Indian Summer

by William Dean Howells

  IV

  Miss Graham did, indeed, somehow diminish in the nearer perspective. Sheceased to be overwhelming. When Colville lifted his eyes from bowingbefore her he perceived that she--was neither so very tall nor so verylarge, but possessed merely a generous amplitude of womanhood. But shewas even more beautiful, with a sweet and youthful radiance of look thatwas very winning. If she had ceased to be the goddess she looked acrossthe length of the _salon_, she had gained much by becoming an extremelylovely young girl; and her teeth, when she spoke, showed a fascinatinglittle irregularity that gave her the last charm.

  Mrs. Bowen glided away with the young clergyman, but Effie remained atMiss Graham's side, and seemed to have hold of the left hand which thegirl let hang carelessly behind her in the volume of her robe. Thechild's face expressed an adoration of Miss Graham far beyond herallegiance to her mother.

  "I began to doubt whether Mrs. Bowen was going to bring you at all," shesaid frankly, with an innocent, nervous laugh, which made favour for herwith Colville. "She promised it early in the evening."

  "She has used me much worse, Miss Graham," said Colville. "She has keptme waiting from the beginning of time. So that I have grown grey on myway up to you," he added, by an inspiration. "I was a comparativelyyoung man when Mrs. Bowen first told me she was going to introduce me."

  "Oh, how _good_!" said Miss Graham joyously. And her companion, after amoment's hesitation, permitted herself a polite little titter. She hadmade a discovery; she had discovered that Mr. Colville was droll.

  "I'm very glad you like it," he said, with a gravity that did notdeceive them.

  "Oh yes," sighed Miss Graham, with generous ardour. "Who but an Americancould say just such things? There's the loveliest old lady here inFlorence, who's lived here thirty years, and she's always going back andnever getting back, and she's so homesick she doesn't know what to do,and she always says that Americans may not be _better_ than otherpeople, but they are _different_."

  "That's very pretty. They're different in everything but thinkingthemselves better. Their native modesty prevents that."

  "I don't exactly know what you mean," said Miss Graham, after a littlehesitation.

  "Well," returned Colville, "I haven't thought it out very clearly myselfyet. I may mean that the Americans differ from other people in notthinking well of themselves, or they may differ from them in notthinking well enough. But what I said had a very epigrammatic sound, andI prefer not to investigate it too closely."

  This made Miss Graham and Miss Effie both cry out "Oh!" in delighteddoubt of his intention. They both insensibly drifted a little nearer tohim.

  "There was a French lady said to me at the _table-d'hote_ this eveningthat she knew I was an American, because the Americans always strike thekey of personality." He practised these economies of material inconversation quite recklessly, and often made the same incident orsuggestion do duty round a whole company.

  "Ah, I don't believe that," said Miss Graham.

  "Believe what?"

  "That the Americans always talk about themselves."

  "I'm not sure she meant that. You never can tell what a person means bywhat he says--or _she_."

  "How shocking!".

  "Perhaps the French lady meant that we always talk about other people.That's in the key of personality too."

  "But I don't believe we do," said Miss Graham. "At any rate, _she_ wastalking about _us_, then."

  "Oh, she accounted for that by saying there was a large American colonyin Paris, who had corrupted the French, and taught them our pernicioushabit of introspection."

  "Do you think we're very introspective?"

  "Do you?"

  "I know I'm not. I hardly ever think about myself at all. At any rate,not till it's too late. That's the great trouble. I wish I could. ButI'm always studying other people. They're so much more interesting."

  "Perhaps if you knew yourself better you wouldn't think so," suggestedColville.

  "Yes, I know they are. I don't think any young person can beinteresting."

  "Then what becomes of all the novels? They're full of young persons."

  "They're ridiculous. If I were going to write a novel, I should take anold person for a hero--thirty-five or forty." She looked at Colville,and blushing a little, hastened to add, "I don't believe that they beginto be interesting much before that time. Such flat things as young menare always saying! Don't you remember that passage somewhere in Heine's_Pictures of Travel_, where he sees the hand of a lady coming out fromunder her mantle, when she's confessing in a church, and he knows thatit's the hand of a young person who has enjoyed nothing and sufferednothing, it's so smooth and flower-like? After I read that I hated thelook of my hands--I was only sixteen, and it seemed as if I had had nomore experience than a child. Oh, I like people to go _through_something. Don't you?"

  "Well, yes, I suppose I do. Other people."

  "No; but don't you like it for yourself?"

  "I can't tell; I haven't been through anything worth speaking of yet."

  Miss Graham looked at him dubiously, but pursued with ardour: "Why, justgetting back to Florence, after not having been here for so long--Ishould think it would be so romantic. Oh dear! I wish I were here forthe second time."

  "I'm afraid you wouldn't like it so well," said Colville. "I wish I werehere for the first time. There's nothing like the first time ineverything."

  "Do you really think so?"

  "Well, there's nothing like the first time in Florence."

  "Oh, I can't imagine it. I should think that recalling the old emotionswould be perfectly fascinating."

  "Yes, if they'd come when you do call them. But they're ascontrary-minded as spirits from the vasty deep. I've been shoutingaround here for my old emotions all day, and I haven't had a responsivesqueak."

  "Oh!" cried Miss Graham, staring full-eyed at him. "How delightful!"Effie Bowen turned away her pretty little head and laughed, as if itmight not be quite kind to laugh at a person's joke to his face.

  Stimulated by their appreciation, Colville went on with more nonsense."No; the only way to get at your old emotions in regard to Florence isto borrow them from somebody who's having them fresh. What do _you_think about Florence, Miss Graham?"

  "I? I've been here two months."

  "Then it's too late?"

  "No, I don't know that it is. I keep feeling the strangeness all thetime. But I can't tell you. It's very different from Buffalo, I canassure you."

  "Buffalo? I can imagine the difference. And it's not altogether to thedisadvantage of Buffalo."

  "Oh, have you been there?" asked Miss Graham, with a touching littleeagerness. "Do you know anybody in Buffalo?"

  "Some of the newspaper men; and I pass through there once a year on myway to New York--or used to. It's a lively place."

  "Yes, it is," sighed Miss Graham fondly.

  "Do the girls of Buffalo still come out at night and dance by the lightof the moon?"

  "What!"

  "Ah, I see," said Colville, peering at her under his thoughtfullyknitted brows, "you do belong to another era. You don't remember the oldnegro minstrel song."

  "No," said Miss Graham. "I can only remember the end of the war."

  "How divinely young!" said Colville. "Well," he added, "I wish thatFrench lady could have overheard us, Miss Graham. I think she would havechanged her mind about Americans striking the note of personality intheir talk."

  "Oh!" exclaimed the girl reproachfully, after a moment of swiftreflection and recognition, "I don't see how you could let me do it! Youdon't suppose that I should have talked so with every one? It wasbecause you were another American, and such an old friend of Mrs.Bowen's."

  "That is what I shall certainly tell the French lady if she attacks meabout it," said Colville. He glanced carelessly toward the end of theroom, and saw the young clergyman taking leave of Mrs. Bowen; all therest of the company were gone. "Bless me!" he said, "I must be going."

  Mrs. Bowen had so swiftly advanced u
pon him that she caught the lastwords. "Why?" she asked.

  "Because it's to-morrow, I suspect, and the invitation was for one dayonly."

  "It was a season ticket," said Mrs. Bowen, with gay hospitality, "and itisn't to-morrow for half an hour yet. I can't think of letting you go.Come up to the fire, all, and let's sit down by it. It's at its verybest."

  Effie looked a pretty surprise and a pleasure in this girlish burst fromher mother, whose habitual serenity made it more striking in contrast,and she forsook Miss Graham's hand and ran forward and disposed theeasy-chairs comfortably about the hearth.

  Colville and Mrs. Bowen suddenly found themselves upon those terms whichoften succeed a long separation with people who have felt kindly towardeach other at a former meeting and have parted friends: they were muchmore intimate than they had supposed themselves to be, or had really anyreason for being.

  "Which one of your guests do you wish me to offer up, Mrs. Bowen?" heasked, from the hollow of the arm-chair, not too low, which he had sunkinto. With Mrs. Bowen in a higher chair at his right hand, and MissGraham intent upon him from the sofa on his left, a sense of delicioussatisfaction filled him from head to foot. "There isn't one I wouldspare if you said the word."

  "And there isn't one I want destroyed, I'm sorry to say," answered Mrs.Bowen. "Don't you think they were all very agreeable?"

  "Yes, yes; agreeable enough--agreeable enough, I suppose. But theystayed too long. When I think we might have been sitting here for thelast half-hour, if they'd only gone sooner, I find it pretty hard toforgive them."

  Mrs. Bowen and Miss Graham exchanged glances above his head--a glancewhich demanded, "Didn't I tell you?" for a glance that answered, "Oh, he_is_!" Effie Bowen's eyes widened; she kept them fastened upon Colvillein silent worship.

  He asked who were certain of the company that he had noticed, and Mrs.Bowen let him make a little fun of them: the fun was very good-natured.He repeated what the German had said about the worldly ambition ofAmerican girls; but she would not allow him so great latitude in this.She said they were no worldlier than other girls. Of course, they werefond of society, and some of them got a little spoiled. But they were inno danger of becoming too conventional.

  Colville did not insist. "I missed the military to-night, Mrs. Bowen,"he said. "I thought one couldn't get through an evening in Florencewithout officers?"

  "We have them when there is dancing," returned Mrs. Bowen.

  "Yes, but they don't know anything but dancing," Miss Graham broke in."I like some one who can talk something besides compliments."

  "You are very peculiar, you know, Imogene," urged Mrs. Bowen gently. "Idon't think our young men at home do much better in conversation, if youcome to that, though."

  "Oh, _young_ men, yes! They're the same everywhere. But here, even whenthey're away along in the thirties, they think that girls can only enjoyflattery. _I_ should like a gentleman to talk to me without a singleword or look to show that he thought I was good-looking."

  "Ah, how could he be?" Colville insinuated, and the young girl coloured.

  "I mean, if I were pretty. This everlasting adulation is insulting."

  "Mr. Morton doesn't flatter," said Mrs. Bowen thoughtfully, turning thefeather screen she held at her face, now edgewise, now flatwise, towardColville.

  "Oh no," owned Miss Graham. "He's a clergyman."

  Mrs. Bowen addressed herself to Colville. "You must go to hear him someday. He's very interesting, if you don't mind his being rather LowChurch."

  Colville was going to pretend to an advanced degree of ritualism; but itoccurred to him that it might be a serious matter to Mrs. Bowen, and heasked instead who was the Rev. Mr. Waters.

  "Oh, isn't he lovely?" cried Miss Graham. "There, Mrs. Bowen! Mr.Waters's manner is what I call _truly_ complimentary. He always talks toyou as if he expected you to be interested in serious matters, and as ifyou were his intellectual equal. And he's so _happy_ here in Florence!He gives you the impression of feeling every breath he breathes here aprivilege. You ought to hear him talk about Savonarola, Mr. Colville."

  "Well," said Colville, "I've heard a great many people talk aboutSavonarola, and I'm rather glad he talked to me about American girls."

  "American girls!" uttered Miss Graham, in a little scream. "Did Mr.Waters talk to you about _girls_?"

  "Yes. Why not? He was probably in love with one once."

  "Mr. Waters?" cried the girl. "What nonsense!"

  "Well, then, with some old lady. Would you like that better?"

  Miss Graham looked at Mrs. Bowen for permission, as it seemed, and thenlaughed, but did not attempt any reply to Colville.

  "You find even that incredible of such pyramidal antiquity," he resumed."Well, it _is_ hard to believe. I told him what that German said, and weagreed beautifully about another type of American girl which we said wepreferred."

  "Oh! What could it be?" demanded Miss Graham.

  "Ah, it wouldn't be so easy to say right off-hand," answered Colvilleindolently.

  Mrs. Bowen put her hand under the elbow of the arm holding her screen."I don't believe I should agree with you so well," she said, apparentlywith a sort of didactic intention.

  They entered into a discussion which is always fruitful withAmericans--the discussion of American girlhood, and Colville contendedfor the old national ideal of girlish liberty as wide as the continent,as fast as the Mississippi. Mrs. Bowen withstood him with delicatefirmness. "Oh," he said, "you're Europeanised."

  "I certainly prefer the European plan of bringing up girls," she repliedsteadfastly. "I shouldn't think of letting a daughter of mine have thefreedom I had."

  "Well, perhaps it will come right in the next generation, then; she willlet her daughter have the freedom she hadn't."

  "Not if I'm alive to prevent it," cried Mrs. Bowen.

  Colville laughed. "Which plan do you prefer, Miss Graham?"

  "I don't think it's quite the same now as it used to be," answered thegirl evasively.

  "Well, then, all I can say is that if I had died before this chance, Ihad lived a blessed time. I perceive more and more that I'm obsolete.I'm in my dotage; I prattle of the good old times, and the new spirit ofthe age flouts me. Miss Effie, do you prefer the Amer----"

  "No, thank you," said her mother quickly.

  "Effie is out of the question. It's time you were in bed, Effie."

  The child came with instant submissiveness and kissed her mothergood-night; she kissed Miss Graham, and gave her hand to Colville. Heheld it a moment, letting her pull shyly away from him, while he lolledback in his chair, and laughed at her with his sad eyes. "It's past thetime _I_ should be in bed, my dear, and I'm sitting up merely becausethere's nobody to send me. It's not that I'm really such a very bad boy.Good night. Don't put me into a disagreeable dream; put me into a niceone." The child bridled at the mild pleasantry, and when Colvillereleased her hand she suddenly stooped forward and kissed him.

  "You're so _funny_!" she cried, and ran and escaped beyond the_portiere_.

  Mrs. Bowen stared in the same direction, but not with severity. "Really,Effie has been carried a little beyond herself."

  "Well," said Colville, "that's _one_ conquest since I came to Florence.And merely by being funny! When I was in Florence before, Mrs. Bowen,"he continued, after a moment, "there were two ladies here, and I used togo about quite freely with either of them. They were both very pretty,and we were all very young. Don't you think it was charming?" Mrs. Bowencoloured a lovely red, and smiled, but made no other response. "Florencehas changed very much for the worse since that time. There used to be apretty flower-girl, with a wide-flapping straw hat, who flung a heavybough full of roses into my lap when she met me driving across theCarraja bridge. I spent an hour looking for that girl to-day, andcouldn't find her. The only flower-girl I could find was a fat one offifty, who kept me fifteen minutes in Via Tornabuoni while she wasfumbling away at my button-hole, trying to poke three second-handviolets and a sickly daisy into it. Ah, youth!
youth! I suppose a youngfellow could have found that other flower-girl at a glance; but _my_ oldeyes! No, we belong, each of us, to our own generation. Mrs. Bowen," hesaid, with a touch of tragedy--whether real or affected, he did not wellknow himself--in his hardiness, "what has become of Mrs. Pilsbury?"

  "Mrs. Milbury, you mean?" gasped Mrs. Bowen, in affright at hisboldness.

  "Milbury, Bilbury, Pilsbury--it's all one, so long as it isn't----"

  "They're living in Chicago!" she hastened to reply, as if she wereafraid he was going to say, "so long as it isn't Colville," and shecould not have borne that.

  Colville clasped his hands at the back of his head and looked at Mrs.Bowen with eyes that let her know that he was perfectly aware she hadbeen telling Miss Graham of his youthful romance, and that he had nowtouched it purposely. "And you wouldn't," he said, as if that were quiterelevant to what they had been talking about--"you wouldn't let MissGraham go out walking alone with a dotard like me?"

  "Certainly not," said Mrs. Bowen.

  Colville got to his feet by a surprising activity. "Good-bye, MissGraham." He offered his hand to her with burlesque despair, and thenturned to Mrs. Bowen. "Thank you for _such_ a pleasant evening! What wasyour day, did you say?"

  "Oh, any day!" said Mrs. Bowen cordially, giving her hand.

  "Do you know whom you look like?" he asked, holding it.

  "No."

  "Lina Ridgely."

  The ladies stirred softly in their draperies after he was gone. Theyturned and faced the hearth, where a log burned in a bed of hot ashes,softly purring and ticking to itself, and whilst they stood pressingtheir hands against the warm fronts of their dresses, as the fashion ofwomen is before a fire, the clock on the mantel began to strike twelve.

  "Was that her name?" asked Miss Graham, when the clock had had its say."Lina Ridgely?"

  "No; that was _my_ name," answered Mrs. Bowen.

  "Oh yes!" murmured the young girl apologetically.

  "She led him on; she certainly encouraged him. It was shocking. He wasquite wild about it."

  "She must have been a cruel girl. How _could_ he speak of it solightly?"

  "It was best to speak of it, and have done with it," said Mrs. Bowen."He knew that I must have been telling you something about it."

  "Yes. How bold it was! A _young_ man couldn't have done it! Yes, he'sfascinating. But how old and sad he looked, as he lay back there in thechair!"

  "Old? I don't think he looked old. He looked sad. Yes, it's left itsmark on him."

  The log burned quite through to its core, and fell asunder, a bristlingmass of embers. They had been looking at it with downcast heads. Nowthey lifted their faces, and saw the pity in each other's eyes, and thebeautiful girl impulsively kissed the pretty woman good-night.