Dorothy, and Other Italian Stories. Woolson Constance Fenimore

without stars; in addition to the freezing temperature, the wind was fierce; it drove furiously against the windows of the villa, it came round the corner of the tower with a shriek like that of a banshee.

      "It's dreadfully cold," said the girl at last, as if speaking to herself.

      "Surely not here?" replied Mrs. Tracy. Dorothy came wandering back to the fire, and then the aunt drew her down by her side. "Dear child, don't keep thinking of Rome," she whispered. "He is not there; there is nothing there but the lifeless clay." And she kissed her.

      "Try not to be so restless, Dorothy," said Mrs. North, from her warm corner. "You have walked about this room all day."

      "It's because I'm so tired; I am so tired that I cannot keep still," Dorothy answered.

      "I think a change would be a good thing for all of us," Mrs. North went on. "We could go to Cannes for two months; we could be as quiet at Cannes as here."

      Dorothy looked at her with vague eyes, as if waiting to hear more.

      "It is warmer there. And then there is the sea – to look at, you know," pursued Mrs. North, seeing that she was called upon to exhibit attractions.

      "Egypt would be my idea," said Mrs. Tracy. "A dahabeeyah on the Nile, Dorothy. Camels; temples."

      Dorothy listened, as if rather struck by this idea also.

      "But Egypt would be a fearful trouble, Charlotte," objected Mrs. North. "Who is going to get a good dahabeeyah for us at this time of year?"

      "Don't spoil it. I'll get twenty," responded the other lady.

      And then there was a silence.

      "Well, Dorothy, are you going to leave it to us to decide?"

      "Yes, mamma," Dorothy answered. Her eyes had grown dull again; she sat listening to the wind as if she had forgotten what they were talking about.

      "It's decided, then. We will go to Cannes," remarked Mrs. North, serenely.

      Her Aunt Charlotte's discomfited face drew a sudden laugh from the niece. And this laughter, once begun, did not cease; peal succeeded peal, and Dorothy threw herself back on the cushions of the sofa, overcome with merriment. Mrs. North glanced towards the doors to see if they were well closed. But Charlotte Tracy was so glad to hear the sound again that she did not care about comments from the servants; Dorothy's face, dull and tired, above the dead black of the widow's attire, had been like a nightmare to her.

      They went to Cannes. And Mrs. North's suggested "two months" had now lengthened, in her plans, to three. But before two weeks, had passed they were again at Belmonte.

      "Now that we have made one fiasco, Charlotte, and taken that horrible journey, all tunnels, twice within twenty days, we must not make another; we must decide to remain where we are for the present. If Dorothy grows restless again, be firm. Be firm, as I shall be."

      "Surely we ought to be indulgent to her now, Laura?"

      "Not too much so. Otherwise we shall be laying up endless bother for ourselves. For we have a year of hourly employment before us, day by day. In the way of seeing to her, I mean."

      "She will not make us the least trouble," said Mrs. Tracy, indignantly.

      "I am not finding fault with her. But she cannot help her age, can she? She is exceedingly young to be a widow, and she has a large fortune; but for a year, at any rate, if I know myself, gossip shall not touch my daughter."

      "A year? I'll guarantee ten," said Mrs. Tracy, still indignant.

      "I don't care about ten; three will do. Yes, I see you looking at me with outraged eyes. But there's no need. I liked Alan as much as you did; I appreciated every one of his good points. With all that, you cannot pretend to say that you believe Dorothy really loved him. She was too young to love anybody. The love was on his side, and you were as much surprised as I was when she took a fancy to accept it."

      Mrs. Tracy could not deny this. But she belonged to that large class of women who, from benevolent motives, never acknowledge unwelcome facts. "I think you are perfectly horrid!" she said.

      Dorothy, back at Belmonte, was troublesome only in the sense of being always in motion. Having exhausted the garden, she began to explore the country. She went to Galileo's tower; to the lonely little church of Santa Margherita; the valley of the Ema knew her slender black figure. Once she crossed the Greve, and, following the old Etruscan road, climbed to the top of the height beyond, where stands the long, blank Shameless Villa outlined against the sky.

      "Do you know, I am afraid I am lame," said Mrs. Tracy, the morning after this long tramp to the Shameless.

      "Well, why do you go? One of us is enough," answered Mrs. North.

      To the walks Dorothy now added lessons in German and Italian. Mrs. North drove down to Florence and engaged Fräulein Bernstein and Mademoiselle Scarletti. Next, Dorothy said that she wished to take lessons in music.

      "A good idea. You ought to play much better than you do," said her mother.

      "Piano; but singing too, please," Dorothy answered.

      Again Mrs. North descended to Florence; Fräulein Lundborg was engaged for instrumental music, and Madame Farinelli for vocal. Dorothy wished to have a lesson each day from each of her teachers. "It's a perfect procession up and down this hill!" thought Mrs. Tracy. There was a piano in the billiard-room, and another in the drawing-room; but now Dorothy wished to have a third piano in her own sitting-room up-stairs.

      "But, my dear, what an odd fancy! Are you going to sing there by yourself?" her mother inquired.

      "Yes!" said Dorothy.

      "Do you think she is well?" asked Mrs. Tracy, confidentially, with some anxiety.

      "Perfectly well. It is the repressed life she is leading," Mrs. North answered. "But we must make the best of it. This is as good a place as any for the next three months."

      But again this skilful directress was forced to abandon the "good place." Early in March, when the almond-trees were in bloom, Dorothy, coming in from the garden, announced, "I hate Belmonte! Let us go away, mamma – anywhere. Let us start to-morrow."

      "We took you to Cannes, and you did not wish to stay. We shall be leaving Belmonte in any case in June; that isn't long to wait."

      "You like Paris; will you go to Paris?" the girl went on.

      "What can you do in Paris more than you do here?"

      "I love the streets, they are so bright – so many people. Oh, mamma, if you could only know how dull I am!" And sinking down on the rug, Dorothy laid her face on the sofa-cushion at her mother's side.

      Mrs. Tracy coming in and finding her thus, bent and felt her pulse.

      "Yes, one hundred and fifty!" said Dorothy, laughing. "Take me to Paris, and to the opera or theatre every night, and it will go down."

      "Oh, you don't mean that," said the aunt, assuringly.

      "Yes, but I do," Dorothy answered. And then, with her cheek still resting on the cushion, she looked up at her mother. "You will take me, mamma, won't you? If I tell you that I must?"

      "Yes," replies Mrs. North, coldly.

      They went to Paris. And then, for four weeks, almost every night at the back of a box at the opera or at one of the theatres were three ladies in mourning attire, the youngest of the three in widow's weeds. Mrs. Tracy was so perturbed during these weeks that her face was constantly red.

      "Why are you so worried?" Mrs. North inquired. "I manage it perfectly; people don't in the least know."

      "Do I care for 'people'? It's – it's – " But she would not say "It's Dorothy." "It's ourselves," she finally ended.

      "Always sentimental," said Laura.

      Midway in the first week of April, Dorothy suddenly changed again. "I can't stay here a moment longer!" she said.

      "Perhaps you would like to take a trip round the world?" suggested Mrs. North, with a touch of sarcasm.

      "No. I don't know what you will say, mamma, but I should