A DOOR in the Vice-Consul’s office opened into a long passage with a row of windows on one side, which communicated with his house. When the hour came at which, after the comfortable fashion of leisurely Italian towns, the office was shut up for the midday meal, the Vice Consul made Harry an amiable sign to follow. He led him through this passage, which looked upon a courtyard full of plants, where a fountain trickled in the sunshine, into a large cool room with all its jalousies closed, and in which for a minute or two he saw nothing. He was being introduced into a sort of enchanted country it seemed, unlike anything he had ever known or thought of; the tiled floor was almost covered with soft rugs, according to a fashion not then known in England, and the furniture dimly discerned in the gloom, was like rocks at sea to the stranger who had no chart of the confused and intricate passage. Something white in a corner, something which moved a little when they came in, was all he saw, and he could not make out even what that was till his eyes had got accustomed to the light. Then he perceived with a great tremor and shock of shyness that it was a lady, a slight girl in a white dress who looked up to nod to her father, then seeing a second figure behind him, rose hastily with a shy grace. Harry was still more shy than she was. He was not accustomed to the society of ladies. And he was dreadfully hungry, having had nothing but that dry bread and coffee, a circumstance which made him still more depressed and timid. He did not at all know why he was introduced so suddenly into this other world. He thought he was only going to an inner office, or perhaps—but that was a blessedness he dared scarcely hope for—that the Consul in his kindness had meant to give him some luncheon. But the drawing-room confused him wholly; he had done nothing to merit such an introduction. He only half took in accordingly the meaning of the words the Consul said, “Look here, Rita, I have brought your champion of last night.”

“Oh!” That purely English exclamation sounded to Harry the sweetest syllable he had ever heard. The white figure came a step forward. By this time he began to see through the gloom, and what he saw was a very young face, with two great dark eyes, lifted to him full of wonder and pleasure. Then a hand was put out, “Was it you?” she said eagerly. “Oh, yes, I remember!” And before he was aware the hand, smaller and softer than any such article previously known to him, touched his for a moment. Harry dropped into the chair which the Vice-Consul pointed to him in utter confusion of surprise. He was not even able to notice what an extraordinary advantage to him such an introduction was. He was simply astonished more than words could say.

“This is Mr. Oliver,” said the Vice-Consul. “He came and told me all about it without a notion who you were. And you see how surprised he is. He thought, I suppose, I was taking him into a kind of genteel prison. It must be added that, if you only arrived yesterday, you lost no time in getting into a row.”

“Did you only arrive yesterday?” said the delightful little voice, in which there was a flavour of something not English, though the English was perfect. “Oh, how glad I am that you did arrive then! What would have become of us otherwise? for no one but an Englishman wandering about the most unlikely places could ever have found himself just there.”

“And nobody but an English girl would have risked herself in such a place,” said the father. “I hope you will take that to heart, my dear. This girl,” he added, turning to the young man, “is by way of despising all Italian precautions. She is an English girl, she tells everybody, and she will not be a slave like the others: and old Benedetta is an old fool and never goes against her. One of her pensioners was ill last night, that was why the monkey was out at such an hour. When I am at the Club there is nobody to put her to bed.”

“As if I was a little child to be put to bed! It was the dearest old woman, and she would see me. The priest had been sent for and the sacraments; could I refuse to go—now could I? And how was I to know men were so dreadful? But you see, papa, there are always the good angels about.”

“When I was young the angels were all feminine,” the Vice-Consul said, “and we called the ladies by these pretty names, not the ladies us.”

“Perhaps you never did so much for any girl. Oh, how frightened I was when that man took hold of my arm! and then to hear an English voice as if it were coming from the skies, ‘Let go that girl!’”

“How did the fellow understand, I wonder?” the Vice-Consul said.

“If I had not been so frightened I should have laughed. They did not understand a bit! It might just as well have been Greek; but if it had been Greek they would have understood,” cried Rita, putting her hands together with grateful enthusiasm. All this time Harry had never spoken a word; indeed, there had been no opening for him to speak.

“You must have thought me a big idiot to say anything at all,” he said.

“Oh! I thought you—— I won’t tell you what, or papa will say something disagreeable. It was so grand the English voice; and then their hands dropped as if I had been fire.”

“I should have broken every bone in their bodies,” cried Harry, with unnecessary fervour, “if I had known it was you they touched with their filthy fingers!” He did not know why he made this violent speech, which was far from elegant, and quite unsuitable to the refined and still atmosphere in which he so unexpectedly found himself. As for Rita she blushed a little, and laughed a little, in the soft green twilight, finding it not unnatural that he should have been doubly indignant at the idea that it was she who was in danger. She was accustomed to believe that anything disagreeable was doubly offensive when it happened to her, and that she was about the most important little person in the world. But she was one of the rare people whom such a knowledge does not spoil. It seemed to her quite simple—was not she her father’s only child, and only pleasure in life? She had been aware of this fact ever since she was born.

“Hush, hush!” said the Vice-Consul; “we must have nothing more about breaking bones: to knock down one fellow was quite enough. But I am very much obliged to you, Oliver. I can’t make a stranger of you after this. My little girl is all I have in the world, and whoever is good to her is good to me. If you are going to stay in Leghorn, I hope you’ll let me be of some use to you; but I don’t suppose that’s very likely. Meantime, Rita, don’t you think we had better go to lunch?”

What welcome words these were to Harry! He was excited and pleased by the adventure altogether; his head was a little turned by the enthusiasm of gratitude with which he was received, and the atmosphere around this young creature, who was a kind of mystic half revelation to him. He had not yet made out her face quite distinctly, and yet he was admitted to all the privileges of friendship: the strange sensation intoxicated him. But yet when her father spoke of lunch, all that went out of his head. Consider that he had eaten nothing but about half a yard of tasteless bread that day! and it was one o’clock. But Harry was not without manners; though the pangs of appetite made him faint, he got up politely and made a pretence at taking leave. Needless to say that the Vice-Consul was above taking advantage of his position, “No, no, no; we are going to keep you to luncheon,” he said, with a bonhomie which was irresistible. Harry thought him the most delightful person in the world, only a little less delightful than the other unknown being who made him feel tremulous and abashed, though so happy. The dining-room was lighted from the shady side of the courtyard, and there was accordingly light enough to see by. The meal was not a foreign breakfast, but an English luncheon of a substantial kind, and it is safe to say that Harry had never been so happy in his life as when he had taken off the first fierce edge of appetite, and had begun to be able to enjoy the novelty and yet the familiarity of this unexpected scene. Mr. Bonamy (which was the name of the Vice-Consul) without laying aside the dignity as of a benevolent prince which was so remarkable in him, showed all the condescension of a thoroughly amiable potentate; and Rita was—— Rita was something of which Harry had no previous conception. She was about sixteen—no more. Her face was the face of a child, but lighted up by two beautiful large eyes which she had got from her Italian mother. She knew, or seemed to know, everything her father knew, and was used to be talked to about all that happened. If it were not Joan putting in her word occasionally in a long discussion when her interference was seldom received but with either blame or contempt, Harry had never been accustomed to women who took any share in the conversation going on; and to hear this child talk bewildered him. She had a slight girlish figure, a small face almost without colour, the faint sweet flesh tints of which were thrown up in the most delicate distinctness by the white of her dress. She seemed all spirit, all life, a creature made of air and sunshine rather than flesh and blood to Harry. And about himself there was so much flesh and blood! He listened to the conversation rather than joined in it, feeling himself an admiring audience rather than a partaker in their talk. One thing only he felt moved to say, and that was about his own appetite, which he feared they would think preposterous. “I feel more like a wolf than a man,” he said. “I hope you won’t think I’m always like this. I never was abroad before, and I don’t know the ways. And I had no breakfast but some of their queer bread. This bread is delightful,” Harry said, with enthusiasm. The father and the daughter were delighted with him, appetite and all.

“I am so glad you never were abroad before,” said Rita; “now one sees exactly what England is like. Oh, yes, papa, you need not laugh. I see the English green, and the trees waving, and the winds blowing, all in Mr. Oliver’s face. And there is a little sound of the sea, and a shadow of hills—not big mountains, but nice, kind hills with sheep-bells tinkling——”

“We have not many sheep-bells, Miss Bonamy, in my country,” said Harry; “the hills are more grey than green, and there is a great deal of fog in the winter, and east wind, and rain——”

“Oh, don’t tell me about the bad things, tell me about what is pleasant,” said Rita. “The east wind is not so bad as the scirocco, and the rain is delightful. I know all about that. As for the fog, the painters say it is more picturesque than anything. They say there is always a soft delicious sort of haze, and you never see things sharp cut out against the sky as they look here.”

“Have you never been in England?” Harry said, with a little surprise; and then he saw that a shade, a sort of cloud, come over the lively table, and the two animated faces. Rita shook her head, and then began to talk quickly to him about the neighbourhood, and all he would have to see. Harry had protested to his humble friends that he wanted to see nothing but the shipping, but he did not repeat this sentiment here. He learned in a moment that to be fond of pictures was a necessity, and that there were certain things which every Englishman in Italy had come expressly to worship. Rita’s opinion “of course” convinced him in a moment. He never made the slightest stand against it. Henceforward he knew what was expected of him. When she went out of the room waving her fingers to him in sign of goodbye, Harry suddenly became quite grave, and felt all at once as if the light had gone out of the sky. And there was more than sentiment in this feeling; for now he found himself face to face with the Vice-Consul, and it was very evident that, so much having passed between them, something more would now have to be said. Mr. Bonamy offered the young man a cigar, and, lighting his own, leant back in his chair, and evidently awaited some further disclosures of his mind and purpose.

“You are thinking of staying in Leghorn,” he said.

“I am thinking,” said Harry, feeling his colour rise, “of trying to get employment, if I can; a situation of some kind.”

“Employment!” said the Vice-Consul. It was impossible to deny that he was disappointed. His voice had an accent which there was no mistaking. Harry had not much refinement or education, but he had an air which would have been perfectly consistent with the rank of a young squire, an English country gentleman of simple mind, and no great amount of culture, travelling for his pleasure, and perhaps with some vague idea of improvement. Mr. Bonamy, who had received him so cordially, and who had been pleased to be under an obligation to a young fellow of attractive appearance and pleasant manners, was more cast down by this intimation than might have been thought possible. Not a young squire: nobody in particular: a penniless youth seeking employment. Such visitors were not rare, but they seldom penetrated into the carefully-guarded interior of the Vice-Consul’s house.

Harry felt very much abashed. He was sensible of the downfall. How he longed to produce the glories of the Joscelyns, and convince his hearer that, if he was humble now, his family had once sat with princes! Perhaps Mr. Bonamy might not have been so impressed by these ancestors as Harry thought; but as it was they looked at each other blankly, mutually feeling that a great fall had taken place. Harry smiled in that rigid way which is popularly called smiling at the wrong side of the face.

“Yes,” he said, “employment. I don’t know that I am very good for anything: but I have some little acquaintance with—business.”

This was worse and worse. Had he been possessed of a knowledge of law business, or military drill, or anything likely to be of no real use to him, the situation might have improved. But business! book-keeping, and that sort of thing! no doubt he was a mere clerk after all.

“You have recommendations, I suppose, from your last employers,” Mr. Bonamy said, coldly. “I shall be glad if I can be of any use, but——”

“To tell the truth,” said Harry—he was seized with an outburst of frankness, feeling a kind of desperation seize him at sight of this cold withdrawal of the sudden friendship which had made him so happy for the moment—“to tell the truth I have no recommendations. If anyone will be kind to me they must take me at my own word. All I have got to say for myself is that I have quarrelled with my family. I cannot enter into the question now. I have done it, and that is all I can say; and here I am, and I must get employment. I am not going to push myself into your acquaintance, Sir. It was an accident, nothing more than an accident; and probably you thought me a person of more importance——”

“Importance or not has nothing to do with it,” said the Vice-Consul; and again his countenance softened. A young man who has quarrelled with his family is no doubt a person to be lectured and reproved, and brought back to a sense of duty, but all the same he is quite different from a commonplace clerk seeking a situation. Harry did not intend to throw any halo of distinction over his own humble person, but he did it unawares. Mr. Bonamy’s countenance gradually cleared. “My dear young fellow,” he said, “I daresay you are impulsive and hot-headed, like so many other young men. As being under obligations to you, I may allow myself to give you good advice. No advantage ever springs from family quarrels. My advice to you is, make it up.”

“Not for anything in the world,” said Harry, hotly. “I have been treated—I can’t say how I have been treated. I will neither make it up, nor will I go near them, or have any communication with them, till I am altogether independent of them, and have worked out a position for myself!”

“You must not be so violent,” said the Vice-Consul. “Come, come, let me act the part of a real friend. Let me write.”

“Never!” said Harry, getting up to his feet. “I am very sorry, Sir, to have troubled you with my affairs.”

“That is nonsense,” said Mr. Bonamy. “Sit down, sit down, and let us talk it over. You have been hot-headed, I don’t doubt. What is it now? tell me. Some foolish falling in love. You must want to marry somebody they don’t approve.”

Harry smiled in spite of himself. “I am no more in love than you are, Sir,” he said.

“That might be a dangerous affirmation,” said the Vice-Consul, shaking his head, with a smile which was somewhat melancholy; “but I understand what you mean. Then was it money? You have been foolish and got into debt?”

“It was a little about money; but not because I had got into debt—and that was the least of it,” Harry said. “You must pardon me, Sir; but indeed I cannot tell you: it is a complicated business; and I can’t depart from what I have said. I will never go home, never make it up till I have made my own fortune. But if you will believe me,” he said earnestly, with a flush of hot colour, “the fault was not mine. I have nothing to conceal on my side.”

“Then why conceal it?” said the Vice-Consul. “I cannot act for you unless I have full information; but if you will trust me with your story——”

“I would trust you sooner than anyone I know; but I have promised that I will never say a word on the subject,” said Harry, with all the obstinacy of all the Joscelyns in his face, “until—I am independent, as I have said.” He rose up a second time, all flushed and excited. “I am going to try my luck at Leghorn,” he said. “I am much obliged to you, Sir, for your kindness. I have felt myself again since I have been here; but now I will not trouble you any more.” He held out his hand. He was a handsome young fellow, tall and strong, with the sunburnt countenance and well-developed limbs, and curling, fair locks, which are everywhere identified with a young Englishman. He was not at all like a mere clerk in an office; he was like a son of the fields and woods, one of those whose training has been of the kind most prized and appreciated by all Englishmen—an open-air youth; a rider, rower, swimmer, cricketer—brought up in that way which involves leisure and space, and all the appliances of country-life. Mr. Bonamy saw all this in Harry’s vigorous form and movements. He felt sure that he could not be a nobody. And after all, except that of being a nobody, there is in youth no unpardonable sin.

“Don’t be in such a hurry. Sit down again, the office does not open for another half-hour: and let me hear what there is to be done for you,” he said.

This was a question more embarrassing than the Vice-Consul supposed, for after all there did not seem much that Harry could do. He confessed that he had almost forgotten what he knew at school, and he had never learned any modern languages, and could speak no tongue but his own. He had a little experience in business, he said; but this was the only knowledge he could lay claim to. The Vice-Counsel did not know what to make of him; but as he had started with the distinct hypothesis that Harry was a squire’s son, it was not very difficult to fit in the facts to his foregone conclusion. Many a young gentleman forgot all his school learning by the time he was twenty. The difficult thing was that knowledge of business which at first Harry had been strongly disposed to put forward as the only faculty which he knew himself to be possessed of. How had he acquired that? Mr. Bonamy ended by deciding that he must have quarrelled with his family some time before, and that his acquaintance with business had been the fruit of some attempt made in England to maintain himself before he came here. Thus, without any intention on Harry’s part, he managed to deceive his first influential friend. He neither meant to do it, nor was he aware he had done it; but still this was how things fell out. The conclusion of the interview was that Mr. Bonamy engaged Harry to come back to him next day, when he would have thought the whole matter over, and know what to say. They parted with great friendship and cordiality, Mr. Bonamy having entirely come round again to his own theory in respect to the young man who had been so serviceable to his daughter. Everything seemed to prove this, Harry’s very ignorance among the rest. “In these days every poor lad is more or less educated; a gentleman’s son, who has something else to look to than competitive examination, he is the only one that escapes that sort of thing,” the Vice-Consul wisely said. Harry, on his part, went off to his hotel with greatly exhilarated feelings. He had done nothing, he said to himself, but make friends since ever he came to Leghorn. To be sure in the light of the Vice-Consul’s friendship he felt that Paolo was (as he had always felt) somewhat beneath his pretensions. But still the poor fellow had been very kind. As he came out by the private door of the Consul’s house, he saw Paolo at a little distance waiting till the public door of the Consulate should be open. He saw Harry and rushed at him, beckoning violently.

“Komm ’ere, komm ’ere; this is the place,” he said. “Komm along, I will introduce you, I will respond for you; now is the time to find the Vice-Consul amiable. He is always amiable when he has well breakfasted.” He seized Harry by the arm, and tried to drag him back to the Consulate with an anxious desire to serve his friend which merited a better return. Harry shook himself free of the little man with good-natured impatience.

“I’ve just come from the Vice-Consul,” he said with dignity, “we’re the best of friends. I’ve been able to be of use to him, and he is going to be of use to me. Many thanks to you, Paolo, all the same; but I’ve been lunching there, and—and I’ve done my business. To-morrow I am to go again,” Harry said, unconsciously holding his head high. Paolo gazed at him with eyes and mouth that were like round O’s of wonder. He was much crestfallen in his honest endeavours to be of service. But he soon recovered his spirits.

“Bravo!” he said three times over, each time more satisfied than the other. Then he rose to a “Bravissimo,” with a smile that lighted up his olive face. “It would have made me pleasure to be of use to you, Ser Isaack mio. I would have responded, I would have taken it all upon me—what you call caution. But you are a true English, like the Vice-Consul himself, and it is just that you should understand each other. I am not disappointed—I am happy, very much happy that you have not any need of me,” little Paolo said, smiling, but with tears in his eyes.