They shook each other
warmly by both hands. Philip was to come again next year,
and to write beforehand. He was to be introduced to Gino's
wife, for he was told of the marriage now. He was to be
godfather to his next baby. As for Gino, he would remember
some time that Philip liked vermouth. He begged him to give
his love to Irma. Mrs. Herriton--should he send her his
sympathetic regards? No; perhaps that would hardly do.
So the two young men parted with a good deal of genuine
affection. For the barrier of language is sometimes a
blessed barrier, which only lets pass what is good. Or--to
put the thing less cynically--we may be better in new clean
words, which have never been tainted by our pettiness or
vice. Philip, at all events, lived more graciously in
Italian, the very phrases of which entice one to be happy
and kind. It was horrible to think of the English of
Harriet, whose every word would be as hard, as distinct, and
as unfinished as a lump of coal.
Harriet, however, talked little. She had seen enough to
know that her brother had failed again, and with unwonted
dignity she accepted the situation. She did her packing,
she wrote up her diary, she made a brown paper cover for the
new Baedeker. Philip, finding her so amenable, tried to
discuss their future plans. But she only said that they
would sleep in Florence, and told him to telegraph for
rooms. They had supper alone. Miss Abbott did not come
down. The landlady told them that Signor Carella had called
on Miss Abbott to say good-bye, but she, though in, had not
been able to see him.
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