The Happy End

, and farther along, the gray-green foliage of the Cascine. Before her the Arno flowed away, sluggish and without a wrinkle or reflection on its turbid surface, into

uarded by an iron grille-was practically filled by her sister, Gheta, and Anna Mantegazza. Occ

ned. "Do go somewhere else. Anna and I want to talk without your

er hints. Lavinia's curiosity in worldly scenes and topics was almost as full as her imagination thereof. She was sixteen, and would have to endure a

thout the customary preliminary of marriage. She could, almost every one agreed, marry very nearly whomever and whenever she willed. Even now, after the number of years she had been going abou

er chin was a trifle lacking in definition, her voice a little devoid of warmth; but those were minor defects in a person so precisely radiant. Her dress was always not

h millions, and elaboration was a commonplace with her. Lavinia wore only a simple white slip, confined about her flexible waist wi

thy emphasis. Later Lavinia would have tulle and silver lace. She wished, however, that Gheta would get married; for Lavinia knew that even if she came home she would be held back until the older sister was settled. It was her opinion that Gheta was very silly to show such indifference to Cesare

ff gilt and brocade furnishing appeared insignificant. Three long windows faced the Lungarno, but two were screened with green slatted blinds and heavily dr

Lavinia anno

oed vivaciously. "Who's more f

e," Lavinia

re so many strangers driving," she continued, to the man; "do stan

d, and Anna Mantegazza tu

," she remarked, both light and serious. "I'd li

protested. "Del

's that in the little carriage wit

ille, his beady alert gaz

ion-"a Russian swell. The girl with him is--" He st

d again, more crossly, "you're a nui

Lavinia answe

Gardens; far to the left the paved height of the Piazzale Michelangelo rose above the somber sweep of roofs and bridges; an aged bell rang harshly and mingled with the inconsequential clatter on

xclaimed. "No; there-approaching! Who's t

ul of Gheta's sleeves, leaned over her sister's shoulder,

, open upon white linen, a long black tie, and a soft narrow scarlet sash. He wore a wide-brimmed stiff felt hat slanted over a thin countenance burned by

in a babble of ex

r of Spain. I've seen him in the ring and at San Sebastian with the King; and I can assure you that one was hardly more important than t

sity. Lavinia saw that her sister, without dissembling her interest, sat forward, statuesque and lovely. It seemed to the former that the cab was an intolerable time passing; she wished to

ad and heard of the cruelty of the Spanish national sport-torn horses, stiff on blood-soaked s

she spoke aloud

a cool superiority, but Anna

horrid person

e opera; he's an artist in courage. Personally I fi

antegazza-Cesare would simply get nowhere. The Spaniard-Lavinia could not recall his name, although it hung elusively among her thoughts-was different; women of all classes,

d I'm almost certain to, and he'll come, I'll bring him. He's as proud as the devil-duchesses, you see-so no airs with him. The Flower of Spain.

r note of the alcohol lamp. Both Sanviano and Orsi were big men-the former, like Bembo, wore English clothes; but Orsi's ungainly body had been tightly garbed by a Southern

ntirely oblivious of his heavy kindly face and almost anxiously benevolent gaze. He spoke to her, and because she had comprehended nothing of his speech she smiled at him w

Cesare Orsi, but she knew that such a match for Gheta was freely discussed, and she hoped that her sister would not make difficulties. She wouldn't have dresses so fussy as Gheta

growing hysterical from the tea and his own shrill anecdotes. He resembled a grotesque performing bird with a large beak. Lavinia's mind returned to the silent dark man who had passed in a cab. She wished, now, that she had been sitting at the front of the window

ut the tea table became unbearably stupid, no be

iano nobile was rented by the proprietor of a great wine industry. It was evident that he was going out to dinner, for his dark blue brougham was waiting at the inner entrance. The horse, a f

with a clatter of hoofs and a final clang of the great iron-bound door on the street; above, white stars grew visible in a blue dust. She dressed slowly, chan

other, were not so much fancied as her sister's brown; but at least they were more uncommon and contrasted nicely with her straight dark bang. Her shoulders and arms she surveyed with frank healthy approbation. Now her hair annoyed her, swinging childishl

h less flourish than earlier in the evening. Gheta would be nominally in the charge of Anna Mantegazza; but Lavinia knew how laxly the American would hold her responsib

ke uniform pale bubbles, cast a thin illumination over the Lungarno, through which a solitary vehicle moved. Lavinia idly watched it approach, but her interest increased as it halted directly opposite where she stood. A man got quickly out-a lithe figure with a broad-brimmed hat slanted across his

, a serenade on the stolid Lungarno. It was for Gheta! The romance of the south of Spain had come to life under their window. A voice joined the instrument, melodious and melancholy, singing an air with l

d through

as only

or you beyond

tion; it was for Gheta, but her response was instant and uncontrollable. It seemed to Lavinia that the sheer beauty of life, which had m

Abrego y Mochales and the other got into the cab and it turned and shambled away. Lavinia Sanviano moved forward mechanically, gazing after the dark vanishing shape on the road. She was shaken, almost appalled, by t

eeks and her eyes shone darkly from shadows. "Lavinia Sanviano!" she spoke aloud, with the extraordinary sensation of a