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Page 10
And when they were entering the restaurant a telegram was put into
Canon Ebley's hand--it was from the Rev. Eustace Medlicott, sent
from Turin, saying he would join them in Rome the following
evening.
"Eustace has been preparing this delightful surprise--I knew of
it," the Aunt Caroline said, with conscious pride, "but I would
not tell you, Stella, dear, in case something might prevent it. I
feared to disappoint you."
"Thank you, aunt," Miss Rawson said without too much enthusiasm,
and took her seat where she could see the solitary occupant of a
small table, surrounded by the obsequious waiters, already sipping
his champagne.
He had not looked up as they passed. Nor did he appear once to
glance in their direction. His whole manner was full of the same
reflective calm as the night before. And, for some unaccountable
reason, Stella Rawson's heart sank down lower and lower, until at
the end of the repast she looked pale and tired out.
Eustace, her betrothed, would be there on the morrow, and such
things as drives in motor cars with strange Russian counts were
only dreams and not realities, she now felt.
CHAPTER III
Next morning it fell about that Stella Rawson was allowed to go
into the Musso Nazionale in the Diocletian baths, accompanied only
by Martha, her uncle and aunt having decided they would take a
rest and write their English letters. The museum was so near, a
mere hundred yards, there could be no impropriety in their niece's
going there with Martha, even in an exhibition year in Rome.
Stella was still suffering from a nameless sense of depression.
Eustace's train would get in at about five o'clock, and he would
accompany them to the Embassy. A cousin of her own and Aunt
Caroline's was one of the secretaries, and had already been
written to about the invitation. So that even if Count Roumovski
should be presented to her, and make the whole thing proper and
correct, she would have no chance of any conversation. The
brilliant sunlight felt incongruous and hurt her, and she was glad
to enter the shady ancient baths. She had glanced furtively to
right and left in the hotel as she came through the hall, but saw
no one who resembled the Russian, and they had walked so quickly
through the vestibule she had not remarked a tall figure coming
from the staircase, nor had seen him give some rapid order to a
respectful servant who was waiting about, and who instantly
followed them: but if she had looked up as she paid for the two
tickets at the barrier of the museum, she would have seen this
same lean man turn swiftly round and retreat in the direction of
the hotel.
Martha was sulky and comatose on this very warm morning; she took
no interest in sculpture. "Them naked creatures," she called any
masterpiece undraped--and she resented being dragged out by Miss
Stella, who always had fancies for art.
They walked round the cloisters first, a voyage of discovery to
Miss Rawson, who looked a slim enough nymph herself in her lilac
cambric frock and demure gray hat shading her big brown eyes.
Then suddenly, from across the garden in the center, she became
aware that an archaic Apollo clad in modern dress had entered upon
the scene, and the blood rushed to her cheeks, and her heart beat.
Martha puffed with the heat and exercise, and glanced with longing
eyes at a comfortable stone bench in the shade.
"Would you like to rest here, Martha, you old dear?" Miss Rawson
said. "There is not a creature about, and I will walk round and
join you from the other side."
The Aunt Caroline's elderly maid easily agreed to this. It was
true there did not seem to be anyone adventurous-looking, and Miss
Stella would be more or less under her eye--and she was thoroughly
tired with traveling and what not. So Stella found herself happily
unchaperoned, except by Baedecker, as she strolled on.
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