A Call To Arms Read Online Free Page A

whose face was suffused by a colour far from her usual, assured their host that they would be delighted to go to the signora’s. ‘For in truth, Mr Shelley, we have not been much in company these past months.’
    Hervey did not care for the idea of this conversazione , which sounded like nothing so much as the flummery of some ageing widow’s salon. Even the black humour which could descend on him of an evening might be preferable. But he could not deny his sister her diversion, even if he himself had no inclination for festive company.
    Signora Marianna Dionigi was no dilettante, however. Ageing she might be, but she was also a painter of some distinction, an antiquary of impressive learning, and therefore unlikely to be seduced by worthless flattery. She was tall, upright. Her face, to Hervey’s mind, was a little too farded, but her features were very fine. Her dress was distinctly Italian rather than French. Above all she had kind eyes. She took Elizabeth’s arm and introduced her to the room, first in French, then in English. Elizabeth’s shot silk was perhaps a little out of place among the dresses of the foreign ladies, but it did not matter greatly, for Hervey observed that she was as handsome in essentials as any in the room, and with expert assistance might outshine at least half of them.
    For a quarter of an hour before supper began, Shelley tried in vain to engage Hervey in conversation, to draw from him some response to a question of fact, or some opinion on this or that. Perhaps, he thought, it was that Hervey watched too keenly for his sister, or that the liveliness of the company made it difficult for him to be at ease. At any rate, Shelley saw enough not to persist,and, with the utmost politeness, left him to himself as they made for the dining room. There, Hervey was relieved to find a table from which the guests helped themselves, so that he was able to slip unnoticed into the library. He had no appetite, and he could pass an hour or so pleasurably there now Elizabeth was at her ease and engaged in conversation.
    But he was not long allowed his solitude, for Signora Dionigi was an attentive hostess, and she sought him out after a while. ‘May I bring you some wine, Mr Hervey?’ she asked, in French.
    Hervey had in his hand a book of engravings of Roman antiquities. ‘Oh, I beg your pardon, signora. I did not wish to appear—’
    The signora smiled the more. ‘Mr Hervey, we do not follow a formula at these gatherings. I had rather you took your pleasure in a book if it were not to be had elsewhere.’
    ‘You are very kind, signora. I am not averse to company as a rule, but …’
    ‘It is your business alone, Mr Hervey. We Romans are not nearly so constrained by obligation.’
    Now Hervey smiled, gratified by her discernment. ‘Thank you, signora. And yes, I should like a little wine, if I may.’
    The signora despatched her attendant. ‘Have you known Mr Shelley long?’ she asked, now in English.
    ‘We met only this morning, signora.’
    ‘But you admire his poetry.’
    He hesitated. ‘I am very much afraid that I have never read any of it.’
    ‘Would you like to?’
    He had expected a tone of surprise, of disapproval even. The signora was indeed the most considerate of hostesses, as well as attentive. ‘I would of course, madam.’ So obliging had been her reply that he could not have said otherwise.
    She took a small volume from the drawer of a writing desk. ‘Here, Mr Hervey. You will see what a great poet is our friend Mr Shelley. Do not hurry: he will repay proper study. Join us only if you feel inclined. That should be the way with conversazione .’
    Hervey bowed in appreciation. He truly felt disinclined to the gaiety of the room next door, and the signora had sensed it. And he did wish to read a little of Shelley’s poetry, for he had a mind that it might tell him something of the man. Their time togetherthat morning, although short, had endeared the poet to him to an