This etext was produced by Pat Castevans <patcat@ctnet.net>
and David Widger <widger@cecomet.net>
By George Meredith
Emilia remained locked up with her mother all that evening. The goodlittle shrill woman, tender-eyed and slatternly, had to help try ondresses, and run about for pins, and express her critical taste inundertones, believing all the while that her daughter had given up musicto go mad with vanity. The reflection struck her, notwithstanding, thatit was a wiser thing for one of her sex to make friends among rich peoplethan to marry a foreign husband.
The girl looked a brilliant woman in a superb Venetian dress of purplevelvet, which she called 'the Branciani dress,' and once attired in it,and the rich purges and swelling creases over the shoulders puffed out toher satisfaction, and the run of yellow braid about it properly inspectedand flattened, she would not return to her more homely wear, though verysoon her mother began to whimper and say that she had lost her so long,and now that she had found her it hardly seemed the same child. Emiliawould listen to no entreaties to put away her sumptuous robe. Shesilenced her mother with a stamp of her foot, and then sighed: "Ah! Whydo I always feel such a tyrant with you?" kissing her.
"This dress," she said, and held up her mother's chin fondlingly betweenher two hands, "this dress was designed by my friend Merthyr—that is,Mr. Powys—from what he remembered of a dress worn by Countess Branciani,of Venice. He had it made to give to me. It came from Paris. CountessBranciani was one of his dearest friends. I feel that I am twice as muchhis friend with this on me. Mother, it seems like a deep blush all overme. I feel as if I looked out of a rose."
She spread her hands to express the flower magnified.
"Oh! what silly talk," said her mother: "it does turn your head, thisdress does!"
"I wish it would give me my voice, mother. My father has no hope. Iwish he would send me news to make me happy about him; or come and runhis finger up the strings for hours, as he used to. I have fancied Iheard him at times, and I had a longing to follow the notes, and feltsure of my semi-tones. He won't see me! Mother! he would thinksomething of me if he saw me now!"
Her mother's lamentations reached that vocal pitch at last which Emiliacould not endure, and the little lady was despatched to her home undercharge of a servant.
Emilia feasted on the looking-glass when alone. Had Merthyr, inrestoring her to health, given her an overdose of the poison?
"Countess Branciani made the Austrian Governor her slave," she uttered,planting one foot upon a stool to lend herself height. "He told her whowere suspected, and who would be imprisoned, and gave her all the Statesecrets. Beauty can do more than music. I wonder whether Merthyr lovedher? He loves me!"
Emilia was smitten with a fear that he would speak of it when she nextsaw him. "Oh! I hope he will be just the same as he has been," shesighed; an