"She is a penniless girl without family," remarked the good woman, somewhat snappishly. "I can't imagine what George was thinking of."
"How did your brother meet her?" I asked.
"We were both in Italy last autumn; we were staying in Naples, at the Vésuve. An English lady was staying there of the name of Studley. She died while we were at the hotel. She had under her charge a young girl, the same Antonia who is now engaged to my brother. Before her death she begged of us to befriend her, saying that the child was without money and without friends. Mrs. Studley's money died with her. We promised, not being able to do otherwise. George fell in love almost at first sight. Little Antonia was provided for by becoming engaged to my brother. I have nothing to say against the girl, but I dislike this sort of match very much. Besides, she is more foreign than English."
"Cannot Miss Ripley tell you anything about her history?"
"Nothing, except that Mrs. Studley adopted her when she was a tiny child. She says, also, that she has a dim recollection of a large building crowded with people, and a man who stretched out his arms to her and was taken forcibly away. That is all. She is quite a nice child, and amiable, with touching ways and a pathetic face; but no one knows what her ancestry was. Ah, there you are, Antonia! What is the matter now?"
The girl tripped across the room. She was like a young fawn; of a smooth, olive complexion—dark of eye and mysteriously beautiful, with the graceful step which is seldom granted to an English girl.
"My lace dress has come," she said. "Markham is unpacking it—but the bodice is made with a low neck."
Lady Kennedy frowned.
"You are too absurd, Antonia," she said. "Why won't you dress like other girls? I assure you that peculiarity of yours of always wearing your dress high in the evening annoys George."
"Does it?" she answered, and she stepped back and put her hand to her neck just below the throat—a constant habit of hers, as I afterwards had occasion to observe.
"It disturbs him very much," said Lady Kennedy. "He spoke to me about it only yesterday. Please understand, Antonia, that at the ball you cannot possibly wear a dress high to your throat. It cannot be permitted."
"I shall be properly dressed on the night of the ball," replied the girl.
Her face grew crimson, then deadly pale.
"It only wants a fortnight to that time, but I shall be ready."
There was a solemnity about her words. She turned and left the room.
"Antonia is a very trying character," said Lady Kennedy." Why won't she act like other girls? She makes such a fuss about wearing a proper evening dress that she tries my patience—but she is all crotchets."
"A sweet little girl for all that," was my answer.
"Yes; men like her."
Soon afterwards, as I was strolling the terrace, I met Miss Ripley. She was sitting in a low chair. I noticed how small, and slim, and young she looked, and how pathetic was the expression of her little face. When she saw me she seemed to hesitate then she came to my side.
"May I walk with you, Mr. Druce?" she asked.
"I am quite at your service," I answered. "Where shall we go?"
"It doesn't matter. I want to know if you will help me."
"Certainly, if I can, Miss Ripley."
"It is most important. I want to go to London."
"Surely that is not very difficult?"
"They won't allow me to go alone, and they are both very busy. I have just sent a telegram to a friend. I want to see her. I know she will receive me. I want to go to-morrow. May I venture to ask that you should be my escort?"
"My dear Miss Ripley, certainly," I said. "I will help you with pleasure."
"It must be done," she said, in a low voice. "I have put it off too long. When I marry him he shall not be disappointed."
"I do not understand you," I said, "but I will go with you with the greatest willingness."
She smiled; and the next day, much to my own amazement, I found myself travelling first-class up to London, with little Miss Ripley as my companion. Neither Rowland nor his sister had approved; but Antonia had her own way, and the fact that I would escort her cleared off some difficulties.
During our journey she bent towards me and said, in a low tone:—
"Have you ever heard of that most wonderful, that great woman, Madame Sara?"
I looked at her intently.
