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It was now seven weeks since Goneril had blushed with excitement when first she heard that ring; and now she did not blush. The signorino entered. He walked very straight, and his lips were set. He came in with the air of one prepared to encounter opposition. "Mees Goneril," he said, "will you come out on the terrace? before it is too late," he added, with a savage glance at Miss Prunty.
She spoke with a languid foreign accent, and with an emphatic and bountiful use of adjectives, that gave to our severer generation an impression of insincerity. Yet it was said with truth that Giulia Petrucci had never forgotten a friend nor an enemy. "Goneril is outside," said Miss Hamelyn. "How is Miss Prunty?" "Brigida? Oh, you must come inside and see my invaluable Brigida.
"I cannot play to-night," he cried. "I am not in the humour. Goneril, will you come and walk with me on the terrace?" Before the girl could reply Miss Prunty had darted an angry glance at Signor Graziano. "Good Lord, what fools men are!" she ejaculated.
"So it's she that's called Goneril?" "Yes," said the aunt, making an effort. "Of course I am aware of the strangeness of the name, but but in fact my brother was devotedly attached to his wife, who died at Goneril's birth." "Whew!" whistled Miss Prunty. "The parson must have been a fool who christened her!"
"Go to bed, Goneril!" cried Miss Prunty in a voice of thunder. A few mornings after these events the postman brought a letter for Goneril. This was such a rare occurrence that she blushed rose red at the very sight of it, and had to walk up and down the terrace several times before she felt calm enough to read it. Then she went upstairs and knocked at the door of Madame Petrucci's room.
Madame Petrucci was beautifully dressed in soft black silk, old lace, and a white Indian shawl. Miss Prunty had on her starchiest collar and most formal tie. Goneril saw it was necessary that she, likewise should deck herself in her best. She was much too young and impressionable not to be influenced by the flutter of excitement and interest which filled the whole of the little cottage.
"We expect the signorino," said Miss Prunty. "And is he going to stay here?" "Don't be a fool!" snapped that lady; and then she added "Go into the kitchen and get some of the pastry and some bread and cheese, there's a good girl." "All right!" said Goneril. Madame Petrucci stopped her vocalising. "You shall have all the better a dinner to compensate you, my Gonerilla!"
Signor Graziano's usual week of holiday passed and lengthened into almost two months, and still he stayed on at the villa. The two old ladies were highly delighted. "At last he has taken my advice!" cried Miss Prunty. "I always told him those premature grey hairs came from late hours and Roman air." Madame Petrucci shook her head and gave a meaning smile.
His worst recorded exploits have something of the bizarre about them, as when he cut into bits a dress presented to his wife by one to whom he was not willing she should be indebted, and fired off pocket-pistols at unseasonable hours and places. Mrs. Prunty does not appear to have run short in her wardrobe, nor did the pistols ever hit any one.
"And how, this evening, is Madamigella Ruth?" So he had seen her this evening, binding his corn. "I am quite well, padrone," she said, smiling shyly. The two old ladies looked on amazed, for of course they were not in the secret. "Signor Graziano, Miss Goneril Hamelyn," said Miss Prunty, rather severely. Goneril felt that the time was come for silence and good manners.
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