 CHAPTER I They were all at Charing Cross to see Lilia off. Philip Harriet Irma, Mrs. Harriton herself, even Mrs. Theobald, squired by Mr. Kingcroft, braided the journey from Yorkshire to bid her only daughter goodbye. Mrs. Abbott was likewise attended by numerous relatives, and the sight of so many people talking at once and saying such different things caused Lilia to break into ungovernable peels of laughter. Quite an ovation! she cried, sprawling out of her first-class carriage. They'll take us for royalty. Oh, Mr. Kingcroft, get us foot warmers! The good-natured young man hurried away, and Philip, taking his place, flooded her with a final stream of advice and injuctions. Where to stop? How to learn Italian? When to use mosquito nets? Put pictures to look at. Remember, he concluded, that it is only by going off the track that you get to know the country. See the little towns, Gubio, Pienza, Cortona, San Gemignano, Bontoriano, and don't let me beg you, go with that awful tourist idea that Italy is only a museum of antiquities and art. Love and understand the Italians, for the people are more marvelous than the land. How I wish you were coming, Philip, she said, flattered at the unmoted notice her brother-in-law was giving her. I wish I were. He could have managed it without great difficulty, for his career at the bar was not so intense as to prevent occasional holidays. But his family disliked his continual visits to the continent. He himself often found pleasure in the idea that he was too busy to leave town. Good-bye, dear everyone. What a whirl! She caught sight of her little daughter, Irma, and felt that a touch of maternal solemnity was required. Good-bye, darling, mind you're always good and do what Granny tells you. She referred not to her own mother, but to her mother-in-law, Mrs. Harriton, who hated the title of Granny. Irma lifted a serious face to be kissed and said cautiously, I'll do my best. She is sure to be good to Mrs. Harriton, who is standing pensively a little out of the hubbub. But Lily was already calling to Miss Abbott a tall, grave, rather nice-looking young lady who was conducting her adduce in a more decorous manner on the platform. Caroline, my Caroline, jump in or your chaperone will go up without you. And Philip, whom the idea of Italy always intoxicated, had started again, telling her of the supreme moments of her coming journey. The company of Irolo, which would burst on her when she emerged from the St. Gothar tunnel, presaging the future, the view of the Ticino and Lago Majori as the train climbed up the slopes of Monte Canari, the view of Lugano, the view of Como, Italy gathering thick around her now, the arrival at her first resting place, when after long driving through dark and dirty streets, she should at last behold, amid the roar of trams and the glare of arc lamps, the buttresses of the Cathedral of Milan. Hackerchiefs and collars screamed, Harriet, in my inlaid box! I have lent you my inlaid box! Good old Harry! She kissed everyone again, and there was a moment of silence. They all smiled steadily, excepting Philip, who was choking in the fog. And old Mrs. Theobald, who had begun to cry, Miss Abbott got into the carriage. The guard himself shut the door and told Lillia that she would be all right. Then the trade moved, and they all moved with it a couple of steps and waved their Hackerchiefs and uttered cheerful little cries. At that moment Mr. Kingcroft reappeared, carrying a foot warmer by both ends, as if it was a tea-tray. He was sorry that he was too late, and called out in a quivering voice. Good-bye, Mrs. Charles, may you enjoy yourself, and may God bless you. Lillia smiled and nodded, and then the absurd position of the foot warmer overcame her, and she began to laugh again. Oh, I am so sorry, she cried back, but you do look so funny. Oh, you all look so funny-waving. Oh, pray! And, laughing helplessly, she was carried out into the fog. High spirits to begin so long a journey, said Mrs. Theobald, dabbing her eyes. Mr. Kingcroft solemnly moved his head in token of agreement. I wish, said he, that Mrs. Charles had gotten the foot warmer. These London porters won't take heed to a country chap. But you did your best, said Mrs. Heriton, and I think it's simply noble of you to have brought Mrs. Theobald all the way here on such a day as this. Then rather hastily she shook hands and left him to take Mrs. Theobald all the way back. Sauston, her own home, was within easy reach of London, and they were not late for tea. Tea was in the dining room with an egg for Irma to keep up the child's spirits. The house seemed strangely quiet after a fortnight's bustle, and their conversation was spasmodic and subdued. They wondered whether the travelers had got to Folkstone, whether it be it all rough, and if so, what would happen to poor Miss Abbott? And Granny, when will the old ship get to Italy? asked Irma. Grandmother dear, not Granny, said Mrs. Heriton, giving her a kiss. And we say a boat or a steamer, not a ship. Ships have sails. And mother won't go all the way by sea. You look at the map of Europe, and you'll see why. Harriet, take her. Go with Aunt Harriet, and she'll show you the map. Righto! said the little girl, and dragged the reluctant Harriet into the library. Mrs. Heriton and her son were left alone. There was immediately confidence between them. Here beginneth a new life, said Philip. Poor child! How vulgar! murmured Mrs. Heriton. It's surprising that she isn't worse, but she has got a look at poor Charles about her. And alas, alas, a look of old Mrs. Theobald! What appalling apparition was that? I did think the lady was bedridden, as well as imbecile. Why ever did she come? Mr. Kingcroft made her. I am certain of it. He wanted to see Lillia again, and this was the only way. I hope he is satisfied. I did not think my sister-in-law distinguished herself and her farewells. Mrs. Heriton shuddered. I mind nothing, so long as she is gone, and gone with Miss Abbott. It is mortifying to think that a widow of thirty-three requires a girl ten years younger to look after her. I pity Miss Abbott. Fortunately one admirer is chained to England. Mr. Kingcroft cannot leave the crops or the climate or something. I don't think either. He improved his chances today. He as well as Lillia has the knack of being absurd in public. Mrs. Heriton replied, When a man is neither well-bred nor well-connected nor handsome nor clever nor rich, even Lillia may discard him in time. No, I believe she would take any one. Right up to the last, when her boxes were packed, she was playing the Chinless Curit. Both the Curit's are Chinless, but hers have the dampest hands. I came on them in the park. There was speaking of the Pentateuch. My dear boy, if possible she has gone worse and worse. It was your idea of Italian travel that saved us. Philip brightened at the little compliment. The odd part is that she was quite eager, always asking me for information, and of course I was very glad to give it. I admit she is a Philistine, pallingly ignorant, and her taste in art is false. Still to have any taste at all is something, and I do believe that Italy really purifies and ennobles all who visit her. She is the school as well as the playground of the world. It is really to Lillia's credit that she wants to go there. She would go anywhere, said his mother, who had heard enough of the praises of Italy. I and Caroline Abbott had the greatest difficulty in dissuading her from a Riviera. No mother, no, she was really keen on Italy. This travel is quite a crisis for her. He found the situation full of whimsical romance. There was something half-attractive, half-ur-palant in the thought of this vulgar woman journeying to places he loved and revered. Why should she not be transfigured? The same had happened to the Goths. Mrs. Harriton did not believe in romance, nor in transfiguration, nor in parallels from history, nor in anything else that made disturb domestic life. She had directly changed the subject before Philip got excited. When Harriet returned having given her lesson in geography, Irma went to bed early and was tucked up by her grandmother. Then the two ladies worked and played cards. Philip read a book. And so they all settled down to their quiet, profitable existence, and continued it without interruption through the winter. It was now nearly ten years since Charles had fallen in love with Lillia Theobald because she was pretty, and during that time Mrs. Harriton had hardly known a moment's rest. For six months she schemed to prevent the match. And when it had taken place she turned to another task, a supervision of her daughter-in-law. Lillia must be pushed through life without bringing discredit on the family into which she had married. She was aided by Charles, by her daughter Harriet, and as soon as he was old enough by the clever one of the family, Philip, the birth of Irma made things still more difficult. But fortunately old Mrs. Theobald, who had attempted interference, began to break up. It was an effort to her to leave Whitby, and Mrs. Harriton discouraged the effort as far as possible. That curious duel which was fought over every baby was fought and decided early. Irma belonged to her father's family, not her mother's. Charles died and the struggle recommenced. Lillia tried to assert herself and said that she should go to take care of Mrs. Theobald. It required all Mrs. Harriton's kindness to prevent her. A house was finally taken for her at Sauston, and there for three years she lived with Irma, continually subject to the refining influences of her late husband's family. During one of her rare Yorkshire visits, trouble began again. Lillia confided to a friend that she liked to Mr. Kingcroft extremely, but that she was not exactly engaged to him. The news came round to Mrs. Harriton, who at once wrote begging for information and pointing out that Lillia must either be engaged or not, since no intermediate state existed. It was a good letter, and floored Lillia extremely. She left Mr. Kingcroft without even the pressure of a rescue party. She cried a great deal on her return to Sauston and said she was very sorry. Mrs. Harriton took the opportunity of speaking more seriously about the duties of widowhood and motherhood than she had ever done before, but somehow things never went easily after. Lillia would not settle down in her place among Sauston matrons. She was a bad housekeeper, always in the throes of some domestic crisis, which Mrs. Harriton, who kept her servants for years, had to step across and adjust. She let Irma stop away from school for insufficient reasons, and she allowed her to wear rings. She learned a bicycle for the purpose of waking the place up and coasted down the high street one Sunday morning, falling off at the turn by the church. If she had not been a relative it would have been entertaining. But even Philip, who in theory loved outraging English conventions, rose to the occasion and gave her a talking which she remembered to her dying day. It was just then, too, that they discovered that she still allowed Mr. Kingcroft to write to her as a gentleman friend and to send presents to Irma. 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. Lillia gave up her house, sold half her furniture, left the other half in Irma with Mrs. Heriton, 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 wiffy, and Rome went hence 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 had passed away. The letter was from Montariano and concluded, with a not unsuccessful description of the wonderful little town. It is something that she has contented, said Mrs. Heriton, 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 colors that afternoon, yellow and white or yellow and green. What did her grandmother think? Of course Mrs. Heriton had an opinion, which she sedately expanded in spite of Harriet, who said that colors 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 at most a palling 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 travelers and even suggested that they should overstay their year if it suited them. Lillia's next letter was also from Montariano and Philip grew quite enthusiastic. They stopped her 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. Lillia 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. Heriton had to intervene. Now dears don't, listen to Lillia'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 Italian's unspoiled in all their simplicity and charm here. The frescoes are wonderful. Caroline, who grows sweeter every day, is very busy sketching. Everyone 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 process of Switzerland. Oh, Harriet is a bad lot, said Philip as soon as she left the room. His mother laughed and told him not to be naughty, and the appearance of Irma just off to school prevented further discussion. Not only in tracts is a child a peacemaker. One moment Irma said to her uncle, I'm going to the station, I'll give you the pleasure of my company. They started together. Irma was gratified, but conversation flagged, for Philip had not the art of talking to the young. Mrs. Heriton sat a little longer at the breakfast table, rereading Lillia's letter. Then she helped the cook to clear, order dinner, and start of the housemaid turning out the drawing-room, Tuesday being its day. The weather was lovely, and she thought she would do a little gardening as it was quite early. She called Harriet, who had recovered from the insult of St. James's. And together they went to the kitchen garden and began to sow some early vegetables. We will save the peas to the last. They are the greatest fun, said Mrs. Heriton, who had the gift of making work a treat. She and her elderly daughter always got on very well, though they had not a great deal in common. This education had been almost too successful. As Philip once said, she had bolted all the cardinal virtues and couldn't digest them. Though pious and patriotic, and a great moral asset for the house, she lacked that pliancy intact which her mother had much valued, and had expected her to pick up for herself. Harriet, if she had been allowed, would have driven Lillia to an open rupture. And what was worse, she would have done the same to Philip two years before, when he returned full of passion for Italy in ridiculing Sauston in its ways. It's a shame, mother, she had cried. Philip laughs at everything, the book club, the debating society, the progressive wist, the bazaars. People won't like it. We have our reputation. A house divided against itself cannot stand. Mrs. Heriton replied in the memorable words, let Philip say what he likes, and he will let us do what we like. And Harriet had acquiesced. They sowed the duller vegetables first, and a pleasant feeling of righteous fatigue stole over them, as they addressed themselves to the peas. Harriet stretched a string to guide the row straight, and Mrs. Heriton scratched her fur with a pointed stick. At the end of it she looked at her watch. It's twelve, the second post-sin. Run and see if there are any letters. Harriet did not want to go. Let's finish the peas. There won't be any letters. No, dear, please go, also the peas, but you shall cover them up, and mind the birds don't see them. Mrs. Heriton was very careful to let those peas trickle evenly from her hand, and at the end of the row she was conscious that she had never sewn better. They were expensive, too. Actually, old Mrs. Theobald, said Harriet, returning. Read me the letter. My hands are dirty. How intolerable the crusted paper is. Harriet opened the envelope. I don't understand, she said. It doesn't make sense. Her letters never did. But it must be sillier than usual, said Harriet, and her voice began to quaver. Look here! Read it, mother! I can't make head or tail. Mrs. Heriton took the letter indulgently. What is the difficulty, she said, after a long pause. What is it that puzzles you in this letter? The meeting! faltered Harriet. The sparrows hop nearer and begin to eye the peas. The meeting is quite clear. Lillia is engaged to be married. Don't cry, dear. Please, me, by not crying. Don't talk at all. That's more than I could bear. She is going to marry someone she has met in a hotel. Take the letter and read for yourself. Suddenly she broke down over what might seem a small point. How dare she not tell me direct! How dare she write first to Yorkshire! Pray, am I to hear through Mrs. Theobald, a patronizing, insolent letter like this? Have I no claim at all? Bear witness, dear. She choked with passion. Bear witness that for this I'll never forgive her. Oh, what is to be done, moaned Harriet. What is to be done? This first. She tore the letter into little pieces and scattered it over the mould. Next a telegram for Lillia. No, a telegram for Miss Caroline Abbott. She too has something to explain. Oh, what is to be done! repeated Harriet as she followed her mother to the house. She was helpless before such a frontery. What awful thing! What awful person had come to Lillia! Someone in the hotel. The letter only said that. What kind of person? A gentleman? An Englishman? The letter did not say. Why a reason of stay a Montariano? Strange rumours, read Mrs. Harriton and addressed the telegram to Abbott, Stella d'Italia, Montariano, Italy. If there is an office there, she added, we might get an answer this evening. Since Philip is back at 7 and the 8.15 catches the midnight boat at Dover, Harriet, when you go with this, get one hundred pounds and five pound notes at the bank. Go dear at once. Do not talk. I see Irma coming back. Go quickly. Well, Irma dear, and whose team are you in this afternoon, Miss Edis or Miss Maze? But as soon as she had behaved as usual to her granddaughter, she went to the library and took out the large atlas, for she wanted to know about Montariano. The name was in the smallest print, in the midst of a woolly brown tangle of hills which were called the sub-Apanines. It was not so very far from Siena, which she had learnt at school. Past it there wanted a thin black line, notched at intervals like a saw, and she knew that this was a railway. But the map left a good deal to imagination, and she had not got any. She looked up the place in child Harold, but Byron had not been there. Nord and Mark Twain visited, in the Tramp Abroad. The resources of literature were exhausted. She must wait till Philip came home. The thought of Philip made her try Philip's room, and there she found Central Italy by Bittaker, and opened it for the first time in her life and read in it as follows. Montariano, population 4,800, Hotels, Stella d'Italia, Moderate Only, Global, Dirty, Caffè Garibaldi, Post and Telegraph Office in Corso Vittorio Emanuel, next to Theatre, Photographs at Saguenas, cheaper in Florence, Diligence, one lira, meets principal trains, Chief Attractions, two to three hours, Santa Deodata, Palazzo Pubblico, Santa Gostino, Santa Caterina, Santa Borgio, Palazzo Cappucchi, Guide to Lera, unnecessary, a walk round the walls should on no account be omitted. The view from the roca, small gratuity, is finest at sunset. History, Montariano, the Montarianos of antiquity, whose gibbaline tendencies are noted by Dante, Perg, 20, definitely emancipated itself from Pogibonsi in 1261. Hence the dystic, Pogibonsi fati in la che Montariano si fati tale, to recently inscribed over the Siena Gate. It remained independent till 1530, when it was sacked by the papal troops and became part of the grand duchy of Tuscany. It is now of small importance and seat of the district prison. The inhabitants are still noted for their agreeable manners. The traveller will proceed direct from the Siena Gate to the collegiate church of Santa Deodata, and inspect, Fifth Chapel on right, the charming frescoes. Mrs. Harriton did not proceed. She was not one to detect the hidden charms of Bedaker. Some of the information seemed to her unnecessary. All of it was dull, whereas Philip could never read. The view from the roca, small gratuity, is finest at sunset, without a catching at the heart. Restoring the book to its place, she went downstairs and looked up and down the asphalt paths for her daughter. She saw her at last two turning away, vainly trying to shake off Mr. Abbott, Miss Caroline Abbott's father. Harrit was always unfortunate. Alas she returned, hot, agitated, crackling with banknotes, and Irma bounced to greet her and trot heavily on her corn. Your feet grew larger every day, said the agonized Harriet, and gave her niece a violent push. Then Irma cried, and Mrs. Harriton was annoyed with Harriet for betraying irritation. Lunch was nasty, and during putting news around that the cook, by sheer dexterity, had broken a very vital knob off the kitchen range. It is too bad, said Mrs. Harriton. Irma said it was three bad, and was told not to be rude. After lunch Harriet would get out Bedaker and read in injured tones about Montariano, the Montariano's semanticity, till her mother stopped her. It's ridiculous to read, dear. She's not trying to marry anyone in the place. Some tourist, obviously, who's stopping in the hotel. The place has nothing to do with it at all. But what a place to go to! What nice person, too! Do you meet in a hotel? Nice or nasty, as I have told you several times before, is not the point. Lillia has insulted our family, and she shall suffer for it. And when you speak against hotels, I think you forget that I met your father at Chaminé. You can contribute nothing, dear, at present, and I think you better hold your tongue. I am going to the kitchen to speak about the range. She spoke just too much, and the cook said that if she could not give satisfaction she had better leave. A small thing at hand is greater than a great thing remote, and Lillia, misconducting herself upon a mountain in central Italy, was immediately hidden. Mrs. Harriton flew to her registry office, failed, flew to another, failed again, came home, was told by the housemaid that things seemed so unsettled that she had better leave as well. Had tea, wrote six letters, was interrupted by cook and housemaid, both weeping, asking her pardon, and imploring to be taken back. In the flush of victory the doorbell rang, and there was the telegram. Lillia engaged to Italian nobility, writing, Abbot. No answer, said Mrs. Harriton. Right now Mr. Phillips Gladstone from the attic. She would not allow herself to be frightened by the unknown. Indeed, she knew a little now. The man was not an Italian noble. Otherwise the telegram would have said so. It must have been written by Lillia. None but she would have been guilty of the fatuous vulgarity of Italian nobility. She recalled phrases of this morning's letter. We love this place, Caroline is sweeter than ever in busy sketching, Italians full of simplicity and charm, and the remark of Beteker. The inhabitants are still noted for their agreeable manners, had a baleful meaning now. If Mrs. Harriton had no imagination she had intuition, a more useful quality, and the picture she made to herself of Lillia's fiancée did not prove altogether wrong. So Phillip was recede with the news that he must start in half an hour from Montariano. He was in a painful position. For three years he had sung the praises of the Italians, but he had never contemplated having one as a relative. He tried to soften the thing down to his mother, but in his heart of hearts he agreed with her when she said, �The man may be a duke, or he may be an organ grinder. That is not the point. If Lillia marries him she insults the memory of Charles. She insults Irma. She insults us. Therefore I forbid her, and if she disobeys we have done with her forever. �I will do all I can� said Phillip in a low voice. It was the first time he had done anything to do. He kissed his mother and sister and puzzled Irma. The hall was warm and attractive as he looked back into it from the cold March night, and he departed for Italy reluctantly as for something commonplace and dull. Before Mrs. Harrington went to bed she wrote to Mrs. Theobald using plain language about Lillia's conduct in hinting that it was a question on which everyone must definitely choose sides. She added as if it was an afterthought that Mrs. Theobald's letter had arrived that morning. Just as she was going upstairs she remembered that she had never covered up those peas. It upset her more than anything, and again and again she struck the banisters with fixation. Late as it was she got a lantern from the tool shed and went down the garden to rake the earth over them. The sparrows had taken every one, but countless fragments of the letter remained, disfiguring the tidy ground. That was Chapter 1, Where Angels Fear to Tread, by E. M. Forster. When the bewildered tourist alights at the station of Montoriano he finds himself in the middle of the country. There are a few houses round the railway, and many more dotted over the plain in the slopes of the hills. But of a town, medieval or otherwise, not the slightest sign. He must take what is suitably termed andleino, a piece of wood, and drive up eight miles of excellent road into the Middle Ages. For it is impossible, as well as sacrilegious, to be as quick as Beteker. It was three in the afternoon when Philip left the realms of common sense. He was so weary with traveling that he had fallen asleep in the train. His fellow passengers had the usual Italian gift of divination, and when Montoriano came they knew he wanted to go there and dropped him out. His feet sank into the hot asphalt of the platform, and in a dream he watched the train depart, while the porter who ought to have been carrying his bag ran up the line playing touchulast with the guard. Alas! he was in no humor for Italy, bargaining for Elenio bored him unutterably. The man asked, six lira, and though Philip knew that for eight miles it should scarcely be more than four, yet he was about to give what he was asked, and so make the man discontented and unhappy for the rest of the day. He was saved from this social blunder by loud shouts, and looking up the road saw one cracking his whip and waving his reins, and driving two horses furiously, and behind him there appeared the swaying figure of a woman holding starfish fashion under anything she could touch. It was Miss Abbott who had just received his letter from Elan announcing the time of his arrival, and had hurried down to meet him. He had known Miss Abbott for years, and had never had much opinion about her one way or the other. She was good, quiet, dull, and amiable, and young only because she was twenty-three. There was nothing in her appearance or manner to suggest the fire of youth. All her life had been spent at Sauston with a dull and amiable father, and her pleasant pallid face, bent on some respectable charity, was a familiar object of the Sauston streets. Why she had ever wished to leave them was surprising. But as she truly said, I am John Bull to the backbone, yet I do want to see Italy just once. Everybody says it's marvellous, and that one gets no idea of it from books at all. The curate suggested that a year was a long time, and Miss Abbott, with decorous playfulness, answered him, Oh, but you must let me have my fling. I promise to have it once and once only. It will give me things to think about and talk about for the rest of my life. The curate had consented, so had Mr. Abbott, and here she was in Elanio, solitary, dusty, frightened, with as much to answer and to answer for as the most dashing adventurers could desire. The shirkans 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 stationmaster 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, regularly yet mysterious, seemed hostile to the placid atmosphere of Sauston in which his thoughts took birth. At the outset he made one great concession. If the match was really suitable, and Lillia 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, Lillia, however willful and silly, was at all events growing to be a human being. Are we to talk it over now? He asked. Certainly, please, submiss Abbot 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. Theobalds. I also understand that he is a member of the Italian nobility. She did not reply. May I be told his name? Miss Abbot whispered. Carella! But the driver heard her and a grin split over his face. The engagement must be known already. Carella, Conte, or Marquesi, or what? Senior, said Miss Abbot, and looked helplessly aside. Perhaps I bore you with these questions. If so, I will stop. Oh, no, please, not at all. I am here, my own idea, to give all information which you very naturally, and to see of somehow, please, ask anything you like. And how old is he? Oh, quite young, twenty-one, I believe. There burst from Philip the exclamation. Good Lord! Wood would never believe it, so Miss Abbot fleshing. He looks much older. And is he good-looking? He asked with gathering sarcasm. She became decisive. Very good-looking. All his features are good, and he is well-built, though I dare say English standards would find him too short. But whose one physical advantage was his height felt annoyed at her implied indifference to it. May I conclude that you like him? She replied decisively again, as far as I have seen him I do. At that moment the carriage entered a little wood which lay brown and somber across the cultivated hill. The trees of the wood were small and leafless, but noticeable for this, that their stem stood in violets as rocks stand in the summer sea. There are such violets in England, but not many. Nor are there so many in art, for no painter has the courage. The cart-ruts were channels, the hollow lagoons. Even the dry white margin of the road was splashed like a causeway soon to be submerged under the advancing tide of spring. Philip paid no attention at the time. He was thinking what to say next. But his eyes had registered the beauty, and next march he did not forget that the road to Montereyanna must reverse innumerable flowers. As far as I have seen him I do like him, repeated Miss Abbott after a pause. He thought she sounded a little defiant and crushed her at once. What is he, please? You haven't told me that. What's his position? She opened her mouth to speak, and no sound came from it. Philip waited patiently. She tried to be audacious and failed pitiably. No position at all. He is kicking his heels, as my father would say. You see, he has only just finished his military service. As a private? I suppose so. There is general conscription. He was in the Bercilieri, I think. Isn't that the crack regiment? The men in it must be short and broad. They must also be able to walk six miles an hour. She looked at him wildly, not understanding all that he said, but feeling that he was very clever. Then she continued her defense of Sr. Corella. And now, like most young men, he is out looking for something to do. Meanwhile, meanwhile, like most young men, he lives with his people, father, mother, two sisters, and a tiny tot of a brother. There was a grating sprightliness about her that drove him nearly mad. He determined to silence her at last. One more question, and only one more. What is his father? His father, said Miss Abbott. Well, I don't suppose you'll think it a good match, but that's not the point. I mean, the point is not. I mean, that social differences, love after all, not but what I— Philip ground his teeth together and said nothing. Gentlemen, sometimes judge hardly, but I feel that you, and at all events your mother, so really good in every sense, so really unworldly, after all, love marriages are made in heaven. Yes, Miss Abbott, I know, but I am anxious to hear heaven's choice. You arouse my curiosity. Is my sister a lot to marry an angel? Mr. Harriton don't. Please, Mr. Harriton. A dentist. His father's a dentist. Philip gave a cry of personal disgust and pain. He shuddered all over and edged away from his companion. A dentist! A dentist at Montariano! A dentist in Fairyland! His teeth and laughing gas and the tilting chair at a place which knew the Etruscan League and the Pax Romana and Alaric himself and the Countess Matilda and the Middle Ages all fighting in holiness and the Renaissance all fighting in beauty. He thought of Lilia no longer. He was anxious for himself. He feared that romance might die. Romance only dies with life. No pair of pinchers will ever pull it out of us. But there is a spurious sentiment which cannot resist the unexpected and the incongruous and the grotesque. A touch will loosen it and the sooner it goes from us the better. It was going from Philip now and therefore he gave a cry of pain. I cannot think what is in the air, he began. If Lilia was determined to disgrace us she might have found a less repulsive way. A boy of medium height, with a pretty face, the son of a dentist at Montariano. Have I put it correctly? May I surmise that he has not got one penny? May I also surmise that his social position is nil? Furthermore, stop! I'll tell you no more. Really, Miss Abbott, it is a little late for reticence. You have equipped me admirably. I'll tell you not another word, she cried, with a spasm of terror. Then she got at her handkerchief and seemed as if she would shed tears. After a silence which he intended to symbolise to her the dropping of a curtain on the next scene he began to talk of other subjects. They were among the olives again and the wood with its beauty and wildness had passed away, but as they climbed higher the country opened out, and there appeared, high on a hill to the right, Montariano. The hazy green of the olives rose up to its walls and it seemed to float in isolation between trees and sky, like some fantastic ship-city of a dream. Its colour was brown and it revealed not a single house, nothing but the narrow circle of the walls and behind them seventeen towers, all that was left of the fifty-two that had filled the city in her prime. Some were only stumps, some were inclining stiffly to their fall, some were still erect, piercing like mass into the blue. It was impossible to praise it as beautiful, but it was also impossible to dam it as quaint. Meanwhile, Philip talked continually, thinking this had to be great evidence of resource intact. It showed misabit that he had probed her to the bottom, but was able to conquer his disgust, and by sheer force of intellect continued to be as agreeable and amusing as ever. He did not know that he talked a good deal of nonsense, and that by sheer force of his intellect was weakened by the sight of Montariano and by the thought of dentistry within those walls. The town above them swung to the left, to the right, to the left again, as the road wound upward through the trees, and the towers began to glow in the descending sun. As they drew near Philip saw the heads of people gathering black upon the walls, and he knew well what was happening, how the news was spreading that a stranger was in sight, and the beggars were aroused from their content, and bid to adjust their deformities. How the alabaster man was running for his wares and the authorized guide running for his peaked cap and his two cards of recommendation, one for Miss McGee, Maide Valle, at the other less valuable, from an equory to the Queen of Peru, how someone else was running to tell the landlady of the Stella d'Italia to put on her pearl necklace and brown boots and empty the slops from the spare bedroom, and how the landlady was running to tell Lillia and her boy that their fate was at hand. Perhaps it was a pity Philip had talked so profusely. He had driven Miss Abbott half-demented, but he had given himself no time to concert a plan. The end came so suddenly. They emerged from the trees onto the terrace before the walk, with the vision of half-tuscany radiant in the sun behind them, and then they turned in through the Cienegate and their journey was over. The Dugana men admitted them with an Arab gracious welcome, and they clouded up the narrow dark street, greeted by that mixture of curiosity and kindness which makes each Italian arrival so wonderful. He was stunned and knew not what to do. At the hotel he received no ordinary reception. The landlady wrung him by the hand, one person snatched his umbrella and other his bag. People pushed each other out of his way. The entrance seemed blocked with a crowd. Dogs were barking, bladder whistles being blown. Women waving their handkerchiefs, excited children screaming on the stairs, and at the top of the stairs was Lillia herself, very radiant with her best blouse on. Welcome! She cried, welcome to Montariano. He greeted her, for he did not know what else to do, and a sympathetic murmur rose from the crowd below. You told me to come here, she continued, and I don't forget it. Let me introduce Sr. Carrella. Philip discerned in the corner behind her a young man who might eventually prove handsome and well-made, but certainly did not seem so then. He was half-enveloped in the drapery of a cold, dirty curtain, and nervously stuck out a hand, which Philip took and found thick and damp. There were more murmurs of approval from the stairs. Well, din-dins nearly ready, said Lillia. You rinsed on the passage, Philip. You needn't go changing. He stumbled away to wash his hands, utterly crushed by her effrontery. Dear Caroline, whispered Lillia as soon as he had gone. What an angel you've been to tell him! He takes it so well. But you must have had a mauve cordure. Miss Abbott's long terror suddenly turned into acidity. I've told nothing, she snapped, it's all for you, and if it takes only a quarter of an hour you'll be lucky. Dinner was a nightmare. They had the smelly dining-room to themselves. Lillia was very smart and vociferous. At the head of the table Miss Abbott also in her best sat by Philip, looking to his irritated nerves, more like the tragedy confidant every moment. That scion of the Italian nobility, Sr. Corella, sat opposite. Behind him loomed a bowl of goldfish who swam round and round, gaping at the guests. The face of Sr. Corella was twitching too much for Philip to study it. But he could see the hands which were not particularly cleaned and did not get cleaner by fidgeting amongst the shining slabs of hair. His starch cuffs were not clean either, and as for his suit it had obviously been bought for the occasion as something really English, a gigantic cheque which did not even fit. His handkerchief he had forgotten, but never missed it. Altogether he was quite unpresentable, and very lucky to have a father who was a dentist in Montoriano. And why even Lillia! But as soon as the meal began at furnished Philip with an explanation. For the youth was hungry, and his lady filled his plate with spaghetti, and when those delicious slippery worms were flying down his throat his face relaxed and became for a moment unconscious and calm. And Philip had seen that face before in Italy a hundred times, seen it and loved it, for it was not really beautiful, but it had the charm which is the rightful heritage of all who are born on that soil. But he did not want to see it opposite him at dinner, it was not the face of a gentleman. To give it that name, was carried on in a mixture of English and Italian. Lillia had picked up hardly any of the latter language, and Sr. Corella had not yet learned any of the former. Occasionally Miss Abbott had to act as interpreter between the lovers, and the situation became uncouth and revolting in the extreme. Yet Philip was too cowardly to break forth and denounce the engagement. He thought he should be more effective with Lillia if he had her alone, and pretended to himself that he must hear her defense before giving judgment. Sr. Corella, heartened by the spaghetti and the throat-rasping wine, attempted to talk and looking politely towards Philip said, England is a great country. The Italians love England, and the English. Philip in no mood for international amenities merely bowed. Italy too, the other continued a little resentfully, is a great country. She has produced many famous men, for example Garibaldi and Dante. The latter wrote the Inferno, the Purgattario, the Paradiso. The Inferno is the most beautiful. And with a complacent tone of one who has received a solid education, he quoted the opening lines. Nalmezzo del Camino di Nostra vita, mi ritrovai per una selva oscura, che la derita via eras marita. A quotation which was more apt than he supposed. Lillia glanced at Philip to see whether he noticed that she was marrying no ignoramus. Anxious to exhibit all the good qualities of her betrothed, she abruptly introduced the subject of Pallone, in which it appeared he was a proficient player. He suddenly became shy and developed a conceited grin, the grin of the village yokel whose cricket score is mentioned before a stranger. Philip himself had loved to watch Pallone, that entrancing combination of long tennis and fives, but he did not expect to love it quite so much again. Oh, look, exclaimed Lillia, the poor wee fish! A starved cat had been worrying them all for pieces of the purple, quivering beef they were trying to swallow. Herr Corella, with the brutality so common in Italians, had caught her by the paw and flung her away from him. Now she had climbed up to the bowl and was trying to hook out the fish. He got up, drove her off, and finding a large glass stopper by the bowl, entirely plugged up the aperture with it. But may not the fish die, said Miss Abbott, they have no air. Fish live on watch or not on air, he replied in a knowing voice and sat down. Finally he was at his ease again, for he took to spitting on the floor. Philip glanced at Lillia, but did not detect her wincing. She talked bravely to the end of the disgusting meal, and then got up saying, Well, Philip, I am sure you are ready for bye-bye. We shall meet at twelve o'clock lunch tomorrow, if we don't meet before. They give us café later in our rooms. It was a little too impudent, Philip replied. I should like to see you now, please, in my room, as I have come all the way on business. He heard Miss Abbott gasp. Senior Corella, who was lighting a rank cigar, had not understood. It was as he expected. When he was alone with Lillia he lost all nervousness. The remembrance of his long intellectual supremacy strengthened him, and he began volubly. My dear Lillia, don't let's have a scene. Before I arrived I thought I might have to question you. It is unnecessary. I know everything. Miss Abbott has told me a certain amount, and the rest I see for myself. See for yourself, she exclaimed, and he remembered afterwards that she had flushed crimson. That he is probably a ruffian, and certainly a cad. There are no cadds in Italy, she said quickly. He was taken aback. It was one of his own remarks, and she further upset him by adding, He is the son of a dentist. Why not? Thank you for the information. I know everything, as I told you before. I am also aware of the social position of an Italian who pulls teeth in a minute provincial town. He was not aware of it, but he ventured to conclude that it was pretty low. Nor did Lillia contradict him, but she was sharp enough to say, Indeed, Philip, you surprised me. I understood you went in for equality and so on. And I understood that Senior Corella was a member of the Italian nobility. Well, we put it like that in the telegram, so as not to shock dear Mrs. Heriton. But it is true. He is a younger branch. Of course families ramified, just as in yours there is your cousin Joseph. She adroitly picked out the only undesirable member of the Heriton clan. Gino's father is courtesy itself in rising rapidly in his profession. This very month he leaves Montoriano and sets up at Pogibonsi. And for my own poor part I think what people are is what matters. But I don't suppose you'll agree. And I should like you to know that Gino's uncle is a priest, the same as a clergyman at home. Philip was aware of the social position of an Italian priest and said so much about it that Lillie interrupted him with, Well, his cousin's a lawyer at Rome. What kind of lawyer? Why, a lawyer just like you are, except that he has lots to do and can never get away. The remark hurt more than he cared to show. He changed his method and in a gentle conciliating tone delivered the following speech. The whole thing is like a bad dream, so bad that it cannot go on. If there was one redeeming feature about the man I might be uneasy. As it is I can trust a time. For the moment, Lillie, he has taken you in, but you will find him out soon. It is not possible that you, a lady accustomed to ladies and gentlemen, will tolerate a man whose position is, well, not equal to the son of the servant's dentist in coronation place. I am not blaming you now, but I blame the glamour of Italy. I have felt it myself, you know, and I greatly blame this Abbot. Caroline? Why blame her? What's all this to do with Caroline? Because we expected her to. He saw that the answer would involve him in difficulties waving his hand continued. So I am confident in you and your heart agree that this engagement will not last. Think of your life at home, think of Irma. And I'll also say think of us, for you know, Lillie, that we count you more than a relation. I should feel I was losing my own sister if you did this, and my mother would lose a daughter. She seemed touched at last, for she turned away her face and said, I can't break it off now. Poor Lillie, said he genuinely moved. I know it may be painful, but I have come to rescue you, and bookworm though I may be, I am not frightened to stand up to a bully. He is merely an insolent boy. He thinks he can keep you to your word by threats. He'll be different when he sees he has a man to deal with. But what follows should be prefaced with some simile. The simile of a powder mine, a thunderbolt, an earthquake, for a blue Philip up in the air and flattened him on the ground and swallowed him up in the depths. Lillie turned on her gallant defender and said, For once in my life I'll thank you to leave me alone. I'll thank your mother, too. For twelve years you've trained me and tortured me and I'll stand it no more. Do you think I'm a fool? Do you think I never felt? Ah! When I came to your house a poor young bride, how you all looked me over, never a kind word, and disgust me and thought I might just do. And your mother corrected me and your sister snubbed me and you said funny things about me to show how clever you were. And when Charles died I was still to run in strings for the honour of your beastly family, and I was to be cooped up at Sauston and learned to keep house, and all my chances spoiled to marrying again. No thank you. No thank you. Bully? Insolent boy? Who is that? Pray but you. But thank goodness I can stand up against the world now, for I found Gino, and this time I'm married for love. The coarseness and truth of her attack alike overwhelmed him, but her supreme insolence found him words, and he, too, burst forth. Yes, and I forbid you to do it. You despise me, perhaps, and think I'm feeble, but you're mistaken. You are ungrateful and impertinent and contemptible, but I will save you in order to save Irma and our name. There is going to be such a row in this town that you and he'll be sorry you came to it. I shall shrink from nothing, for my blood is up. It is unwise of you to laugh. I forbid you to marry Carella, and I shall tell him so now. Do, who she cried, tell him so now. Have it out with him. Gino, Gino, come in. Avanti, Fra Filippo forbids the bands. Gino appeared so quickly that he must have been listening outside the door. Fra Filippo's blood's up. He shrinks from nothing. Oh, take care, he doesn't hurt you. She swayed about in vulgar imitation of Philip's walk, and then with a proud glance at the square shoulders of her ritroth flanced out of the room. Did she intend them to fight? Philip had no intention of doing so, and no more it seemed had Gino, who stood nervously in the middle of the room with twitching lips and eyes. Please sit down, Sr. Carella, said Philip in Italian. Mrs. Harriton is rather agitated, but there is no reason we should not be calm. Might I offer you a cigarette? Please sit down. He refused the cigarette and the chair and remained at standing in the full glare of the lamp. Philip, not averse to such assistance, got his own face into shadow. For a long time he was silent. It might impress Gino, and it also gave him time to collect himself. He would not this time fall into the error of blustering, which he had caught so unaccountably from Lillia. He would make his power felt by restraint. Why, when he looked up to begin, was Gino convulsed with silent laughter. It vanished immediately, but he became nervous, and was even more pompous than he intended. Mr. Carella, I will be frank with you. I have come to prevent you marrying Mrs. Harriton, because I see you will both be unhappy together. She is English, you are Italian. She is accustomed to one thing, you two another. And pardon me if I say it, she is rich and you are poor. I am not marrying her because she is rich, was a silky reply. I never suggested that for a moment, said Philip courteously. You are honorable, I am sure, but are you wise? Let me remind you that we want her with us at home. Her little daughter will be motherless. Our home will be broken up. If you grant my request, we will earn our thanks. You will not be without a reward for your disappointment. Reward? What reward? He bent over the back of a chair and liked earnestly at Philip. They were coming to terms pretty quickly. Poor Lillia. Philip said slowly, what about a thousand lira? This all went forth into one exclamation, and then he was silent with gaping lips. Philip would have given double. He had expected a bargain. You can have them tonight. He found words and said, it is too late. But why? Because, his voice broke, Philip watched his face, face without refinement perhaps, but not without expression, watched it quiver and reform and dissolve from emotion into emotion. There was avarice at one moment in insolence and politeness and stupidity and cunning, and let us hope that sometimes there was love. But gradually one emotion dominated, the most unexpected of all, for his chest began to heave and his eyes to wink and his mouth to twitch, and suddenly he stood erect and roared forth his whole being in one tremendous laugh. Philip sprang up and Gino, who had flung wide his arms to let the glorious creature go, took him by the shoulders and shook him and said, because we are married, married, married, as soon as I knew you were coming. It was no time to tell you, oh, oh, you have come all the way for nothing, oh, and oh, your generosity. Suddenly he became grave and said, please pardon me, I am rude, I am no better than a peasant, and I hear he saw Philip's face and it was too much for him. He gasped and exploded and crammed his hands into his mouth and spat them out in another explosion and gave Philip an aimless push which toppled him onto the bed. He uttered a horrified, oh, and then gave up and bolted away down the passage, shrieking like a child to tell the joke to his wife. For a time Philip lay on the bed pretending to himself that he was hurt grievously. He gets scarcely see for temper and in the passage he ran against Miss Abbott, who promptly burst into tears. I seeped the globo, he told her, and start for a sosten to come all morning early. He has assaulted me. I could prosecute him. But shall not. I can't stop here, she sobbed. I dare not stop here. You will have to take me with you. CHAPTER III. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. To find out more, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Where Angels Fear to Tread by E. M. Forster CHAPTER III. Opposite the Volterra Gate of Montariano outside the city is a very respectable whitewashed mud-wall, with a coping of red crinkled tiles to keep it from dissolution. It would suggest a gentleman's garden if there was not in its middle a large hole, which grows larger with every rainstorm. Through the hole is visible, firstly, the iron gate that is intended to close it, secondly, a square piece of ground, which, though not quite mud, is at the same time not exactly grass, and finally another wall, stone this time, which has a wooden door in the middle, and two wooden-shuttered windows each side, and apparently forms the facade of a one-story house. This house is bigger than it looks, for its slides for two stories down the hill behind, and a wooden door, which is always locked, really leads into the attic. The knowing person prefers to follow the precipitous mule track round the turn of the mud-wall tile so he can take the edifice in the rear. Then being now on a level with the cellars, he lifts up his head and shouts. If his voice sounds like something light, a letter, for example, or some vegetables or a bunch of flowers, a basket is led out of the first-floor windows, by a string into which he puts his burdens and departs. But if he sounds like something heavy, such as a log of wood or a piece of meat or a visitor, he is interrogated and then bitten or forbidden to ascend. The ground floor and the upper floor of that battered house are alike deserted, and the inmates keep the central portion, just as in a dying body all life retires to the heart. There is a door at the top of the first flight of stairs, and if the visitor is admitted, he will find a welcome which is not necessarily cold. There are several rooms, some dark and mostly stuffy, a reception room adorned with horsehair chairs, woolwork stools, and a stove that is never lit. German bad taste without German domesticity broods over that room. Also a living room which insensibly glides into a bedroom when the refining influence of hospitality is absent and real bedrooms, and last, but not least, the loggia, where you can live day and night if you feel inclined, drinking vermouth and smoking cigarettes with leeks of olive trees and vineyards and blue-green hills to watch you. It was in this house that the brief and inevitable tragedy of Lilia's married life took place. She made Gino buy it for her because it was there she had first seen him sitting on the mud wall that faced the Volterra Gate. She remembered how the evening sun had struck his hair and how he'd smiled down at her, and being both sentimental and unrefined was determined to have the man and the place together. Things in Italy are cheap for an Italian, and though he would have preferred a house in the Piazza, or better still a house at Siena, or bliss above bliss a house at Leghorn, he did as she asked, thinking that perhaps she showed her good taste in preferring so retired and abode. The house was far too big for them, and there was a general concourse of his relatives to fill it up. His father wished to make it a patriarchal concern, where all the family should have their rooms and meet together for meals, and was perfectly willing to give up the new practice at Progimonsi and preside. Gino was quite willing, too, for he was an affectionate youth who liked a large home-circle, and he told it as a pleasant bit of news to Lilia, who did not attempt to conceal her horror. Once he was horrified, too, so that the idea was monstrous, accused himself to her for having suggested it, rushed off to tell his father that it was impossible. His father complained that prosperity was already corrupting him, and making him unsympathetic and hard. His mother cried, his sisters accused him of blocking their social advance. He was apologetic and even cringing until they turned on Lilia. Then he turned on them, saying that they could not understand much less associate with the English lady who was his wife, that there should be one master in that house, himself. Lilia praised and petted him on his return, calling him brave and a hero and other endearing epithets. But he was rather blue when his clan left Montereyano in much dignity, a dignity which was not at all impaired by the acceptance of a cheque. That took the cheque not to Progimonsi after Alba to Empoli, a lively, dusty town some twenty miles off. There they settled down in comfort, and the sisters said they had been driven to it by Gino. The cheque was, of course, Lilia's, who was extremely generous and was quite willing to know anybody so long as she had not to live with them, relations in law being on her nerves. She liked nothing better than finding out some obscure and distant connection. There were several of them, and acting the lady bountiful, leaving behind her bewilderment and too often discontent. Gino wondered how it was that all his people, who had formally seemed so pleasant, had suddenly become plaintive and disagreeable. He put it down to his lady's wife's magnificence, in comparison with which all seemed common. Her money flew a pace in spite of the cheap living. She was even richer than he expected, and he remembered with shame how he had once regretted his inability to accept the thousand lira that Philip Heraton offered him in exchange for her. It would have been a shortsighted bargain. Lilia enjoyed settling into the house with nothing to do except give orders, to smiling work-people, and a devoted husband as interpreter. She wrote a jaunty account of her happiness to Mrs. Heraton, and Harriet answered the letter, saying, one, that all future communications should be addressed to the solicitors, two, would Lilia return an inlaid box which Harriet had lent her, but not given, to keep handkerchiefs and collars in? Look what I'm giving up to live with you, she said to Gino, never remitting to lay stress on her condescension. He took her to mean the inlaid box, and said that she need not give it up at all. Silly fellow, no, I mean the life. Those Heratans are very well connected. They need Sauston society. But what do I care as long as I have my silly fellow? She always treated him as a boy, which he was, and as a fool which he was not, thinking herself so immeasurably superior to him that she neglected opportunity after opportunity of establishing her rule. He was good-looking and indolent, therefore he must be stupid. He was poor, therefore he would never dare to criticize his benefactress. He was passionately in love with her, therefore she could do exactly as she liked. It may be heaven below, she thought, but it's better than Charles. Even all the time the boy was watching her and growing up. She was reminded of Charles by a disagreeable letter from the solicitors, bidding her to scourge a large sum of money for Irma, in accordance with her late husband's will. It was just like Charles's suspicious nature to have provided against a second marriage. Gina was equally indignant, and between them they composed a stinging reply which had no effect. He then said that Irma had better come out and live with them. The air is good, so is the food. She'll be happy here, and we shall not have to part with the money. But Lillia had not the courage even to suggest this to the heritans, and an unexpected terror seized her at the thought of Irma or any English child being educated at Montariano. Gina became terribly depressed over the solicitor's letter, more depressed than she thought necessary. There was no more to do in the house, and he spent whole days in the loggia leaning over the parapet or sitting as tried it disconsolidately. Oh, you idle boy, she cried pinching his muscles. Go and play, Pallone. I am a married man, he answered, without raising his head. I do not play games any more. Go and see your friends, then. I have no friends now. Silly, silly, silly, you can't stop indoors all day. I want to see no one but you. He spat onto an olive tree. Now, Gina, don't be silly. Go and see your friends, and bring them to see me. You both of us like society. He looked puzzled, but allowed himself to be persuaded, went out, found that he was not as friendless as he supposed, and returned after several hours and altered spirits. Lillia congratulated herself on her good management. I'm ready, too, for people now, she said. I mean to wake you all up, just as I woke up Sosten. Let's have plenty of men and make them bring their women kind. I mean to have real English tea parties. There is my aunt and her husband, but I thought you did not want to receive my relatives. I never said such a—but you will be right, he said earnestly. They are not for you. Many of them are in trade, and even we are little more. You should have gentle folk and nobility for your friends." Or fellow thought Lillia. It is sad for him to discover that his people are vulgar. She began to tell him that she loved him just for his silly self, and he flashed and began tugging at his moustache. But besides your relatives, I must have other people here. Your friends have wives and sisters, haven't they? Oh, yes, but of course I scarcely know them. Not know your friends' people? Well, I know. If they are poor and have to work for their living, I may see them, but not otherwise. Except—he stopped. The chief exception was a young lady to whom he had once been introduced for matrimonial purposes, but the dowry had pruned inadequate and the acquaintance terminated. How funny! But I mean to change all that. Bring your friends to see me, and I will make them bring their people." He looked at her rather hopelessly. Well, who are the principal people here? Who leads society? The governor of the prison, he supposed, and the officers who assisted him. Well, are they married? Yes. There we are. Do you know them? Yes, in a way. I see, she exclaimed angrily. They looked down on you, do they, poor boy? Wait! I'll soon stop that. Now who else is there? The Marquesi, sometimes, and the cannons of the collegiate church? Married? The cannons. He began with twinkling eyes. Oh, I forgot your horrid celibacy. In England they would be the center of everything. But why shouldn't I know them? Would it make it easier if I called all round? Isn't that your foreign way? He did not think it would make it easier. But I must know someone. Who were the men you were talking to this afternoon? Low-class men. He could scarcely recollect their names. But Gino, dear, if they're low-class, why did you talk to them? Don't you care about your position? All Gino cared about at present was idleness and pocket-money. And his way of expressing it was to exclaim, Oof! Poof! How hot it is in here! No air. I sweat all over. I expire. I must cool myself, or I shall never get to sleep. In his funny abrupt way he ran out onto the loggia, where he lay full-length on the parapet, and began to smoke and spit under the silence of the stars. Lillia gathered somehow from this conversation that Continental Society was not the go-as-you-please thing she had expected. Indeed, she could not see where Continental Society was. Italy is such a delightful place to live in if you happen to be a man. There one may enjoy that exquisite luxury of socialism, that true socialism, which is based not on equality of income or character, but on the equality of manners. In the democracy of the café or the street the great question of our life has been solved, and the brotherhood of man is a reality. But it is accomplished at the expense of the sisterhood of women. Why should you not make friends with your neighbor at the theatre or in the train, when you know and he knows that feminine criticism and feminine insight and feminine prejudice will never come between you? Though you become as David and Jonathan, you need never enter his home nor he yours. All your lives you will meet under the open air, the only roof-tree of the south under which he will spit and swear, and you will drop your ages, and nobody will think the worst of either. Meanwhile, the women, they have, of course, their house and their church, with its admirable and frequent services, to which they are escorted by the maid. Otherwise they do not go out much, for it is not genteel to walk, and you are too poor to keep a carriage. Occasionally you will take them to the café or theatre, and immediately all your unwanted acquaintance there desert you, except those few who are expecting and expect to marry into your family. It is all very sad, but one consolation merges. Life is very pleasant in Italy if you are a man. Neither to Gino had not interfered with Lillia. She was so much older than he was, and so much richer, that he regarded her as a superior being who answered to other laws. He was not wholly surprised, for strange rumors were always blowing over the alps and lands where men and women had the same amusements and interests. And he had often met that privileged maniac, the Lady Tourist, on her solitary walks. Lillia took solitary walks, too, and only that week a tramp had grabbed at her watch, an episode which is supposed to be indigenous in Italy, though really less frequent there than in Bond Street. Now that he knew her better he was inevitably losing his awe. No one could live with her and keep it, especially when she had been so silly as to lose a gold watch and chain. As he lay thoughtful along the parapet he realized for the first time the responsibilities of money-life. He must save her from dangers, physical and social. After all, she was a woman. And I, he reflected, though I am young, am at all events a man, and know what is right. He found her still in the living-room combing her hair, for she had something of the slatter in her nature, and there was no need to keep up appearances. You must not go out alone, he said gently, it is not safe. If you want to walk, Perfetta shall accompany you. Perfetta was a widowed cousin, too humble for social aspirations, who was living with them as a factotum. Very well, smiled Lillia, very well, as if she were addressing a solicitous kitten. But for all that she never took a solitary walk again, with one exception till the day of her death. Days passed, and no one called except poor relatives. She began to feel dull. Didn't he know this in daco or the bank manager? Even the landlady of the Stella d'Italia would be better than no one. She, when she went into the town, was pleasantly received, but people naturally found a difficulty in getting on with the lady who could not learn the language. And the tea-party, under Geno's adroit management, receded ever and ever before her. He had a good deal of anxiety over her welfare, for she did not settle down in the house at all. But he was comforted by a welcome and unexpected visitor. As he was going one afternoon for the letters, they were delivered at the door, but it took longer to get them at the office. Someone humorously threw a cloak over his head, and when he disengaged himself he saw his very dear friend, Spiridoni Tezi, of the custom house at Chiazzo, who we not met for two years. What joy! What salutations! So that all the passers-by smile with approval on the amiable scene. Spiridoni's brother was now stationmaster at Bologna, and thus he himself could spend his holiday traveling over Italy at the public expense. Hearing of Geno's marriage, he came to see him on his way to Siena, where lived his own uncle, lately moneyed, too. They all do it, he exclaimed, myself accepted. He was not quite twenty-three. But tell me more. She is English. That is good. Very good. An English wife is very good indeed. And is she rich? Immensely rich. Blonde or dark? Blonde. Is it possible? Pleased me very much, said Geno simply. If you remember, I always desired a blonde. Three or four men had collected and were listening. We all desire ones, said Spiridoni. But you, Geno, deserve your good fortune, for you are a good son, a brave man, and a true friend, and from the very first moment I saw you I wished you well. No compliments I beg, said Geno, standing with his hands crossed on his chest and a smile of pleasure on his face. Spiridoni addressed the other men, none of whom he had ever seen before. Is it not true? Does he not deserve this wealthy blonde? He does deserve her, said all the men. It is a marvelous land, where you love it or hate it. There were no letters, and of course they sat down at the cafe Garibaldi by the collegiate church. Quite a good cafe that, for so small a city, there were marble top tables and pillars terracotta below and gold above, and on the ceiling was a fresco of the battle of Sulferino. One could not have desired a prettier room. They had vermouth and little cakes with sugar on the top, which they chose gravely at the counter, pinching them first to be sure they were fresh, and though vermouth is barely alcoholic, Spiridoni drenched his with soda water to be sure that it should not get into his head. They were in high spirits and elaborate compliments alternated curiously with gentle horse play, but soon they put up their legs on a pair of chairs and began to smoke. Tell me, said Spiridoni. I forgot to ask. Is she young? Thirty-three. Ah, well, we cannot have everything. But you would be surprised. Had she told me twenty-eight, I should not have disbelieved her. Is she sympathica? Nothing will translate that word. Gino dabbed at the sugar and said after a silence, sufficiently so. It is a most important thing. She is rich. She is generous. She is affable. She addresses her inferiors without haughtiness. There was another silence. It is not sufficient, so the other. One does not define it thus. He lowered his voice to a whisper. Last month the German was smuggling cigars. The custom house was dark. Yet I refused because I did not like him. The gifts of such men do not bring happiness. No narrow sympathico. He paid for every one and the fine for deception besides. Do you gain much beyond your pay, as Gino diverted for an instant? I do not accept small sums now. It is not worth the risk. But the German was another matter. But listen, my Gino, for I am older than you and more full of experience. The person who understands us at first sight, who never irritates us, who never bores, to whom we can pour forth every thought and wish, not only in speech but in silence, that is what I mean by sympathico. There are such men, I know, said Gino, and I have heard it said of children. But where will you find such a woman? That is true. Here you are wiser than I. Sono poco simpatiche le donne, and the time we waste over them is much. He sighed dullfully as if he found the nobility of his sex of burden. One I have seen who may be so. She spoke very little, but she was a young lady, different to most. She too was English, the companion of my wife here. But Fra Filippo, the brother-in-law, took her back with him. I saw them start. He was very angry. Then he spoke of his exciting and secret marriage, and they made fun of the unfortunate Philip who had traveled over Europe to stop it. I regret, though, said Gino, when they had finished laughing, that I toppled him onto the bed. A great tall man, and when I am really amused I am often impolite. I will never see him again since Sparodowner, who carried plenty of philosophy about him. And by now the scene will have passed from his mind. It sometimes happens that such things are recollected longest. I shall never see him again, of course, but it is no benefit to me that he should wish me ill, and even if he has forgotten I am still sorry that I toppled him onto the bed. So the talk continued at one moment full of childishness and tender wisdom, the next moment scandalously gross. The shadows of the terracotta pillars lengthened, and tourists flying through the Polazzo Publico opposite could observe how the Italians wasted time. The sight of the tourists reminded Gino of something he might say. I want to consult you since you are so kind as to taking interest in my affairs. My wife wishes to take solitary walks. Sparodoning was shocked. But I have forbidden her. Naturally, she does not yet understand. She asks me to accompany her sometimes to walk without object. You know, she would like me to be with her all day. I see, I see. He needed his brows and tried to think how he could help his friend. She needs employment. Is she a Catholic? No. That is a pity. She must be persuaded. It will be a great solace to her when she is alone. I am a Catholic, but of course I never go to church. Of course not. Still, you might take her at first. That is what my brother has done with his wife at Bologna, and he has joined the free thinkers. He took her once or twice himself, and now she has acquired the habit and continues to go without him. Most excellent advice, and I thank you for it. But she wishes to give tea parties. Men and women together whom she has never seen. Oh, the English! They are always thinking of tea. They carry it by the kilogram in their trunks, and they are so clumsy that they always pack it at the top. But it is absurd. What am I to do about it? Do nothing. Or ask me. Come, Crygino, springing up. She'll be quite pleased. The dashing young fellow called Crimson. Of course I was only joking. I know, but she wants me to take my friends. Come now. Waiter. If I do come cry the other and take the tea with you. This bill must be my affair. Certainly not. You're in my country. A long argument ensued in which the waiter took part, suggesting various solutions. At last, Gino triumphed. The bill came to eight pence, half penny, and a half penny for the waiter brought it up to nine pence. Then there was a shower of gratitude on one side, and a deprecation on the other. And when courtesies were at their height, they suddenly linked arms and swung down the street, tickling each other with lemonade straws as they went. Lillia was delighted to see them and became more animated than Gino had known her for a long time. The tea tasted of chopped hay, and they asked to be allowed to drink it out of a wine-glass and refused milk. But as she repeatedly observed, this was something like. Spiritone's manners were very agreeable. He kissed her hand on introduction, and as his profession had taught him a little English, conversation did not flag. "'Do you like music?' she asked. "'Passionately,' he replied. "'I have not studied scientific music, but the music of the heart, yes.' So she played on the humming-piano very badly, and he sang not so badly. Gino got out of guitar and sang, too, sitting out on the loggia. It was a most agreeable visit. Gino said he would just walk his friend back to his lodgings. As they went, he said, without the least trace of mallows or satire in his voice. "'I think you are quite right. I shall not bring people to the house any more. I do not see why an English wife should be treated differently. This is Italy. You are very wise, exclaim the other. Very wise indeed. The more precious a possession the more carefully it should be guarded. They had reached the lodging, but went on as far as the cafe Garibaldi, where they spent a long and most delightful evening. CHAPTER IV. WHERE ANGELS FEAR TO TRED by E. M. Forster. CHAPTER IV. The advance of regret can be so gradual that it is impossible to say, yesterday I was happy, today I am not. At no one moment did Lillia realize that her marriage was a failure. Yet during the summer and autumn she became as unhappy as it was possible for her nature to be. She had no unkind treatment and few unkind words for her husband. He simply left her alone. In the morning he went out to do business, which as far as she could discover meant sitting in the Fama Chia. He usually returned to lunch, after which he retired to another room and slept. In the evening he grew vigorous again, and took the air on the ramparts, often having his dinner out, and seldom returning till midnight or later. There were, of course, the times when he was away altogether, at Empoli, Sienna, Florence, Bologna, for he delighted in travel and seemed to pick up friends all over the country. Lillia often heard what a favorite he was. She began to see that she must assert herself, but she could not see how. Her self-confidence, which had overthrown Philip, had gradually oozed away. If she left a strange house there was a strange little town. If she were to disobey her husband and walk in the country that would be stranger still. Vast slopes of olives and vineyards with chalk-white farms, and in the distance other slopes with more olives and more farms, and more little towns outlined against the clouds of the sky. I don't call this country, she would say. Why, it's not as wild as Sauston Park. And indeed there was scarcely a touch of wildness in it. Some of those slopes had been under cultivation for two thousand years. But it was terrible and mysterious all the same, and its continued presence made Lillia so uncomfortable that she forgot her nature and began to reflect. She reflected chiefly about her marriage. The ceremony had been hasty and expensive, and the rites, whatever they were, were not those of the Church of England. Lillia had no religion in her, but for hours at a time she would be seized with the vulgar fear that she was not married properly, and that her social position in the next world might be as obscure as it was in this. It might be safer to do the thing thoroughly, and one day she took the advice of Sparadoni and joined the Roman Catholic Church, or as she called it, Santodeodatas. Gina approved. He too thought it safer, and it was fun confessing, though the priest was a stupid old man, and the whole thing was a good slap in the face for the people at home. The people at home took the slap very soberly. Indeed, there were few left for her to give it to. The Heritans were out of the question. They would not even let her write to Irma. The Irma was occasionally allowed to write to her. Mrs. Theobald was rapidly subsiding into dotage, and as far as she could be definite about anything, she had definitely sided with the Heritans. And Miss Abbott did likewise. Night after night did Lelya curse this false friend, who had agreed with her that the marriage would do, and that the Heritans would come round to it. And then at the first hint of opposition had fled back to England shrieking in distraught, Miss Abbott headed the long list of those who should never be written to, and who should never be forgiven. Almost the only person who was not on that list was Mr. Kingcroft, who had unexpectedly sent an affectionate and inquiring letter. He was quite sure never to cross the channel, and Lelya drew freely on her fancy in their reply. At first she had seen a few English people, for Montariana was not the end of the earth. One or two inquisitive ladies who had heard at home of her quarrel with the Heritans came to call. She was very sprightly, and they thought her quite unconventional, and Gina was a charming boy, so all that was to the good. But by May the season, such as it was, had finished, and there would be no until next spring. As Mrs. Heriton had often observed, Lelya had no resources. She did not like music or reading or work. Her one qualification for life was rather blousy high spirits, which turned quarrelless and boisterous, according to circumstances. She was not obedient, but she was cowardly, and in the most gentle way, which Mrs. Heriton might have envied, Gina made her do what he wanted. At first it had been rather fun to let him get the upper hand, but it was galling to discover that he could not do otherwise. He had a good strong will when he chose to use it, and would not have had the least scruple in using bolts and locks to put it into effect. There was plenty of brutality deep down in him, and one day Lelya nearly touched it. It was the old question of going out alone. I always do it in England. This is Italy. Yes, but I'm older than you, and I'll settle. I am your husband, he said, smiling. They had finished their midday meal, and he wanted to go and sleep. Nothing would rouse him up until at last Lelya, getting more and more angry, said, and I've got the money. He looked horrified. Now was the moment to assert herself. She made the statement again. He got it from his chair. And you'd better mend your manners, she continued, for you'd find awkward if I stopped drawing checks. She was no reader of character, but she quickly became alarmed. As she said to Perfetta afterwards, none of his clothes seemed to fit too big in one place, too small in another. His figure rather than his face altered, the shoulders falling forward till his coat wrinkled across the back and pulled away from his wrists. He seemed all arms. He edged round the table to where she was sitting, and she sprang away and held the chair between them, too frightened to speak or to move. He looked at her with round, expressionless eyes, and slowly stretched out his left hand. Perfetta was heard coming up from the kitchen. It seemed to wake him up, and he turned away and went to his room without a word. What has happened, cried Lelya, nearly fainting. He is ill, ill! Perfetta looked suspicious when she heard the account. What did you say to him? She crossed herself. Hardly anything, so Lelya, and crossed herself also. Thus did the two women pay homage to their outraged male. It was clear to Lelya at last that Gino had married her for money, but he had frightened her too much to leave any place for contempt. His return was terrifying, for he was frightened, too, employing her pardon, lying at her feet, embracing her murmuring. It was not I. Striving to define things which he did not understand. He stopped in the house for three days, positively ill with physical collapse. But for all his suffering he had tamed her, and she never threatened to cut off supplies again. Perhaps he kept her even closer than convention demanded, but he was very young, and he could not bear it to be said of him that he did not know how to treat a lady or to manage a wife, and his own social position was uncertain. Even in England a dentist is a troublesome creature, whom careful people find difficult to class. He hovers between the professions and the trades. He may be only a little lower than the doctors, or he may be down among the chemists, or even beneath them. The son of the Italian dentist felt this, too. For himself nothing mattered. He made friends with the people he liked, for he was that glorious and variable creature, a man. But his wife should visit nowhere rather than visit wrongly. Seclusion was both decent and safe. The social ideals of North and South had had their brief contention, and this time the South had won. It would have been well if he had been as strict over his own behavior as he was over hers. But the incongruity never occurred to him for a moment. His morality was that of the average Latin, and as he was suddenly placed in the position of a gentleman, he did not see why he should not behave as such. Of course had Lily had been different had she asserted herself and got a grip on his character. He might possibly, though not probably, have been made a better husband as well as a better man, and at all events he could have adopted the attitude of the Englishman, whose standard is higher even when his practice is the same. But had Lily had been different she might not have married him. The discovery of his infidelity, which he made by accident, destroyed such remnants of self-satisfaction as her life might possess. She broke down utterly and sobbed and cried in Perfetta's arms. Perfetta was kind and even sympathetic, but cautioned her on no account to speak to Gino, who would be furious if he was suspected. And Lily agreed, partly because she was afraid of him, partly because it was, after all, the best and most dignified thing to do. She had given up everything for him, her daughter, her relatives, her friends, all the little comforts and luxuries of a civilized life, and even if she had the courage to break away there was no one who would receive her now. The heritans had been almost malignant in their efforts against her, and all her friends had one by one fallen off. So it was about to live on humbly, trying not to feel, endeavoring by a cheerful demeanor to put things right. Perhaps she thought if I have a child who be different I know he wants a son. She had had achieved pesos despite herself, for there are some situations in which vulgarity counts no longer. Not Cordelia nor Imogen Moore deserves our tears. She herself cried frequently, making herself look plain and old, which distressed her husband. He was particularly kind to her when he hardly ever saw her, and she accepted his kindness without resentment, even with gratitude. So docile had she become. She did not hate him. Even as she had never loved him, with her it was only when she was excited that the semblance of either passion arose. People said she was headstrong, but really her weak brain left her cold. Suffering, however, is more independent of temperament, and the wisest of women hardly have suffered more. As for Gino he was quite as boyaged as ever, and carried his iniquities like a feather. A favorite speech of his was, ah, one ought to marry. When he is wrong, I must persuade him. Not till marriage does one realize the pleasures and the possibilities of life. So saying he would take down his felt hat, strike it in the right place as infallibly as a German strikes his in the wrong place, and leave her. One evening when he had gone out thus lily he could stand it no longer. It was September. Sostom would be just filling up after the summer holidays. People would be running in and out of each other's houses all along the road. There were bicycle-gimkanas, and on the thirtieth Mrs. Heriton would be holding the annual bazaar in her garden for the CMS. It seemed impossible that such a free, happy life could exist. She walked out onto the loggia, moonlight and stars in a soft purple sky. The walls of Montereyano should be glorious in such a night as this, but the house faced away from them. Perfetta was banging in the kitchen, and the stairs down led past the kitchen door. But the stairs up to the attic, the stairs no one ever used, opened out of the living-room, and by unlocking the door at the top one might slip out to the square terrace above the house, and thus for ten minutes walk in freedom and peace. The key was in the pocket of Gino's best suit, the English check which he never wore. The stairs creaked and the keyhole screamed, but Perfetta was growing deaf. The walls were beautiful, but as they faced west they were in a shadow. To see the light upon them she must walk round the town a little till they were caught by the beams of the rising moon. She looked anxiously at the house and started. It was easy walking, for the little path ran all outside the ramparts. The few people she met wished her a civil goodnight, taking her and her hatless condition for a peasant. The walls trended round towards the moon, and presently she came into its light, and saw all the rough towers turn into pillars of silver and black and the ramparts into cliffs of pearl. She had no great sense of beauty, but she was sentimental and she began to cry. For here, where great cypress interrupted the monotony of the girdle of olives, she had sat with Gino one afternoon in March, her head upon his shoulder, while Caroline was looking at the view and sketching. Round the corner was the sea and a gate from which the road to England started, and she could hear the rumble of the diligence, which was going down to catch the night train to Umpoli. The next moment it was upon her, for the high road came towards her a little before it began as long as zig-zag down the hill. The driver slackened and called to her to get in. He did not know who she was. He hoped she might be coming to the station. No, Van Gogh, she cried. They wished her goodnight, and turned his horses down the corner. As the diligence came round she saw that it was empty. Van Gogh! Her voice was tremulous and did not carry, though horses swung off. Van Gogh! Van Gogh! He had begun to sing and heard nothing. She ran down the road, screaming to him to stop, that she was coming. While the distance grew greater and the noise of the diligence increased, the man's back was black and square against the moon, and if he would but turn for an instant she would be saved. She tried to cut off the corner of the zig-zag, stumbling over the great clods of earth large and hard as rocks, which lay between the eternal olives. She was too late, for just before she regained the road the things swept past her, thunderous, plowing up choking clouds of moonlit dust. She did not call any more, for she felt very ill and fainted, and when she revived she was lying in the road, with dust in her eyes, and dust in her mouth, and dust down her ears. There is something very terrible in dust at night time. What shall I do? she moaned. She was so angry, and without further effort she slowly climbed back to captivity, shaking her garments as she went. Ill luck pursued her to the end. It was one of the nights when Gino happened to come in. He was in the kitchen, swearing and smashing plates while Perfetta, her apron over her head, was weeping violently. At the sight of Lily he turned upon her and poured forth a flood of miscellaneous abuse. He was far more angry but much less alarming than he had been that day when he edged after her round the table. And Lily gained more courage from her bad conscience than she had ever heard from her good one. For as he spoke she was seized with indignation and feared him no longer, and saw him for a cruel, worthless, hypocritical, disillute upstart, and spoke in return. Perfetta screamed, for she told him everything, all she knew and all she thought. He stood with open mouth on the anger gone out of him, feeling ashamed in an utter fool. He was fairly and rightfully cornered. When had a husband so given himself away before, she finished, and he was dumb, for she had spoken truly. Then alas the absurdity of his own position grew upon him, and he laughed, as he would have laughed at the same situation on the stage. You laughed, stammered Lillia. Ah, he cried. Who could help it? I, who thought you knew and saw nothing. I'm tricked. I'm conquered. I give in. Let us talk of it no more. He touched her on the shoulder like a good comrade, half amused and half penitent, and then murmuring and smiling to himself ran quietly out of the room. Perfetta burst into congratulations. What courage you have! She cried. And what good fortune! He is angry no longer. He has forgiven you. Neither Perfetta nor Gino nor Lillia herself knew the true reason of all the misery that followed. To the end he thought that kindness and a little attention would be enough to set things straight. His wife was a very ordinary woman, and why should her ideas differ from his own? No one realized that more than personalities were engaged, that the struggle was national, that generations of ancestors, good, bad, or indifferent, forbade the Latin man to be chivalrous to the northern woman, the northern woman to forgive the Latin man. All this might have been foreseen. Mrs. Harriton foresaw it from the first. Meanwhile, Lillia prided herself on her high personal standard, and Gino simply wondered why she did not come around. He hated discomfort and yearned for sympathy, but shrank from mentioning his difficulties in the town in case they were put down to his own incompetence. Spiritone was told and replied in a philosophical, but not very helpful, letter. His other great friend, whom he trusted more, was still serving in Eritrea, or some other desolate outpost. And besides, what was the good of letters? Friends could not travel through the post. Lillia, so similar to her husband in many ways, yearned for comfort and sympathy too. The night he laughed at her, she wildly took up paper and pen and wrote page after page, analyzing his character, enumerating his iniquities, reporting whole conversations, tracing all the causes and the growth of her misery. She was beside herself with passion, and though she could hardly think or see, she suddenly attained to magnificence and pathos, which a practice stylist might have envied. It was written like a diary, and not till its conclusion did she realize for whom it was meant. Irma, darling Irma, this letter is for you. I almost forgot I have a daughter. It will make you unhappy, but I want you to know everything, and you cannot learn things too soon. God bless you, my dearest, and save you. God bless you, miserable mother. Fortunately Mrs. Harrington was in when the letter arrived. She seized in and opened it in her bedroom. Another moment in Irma's placid childhood would have been destroyed forever. Lillia received a brief note from Harriet, again forbidding direct communication between mother and daughter and concluding with formal condolences, nearly drove her mad. Gently, gently, said her husband, they were sitting together on the logem when the letter arrived. He often sat with her now, watching her for hours, puzzled and anxious, but not contrite. It's nothing. She went in and tore it up, and then began to write a very short letter whose gist was, come and save me. It is not good to see your wife crying when she writes, especially if you are conscious that, on the whole, your treatment of her has been reasonable and kind. It is not good when you accidentally look over her shoulder and see that she is writing to a man, nor should she shake her fist at you when she leaves the room, under the impression that you were engaged in lighting a cigar and cannot see her. Lillia went to the post herself. But in Italy so many things could be arranged. The postman was a friend of Gino's, and Mr. Kingcroft never got his letter. So she gave up hope, became ill, and all for the autumn lay in bed. Gino was distracted. She knew why. He wanted a son. He can talk and think of nothing else. His one desire was to become the father of a man like himself, and it held him with a grip he only partially understood. For it was the first great desire or the first great passion of his life. Falling in love was a mere physical triviality, like warm sun or cool water, beside this divine hope of immortality. I continue. He gave candles to Sant'edata, for he was always religious at a crisis, and sometimes he went to her himself and prayed the crude uncouth demands of the simple. Impetuously he summoned all his relatives back to bear him company in his time of need. Lillia saw strange faces fleeting past her in the darkened room. My love, he would say, my dearest Lillia, be calm. I have never loved anyone but you. She, knowing everything, would only smile gently, too broken by suffering to make sarcastic repartets. Before the child was born he gave her a kiss and said, I have prayed all night for a boy. Some strangely tender impulse moved her, and she said faintly, You are a boy yourself, Gino. He answered, Then we shall be brothers. He lay outside the room with his head against the door like a dog. When they came to tell him the glad news they found him half unconscious and his face was wet with tears, as for Lillia someone said to her, It is a beautiful boy, but she had died in giving birth to him. End of Chapter 4, Where Angels Fear to Tread, by E. M. Forrester