Ainslee's Magazine, February 1913 — page 12: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

9 AINSLEE’S man of esthetic aspirations and eight hundred a year of his own. Stella herself had never been en- thusiastic about the affair. As a man, © Eustace Medlicott said absolutely noth- ing at all to her—though, to be sure, she was quite unaware that he was inadequate in this respect. No man had meant anything different up to this period of her life. She had seen so few of therm she was no judge. Eustace Medlicott had higher collars than the other curates, and intoned in a wonderfully melodious voice in the ca- thedral. And quite a number of the young ladies of Exminster, including the bishop’s second daughter, had been setting their caps at him from the mo- ment of his arrival; so that when, by the maneuvers of Aunt Caroline Ebley, Stella found him proposing to her, she somehow allowed herself to murmur some sort of consent. Then it seemed quite stimulating to have a ring, and to be congratulated upon being engaged. And the few weeks that followed while the thing was fresh and new had passed quite pleasantly. It was only when about a month had gone by that a gradual and growing weariness seemed to be falling upon her. To be the wife of an ascetic high- church curate, who fasted severely dur- ing Lent, and had rigid views upon most subjects, began to grow into a picture which held out less and less charm for her. But Aunt Caroline was firm—and the habit of twenty-one years of obedience held. Perhaps fate was looking on in sym- pathy with her unrest. In any case, it appeared like the jade’s hand, and not chance, which made Uncle Erasmus de- cide to take his holiday early in the year and decide .to spend it abroad—not in Scotland or Wales, as was his custom. Stella, he said, should see the Eter- nal City and Florence before settling down in the autumn to her new exist- ence, Miss Rawson actually jumped with joy—and the knowledge that Eustace Medlicott would be unable to accom- pany them, but might join them later on, did not damp her enthusiasm. Every bit of the journey was a pleas- ure from the moment they landed on French soil. They had come straight through to Rome from Paris, where they had spent a week at a small hotel; because of the lateness of the year, they must get to their most southern point first of all, and return north- ward in a more leisurely manner. And now any one who is reading this story can picture this respectable Eng- lish family, and understand their status and antecedents, so we can very well get back to them seated in the agree- able restaurant of the Grand Hotel, at Rome, beginning to partake of a mod- est dinner. Mrs. Ebley—I had almost written the Reverend Mrs. Ebley—was secretly enjoying herself. She had that feel- ing that she was in a place where she ought not to be—through no fault of her own—and so was free to make the most of it; and certainly these well- dressed people were very interesting to glance at between mouthfuls of a par- ticularly well-cooked fish. Stella was thrilling all over, and her soft brown eyes were sparkling, and her dazzlingly pink-and-white complex- ion glowing with health and excite- ment; so that even in the Exminster confection of black grenadine she was an agreeable morsel for the male eye to dwell upon. There were the usual company there —the younger diplomats from the em- bassies; a sprinkling of trim Italian of- ficers in their pretty uniforms; French and Austrian ladies, as well as the at- tractive-looking native and American representatives of the élite of Roman smart society. The tables began to fill up before the Ebleys had finished their fish, and num- bers of the parties seemed to know one another, and nod and exchange words en passant. But there was one table laid for a single person which remained empty until the entrées were being handed; and Stella, with her fresh interest in COMEE a0 \(0)|/< (E@)