"If a thing were needed to make me unhappy, it would be the
announcement of your intended departure," Beatrice said,
smiling. "But otherwise, I am no more unhappy than it is
natural to be. Life, after all, is n't such a furiously gay
business as to keep one perpetually singing and dancing--is it?
But I am not especially unhappy."
"H'm," said the Cardinal. Then, in a minute, "You will come to
Rome in November, I suppose?" he asked.
"Yes--towards the end of November, I think," said Beatrice.
The Cardinal rose, and began to walk backwards and forwards
again.
In a little while the sound of carriage-wheels could be heard,
in the sweep, round the corner of the house.
The Cardinal looked at his watch.
"Here is the carriage," he said. "I must go down and see that
poor old woman . . . . Do you know," he added, after a
moment's hesitation, "I think it would be well if you were to
go with me."
A shadow came into Beatrice's eyes.
"What good would that do?" she asked.
"It would give her pleasure, no doubt. And besides, she is one
of your parishioners, as it were. I think you ought to go.
You have never been to see her since she fell ill."
"Oh--well," said Beatrice.
She was plainly unwilling. But she went to put on her things.
In the carriage, when they had passed the village and crossed
the bridge, as they were bowling along the straight white road
that led to the villa, "What a long time it is since Mr.
Marchdale has been at Ventirose," remarked the Cardinal.
"Oh--? Is it?" responded Beatrice, with indifference.
"It is more than three weeks, I think--it is nearly a month,"
the Cardinal said.
"Oh--?" said she.
"He has had his hands full, of course; he has had little
leisure," the Cardinal pursued. "His devotion to his poor old
servant has been quite admirable. But now that she is
practically recovered, he will be freer."
"Yes," said Beatrice.
"He is a young man whom I like very much," said the Cardinal.
"He is intelligent; he has good manners; and he has a fine
sense of the droll. Yes, he has wit--a wit that you seldom
find in an Anglo-Saxon, a wit that is almost Latin. But you
have lost your interest in him? That is because you despair of
his conversion?"
"I confess I am not greatly interested in him," Beatrice
answered. "And I certainly have no hopes of his conversion."