Читать книгу Patriotic Lady - Bowen Marjorie - Страница 24

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Emma felt a little forlorn, frightened and homesick, when she first arrived at Naples, and she wrote by the first post to Mr. Greville, urging him to redeem his promise and come out to her as soon as possible. It was all very splendid in the Palazzo Sessa—but what could compare with the delights of love—"not fine horses, nor a fine coach, nor a pack of servants."

Sir William was much more than kind—"he loves me, Greville...but he can never be my lover."

She related to the absent Charles in much detail all the attentions shown her by one whom she wished to regard merely as a kind sincere friend, she ran over all the novelties of her position, she expressed herself with an emphasis learned from the theatrical attitudes, the dramatic singing, the false tone of the time, but which was touched by a sincere emotion; it was not agreeable for the healthy young woman to have exchanged the attentions of the young beau for those of the old rake. Death, poverty, hunger, would Emma face to return to her dear Charles, she would walk "bare foot to Scotland" where perhaps he was listening to Professor Black's lectures on chemistry—"if my fatal ruin depends on seeing you and I will and must (see you) in the end of the summer."

Then she scribbled on about Sir William's infatuation, his gifts, his love for dear Charles to whom he had left everything in his will, the success of her English gowns—"but the blue hat, Greville, pleases most."

Did Greville need money, well, Sir William might send some, "the tears came into his eyes and he loves us boath dearly." But her hope, her happiness was all with Greville and, after she had poured out her rigmarole, she added the postscript:

"Pray, for God's sake, wright to me and come to me, for Sir William shall not be anything to me but your friend."