It was impossible to hear the strain any longer without crying out, and
to give physical expression to her feelings she lifted the portrait to
her lips again and kissed and kissed it.
He smiled at her, she smiled back; the silence was hard to break, but
just as they were on the edge of the precipice the big shock-head of the
little boy looked in on them through the chink of the door and cried: "You needn't ask me to come in, 'cause I won't!"
By the blessed instinct of the motherhood latent in her, Roma understood
the boy in a moment. "If I were a gentleman, I would, though," she said.
"Would you?" said Joseph, and in he came, with a face shining all
over.
"Hurrah! A piano!" said Roma, leaping up and seating herself at the
instrument. "What shall I play for you, Joseph?"
Joseph was indifferent so long as it was a song, and with head aside,
Roma touched the keys and pretended to think. After a moment of sweet
duplicity she struck up the air she had come expressly to play.
It was the "British Grenadiers." She sang a verse of it. She sang in
English and with the broken pronunciation of a child-
"Some talk of Allisander, and some of Hergoles;
Of Hector and Eyesander, and such gate names as these..."
Suddenly she became aware that David Rossi was looking at her through
the glass on the mantel-piece, and to keep herself from crying she began
to laugh, and the song came to an end.
At the same moment the door burst open with a bang, and the dog came
bounding into the room. Behind it came Elena, who said:
"It was scratching at the staircase door, and I thought it must have
followed you."
"Followed Mr. Rossi, you mean. He has stolen my dog's heart away from
me," said Roma.
"That is what I say about my boy's," said Elena.
"But Joseph is going for a soldier, I see."
"It's a porter he wants to be."
"Then so he shall--he shall be my porter some day," said Roma, whereupon
Joseph was frantic with delight, and Elena was saying to herself, "What
wicked lies they tell of her--I wonder they are not ashamed!"
The fire was going down and the twilight was deepening.
"Shall I bring you the lamp, sir?" said Elena.
"Not for me," said Roma. "I am going immediately." But even when mother
and child had gone she did not go. Unconsciously they drew nearer and
nearer to each other in the gathering darkness, and as the daylight died
their voices softened and there were quiet questions and low replies.
The desire to speak out was struggling in the woman's heart with the
delight of silence. But she would reveal herself at last.