Such
a treat to talk Italian with a Roman--lingua Toscana in bocca
Romana--and what a wonderful evening it was. Poor Mrs Colonel
recollected very little of this, but Lucia had long been aware that
her memory was going sadly. After producing Lucretia in New York,
Olga had appeared in some of her old roles, notably in the part of
Brunnhilde, and Lucia was very reminiscent of that charming party of
Christmas Day at dear Georgino's, when they had the tableaux. Dear Olga
was so simple and unspoiled: she had come to Lucia afterwards, and asked
her to tell her how she had worked out her scheme of gestures in the
awakening, and Lucia had been very glad, very glad indeed to give her
a few hints. In fact, Lucia was quite herself: it was only her subjects
whom it had been a little hard to stir up. Georgie in particular had
been very listless and dull, and Lucia, for all her ingenuity, was at a
complete loss to find a reason for it.
But today the warm inflowing tide of spring seemed to renovate the
muddy flats, setting the weeds, that had lain dank and dispirited,
a-floating again on the return of the water. No one could quite resist
the magic of the season, and Georgie, who had intended out of mere
politeness to go to see the earliest of Perdita's stupid flowers
(having been warned of its epiphany by telephone from The Hurst) found,
when he set foot outside his house on that warm windy morning, that it
would be interesting to stroll across the green first, and see if there
was any news.
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