Wilfrid was awed by his blessedness. There were times when he scarcely
dared to take in his own that fine-moulded hand which was the symbol of
life made perfect; Emily uttered thoughts which made him fear to profane
her purity by his touch. She realised to the uttermost his ideal of
womanhood, none the less so that it seemed no child would be born of her
to trouble the exclusiveness of their love. He clad her in queenly
garments and did homage at her feet. Her beauty was all for him, for
though Emily could grace any scene she found no pleasure in society, and
the hours of absence from home were to Wilfrid full of anxiety to
return. All their plans were for solitude; life was too short for more
than the inevitable concessions to the outside world.
But one morning in February, Emily's eye fell upon an announcement in
the newspaper which excited in her a wish to go up to town. Among the
list of singers at a concert to be given that day she had caught the
name of Miss Beatrice Redwing. It was Saturday; Wilfrid had no occasion
for leaving home and already they had enjoyed in advance the two
unbroken days.
'But I should indeed like to hear her,' Emily said, 'and she seems to
sing so rarely.'
'She has only just returned to England,' Wilfrid remarked
They had heard of Beatrice having been in Florence a week or two prior
to their own stay there. She was travelling with the Baxendales. Emily
was anxious to meet her, and Wilfrid had held out a hope that this might
come about in Italy, but circumstances had proved adverse.
'Have you seen her?' Emily inquired.
Her husband had not. He seemed at first a little disinclined to go up
for the concert, but on Emily's becoming silent he hastened to give a
cheerful acquiescence.
'Couldn't we see her to-morrow?' she went on to ask.
'No doubt we can. It's only the facing of my aunt's drawing-room on a
Sunday afternoon.'
'O, surely that is needless, Wilfrid? Couldn't we go and see her
quietly? She would be at home in the morning, I should think.'
'I should think so. We'll make inquiries to-night.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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