"As for D. R., my barometer is 'set fair,' but it is likely to be
a stormier time than I expected. Last night I decked myself in my
best bib and tucker, and, in defiance of all precedent, went down
to his apartment. But the strange thing was that, whereas I had
gone to find out all about him, I hadn't been ten minutes in his
company before he told all about me--about my father, at all
events, and his life in London. I believe he knew me in that
connection and expected to appeal to my filial feelings. Did too,
so strong is the force of nature, and then and thereafter, and all
night long, I was like somebody who had been shaken in an
earthquake and wanted to cry out and confess. It was not until I
remembered what my father had been--or rather hadn't--and that he
was no more to me than a name, representing exposure to the
cruellest fate a girl ever passed through, that I recovered from
the shock of D. R.'s dynamite.
"He has promised to sit to me for his bust, and is to come this
morning!--Affectionately, ROMA.
"P. S.--My gentleman has good features, fine eyes, and a wonderful
voice, and though I truly believe he trembles at the sight of a
woman and has never been in love in his life, he has an
astonishing way of getting at one. But I could laugh to think how
little execution his fusillade will make in this direction."
"Honourable Rossi!" said Felice's sepulchral voice behind her, and at
that moment David Rossi stepped into the studio.
II
In spite of her protestations, Roma was nervous and confused. Putting
David Rossi to sit in the arm-chair on the platform for sitters, she
rattled on about everything--her clay, her tools, her sponge, and the
water they had forgotten to change for her. He must not mind if she
stared at him--that wasn't nice, but it was necessary--and he must
promise not to look at her work while it was unfinished--children and
fools, you know--the proverb was musty.
And while she talked she told herself that Thomas was the apostle he
must stand for. These anarchists were all doubters, and the chief of
doubters was the figure that would represent them.
David Rossi did not speak much at first, and he did not join in Roma's
nervous laughter. Sometimes he looked at her with a steadfast gaze,
which would have been disconcerting if it had not been so simple and
childlike. At length he looked out of the window to where the city lay
basking in the sunshine, and birds were swirling in the clear blue sky,
and began to talk of serious subjects.