with a not
unsuccessful description of the wonderful little town.
"It is something that she is contented," said Mrs.
Herriton. "But no one could live three months with Caroline
Abbott and not be the better for it."
Just then Irma came in from school, and she read her
mother's letter to her, carefully correcting any grammatical
errors, for she was a loyal supporter of parental
authority--Irma listened politely, but soon changed the
subject to hockey, in which her whole being was absorbed.
They were to vote for colours that afternoon--yellow and
white or yellow and green. What did her grandmother think?
Of course Mrs. Herriton had an opinion, which she
sedately expounded, in spite of Harriet, who said that
colours were unnecessary for children, and of Philip, who
said that they were ugly. She was getting proud of Irma,
who had certainly greatly improved, and could no longer be
called that most appalling of things--a vulgar child. She
was anxious to form her before her mother returned. So she
had no objection to the leisurely movements of the
travellers, and even suggested that they should overstay
their year if it suited them.
Lilia's next letter was also from Monteriano, and Philip
grew quite enthusiastic.
"They've stopped there over a week!" he cried. "Why! I
shouldn't have done as much myself. They must be really
keen, for the hotel's none too comfortable."
"I cannot understand people," said Harriet. "What can
they be doing all day? And there is no church there, I suppose."
"There is Santa Deodata, one of the most beautiful
churches in Italy."
"Of course I mean an English church," said Harriet
stiffly. "Lilia promised me that she would always be in a
large town on Sundays."
"If she goes to a service at Santa Deodata's, she will
find more beauty and sincerity than there is in all the Back
Kitchens of Europe."
The Back Kitchen was his nickname for St. James's, a
small depressing edifice much patronized by his sister. She
always resented any slight on it, and Mrs. Herriton had to
intervene.
"Now, dears, don't. Listen to Lilia's letter. 'We love
this place, and I do not know how I shall ever thank Philip
for telling me it. It is not only so quaint, but one sees
the Italians unspoiled in all their simplicity and charm
here. The frescoes are wonderful. Caroline, who grows
sweeter every day, is very busy sketching.' "
"Every one to his taste!" said Harriet, who always
delivered a platitude as if it was an epigram. She was
curiously virulent about Italy, which she had never visited,
her only experience of the Continent being an occasional six
weeks in the Protestant parts of Switzerland.
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