ARTHUR
95

My spare time was used to observe these objects, and listen to Miss Hetty's approach. A few minutes passed, and no one came. The reason for the delay is easy to imagine, and I asked for patience to wait. I opened the book; touched the instruments; observed the vases on the fireplace tree; the figures on the hangers, and the prints of Apollo and Sibyl, taken from Salvator, and hung on the chimney. I looked at my own form and clothes in the mirror, and asked how my rustic appearance would be considered by the haughty and voluptuous creatures I would show myself to be.

Right now the door latch is moved gently: it opens, and the fool, before it is explained, appears. She spoke, but her voice was very hesitant, and so close to the whisper, that much attention was needed to understand her words: Miss Hetty is not home; she is going to town with her employer .

This is a story that cannot be credited. How should I act? He still maintains the truth. " Then" I said at length, "let Miss Sally know that I want to talk to her. He will answer my purpose as well."

Miss Sally is not home either. He also went to town. They won't come back, he doesn't know when; not until night, he thought. It is so; none of them are not home; none except him and Nanny in the kitchen: indeed none.

"Go, tell Nanny to come here; I'll leave my message to her." He resigns, but Nanny does not accept the call, or think it is appropriate not to obey him. Everything is empty and silent.

My situation is single and critical. It makes no sense to extend it; but leaving home with my unexercised duties will debate ignorance and stupidity. To confirm the whereabouts of Clemenza in this house, and to get an interview, is still in my power. Do I not boast of my courage in bold denials and orders as they seek to impede my journey to this woman? But there are no barriers or prohibitions. Suppose the girl is telling the truth, that her mother and daughter are not around, and that Nanny and herself are the sole guards of the mansion. So it's better. My design will not be challenged. I just had to climb the stairs, and go from room to room until I found what I was looking for.

There are dangers, as well as reasonable, in this scheme. I thought it was better once again to extort information from the girl, and persuade her to be my guide to whoever was in the house. I put my hand to the bell and rang the clang quickly. No one's coming. I went through the entrance, to the foot of the stairs, and to the back window. No one is in hearing or sight.

Once again I reflect upon the honesty of my intention, on the possibility that the girl's statement may be true, on the merits of the expedition, and gain access to the object of my visit without interruption or delay. To this consideration is added a kind of charm, not easily explained, and utterly unjustified, which is produced by the courage and danger that accompanies this endeavor. I think, with scornful emotions, at the bars and obstacles raised by pride, and the mannerisms, and the misleading principles of decency, that appear in the way of human relations. I reject this semblance and substitute for honesty, and am happy to shake such shackles into the air and trample such obstacles into dust. I want to see a human being, to promote his happiness. It was doubtful whether he was within twenty steps of where I was standing. The doubt has to be solved. Hows it? By checking the space. I immediately proceeded to check it out. I reached the second story. I approached the closed door. I tap. After a pause, a soft voice said, "Who's there?"

It was consideration and foresight that brought me here, and not coincidence or sudden change. Therefore, instead of being confused or defeated by the objects I saw, I became calm and determined. My curiosity, however, made me a wary observer. Two women, arranged with voluptuous negligence, in a manner adapted to complete seclusion, and sitting with a careless attitude on a sofa, are now found

Both of them glanced towards the door. Someone, who seemed to be the youngest, not long after seeing me, she screamed, and, starting from her seat, betrayed the appearance she gave me in succession, to herself, and to the room, she said, whose equipment is no less than that. confusion than the apartment below, his awareness of the imperfections of this meeting.

The others also screamed, but inside him it seemed to be a sign of surprise rather than terror. There may be little in my aspect and attire to suggest an apology for this intrusion, arising from simplicity and error. However, he thought it appropriate to assume the attitude of someone who was offended, and, with a sharp gaze, "What now, comrade," he said, "what is this? Why did you come here?"

This questioner is an adult, but has not gone through a time of fascination and elegance. All the beauty that nature has bestowed is preserved, but the portion is never large. What she had was so modeled and decorated with such a carriage and clothing as to give her the most power over the senses of the observer. However, proportionally, as intended and adapted to lure those who know nothing but physical pleasure, it qualifies to cultivate dislike and aversion in me.

I make sense how many mistakes might lurk in this decision. I have brought the belief that they are not holy; and caught, perhaps with too much zeal, any appearance that conforms to my prejudices. Yet the younger one does not inspire the same disgust at all; though I have no reason to consider it more blameless than the older one. His politeness seemed unaffected, and completely dissatisfied, like the attitude of the elder, by defeating his curiosity in the future. The realization of what had been revealed left him perplexed, and he would fly away, if his friend did not hold him back by a certain force. "What's sick that girl? There's nothing to be afraid of. Fellow!" he repeated, "what brought you here?"

I went ahead and stood in front of them. I look firmly, but, I believe, without insult or anger, in the person who speaks to me. I spoke in a serious and firm tone. "I came to talk to a woman who previously lived in this house, and may still be living here. Her name is Clemenza Lodi. If he's here, I'm asking you to drop me off immediately to him."

thought I felt some nervousness, a less haughty and more curious atmosphere, in this woman, upon hearing the name of Clementa . It was momentary, and gave way to the obligatory gaze. "What is your business with him? And why did you adopt this mode of inquiry? What an incredible distraction! Good enough to leave the room. Any questions worth answering will be answered below."