practically nothing but tea and toast and consommé, pressing against her stays. While dressing for dinner tonight, she’d had to let the dress out and pin it up with dressmaker’s pins until she could get back to her dressmaker in the city to have it altered. And yet, Corinth Blackwell, who has eaten everything on her plate and is even now buttering a second roll, is slim. She eats, Mrs. Ramsdale, observes, like someone who has known hunger.
“What do you think of our new arrival?” Latham asks, leaning over to whisper softly in Mrs. Ramsdale’s ear.
“She seems to be entertaining Aurora,” Mrs. Ramsdale says, grateful for her host’s attention if not for his choice of subject matter. Milo Latham hasn’t been able to take his eyes off Miss Blackwell any more than Tom has, but then, she reasons, he’s gone to considerable expense to have her brought here at his wife’s request. And even the rich, as Mrs. Ramsdale has learned, want to be sure they’ve gotten their money’s worth. Often enough that’s how they’ve acquired their money in the first place.
“I wasn’t in favor, you know, of satisfying this whim of Aurora’s,” he says, “but you know how determined she can be.”
“She has a strong will,” Mrs. Ramsdale says. “She never would have survived these last few years if she didn’t. Of course, you’ve had to suffer as much . . .”
“Yes, but I have my work. There’s nothing like a river full of logs to keep a man’s mind busy, and then the gentlemen in the legislature have contrived to keep me lively . . .”
“You mean the new bill to protect the forests?” Mrs. Ramsdale asks, glad she’s kept up with the news. “Will that affect your lumber business?”
Latham shrugs. “Not seriously. And that’s if it passes at all. There’s plenty of opposition.”
Giacomo Lantini, overhearing this last remark, tears his eyes away from Corinth Blackwell and addresses his host in his faltering English. “But isn’t it true that the cutting down of the trees is—how do you say?—making the springs to run dry? And if the springs and the streams that feed your great American rivers and canals dry up, then how will the ships carry their goods across such a huge country? From where will come the water to feed your great cities? Our ancestors, the Romans, understood the power of water.”
“Signore Lantini is descended from a long line of fountain makers,” Aurora says, bestowing a proud look in the little man’s direction. “ Fontanieri. He has designed our marvelous fountains for us and routed the springs to feed them. Only this summer the pressure has been so low that he’s had to build a new pump to draw water from the springs at the bottom of the hill up to the top. There’s barely enough water to keep the fountains going.”
“Leave it to my wife to place her gardening plans above the demands of commerce and urban hygiene,” Milo Latham says, smiling indulgently at Aurora at the other end of the long table.
“We should be grateful,” Frank Campbell, the portraitist, says, speaking up for the first time this evening, “for Mrs. Latham’s devotion to art and beauty. I know I am.” He lifts his glass to his hostess, and the other guests follow suit. “Here’s to our Muse of Water!”
“Easy for him to say,” Milo Latham murmurs in a low whisper into Mrs. Ramsdale’s ear as she touches her lips to the brim of her glass without drinking. “He doesn’t pay the bill for Aurora’s devotion.”
Corinth, on the other side of the table, overhears the remark. She has long ceased paying attention to Signore Lantini’s lecture on gardening. She has found it difficult to concentrate on anything with Tom sitting next to her, but the exact nature of the Lathams’ marriage is of moment to her, as her success here depends on pleasing them both. She wishes Tom were as concerned with his employer’s feelings. Mrs. Ramsdale is clearly jealous of her amanuensis’s attention to
“What do you think of our new arrival?” Latham asks, leaning over to whisper softly in Mrs. Ramsdale’s ear.
“She seems to be entertaining Aurora,” Mrs. Ramsdale says, grateful for her host’s attention if not for his choice of subject matter. Milo Latham hasn’t been able to take his eyes off Miss Blackwell any more than Tom has, but then, she reasons, he’s gone to considerable expense to have her brought here at his wife’s request. And even the rich, as Mrs. Ramsdale has learned, want to be sure they’ve gotten their money’s worth. Often enough that’s how they’ve acquired their money in the first place.
“I wasn’t in favor, you know, of satisfying this whim of Aurora’s,” he says, “but you know how determined she can be.”
“She has a strong will,” Mrs. Ramsdale says. “She never would have survived these last few years if she didn’t. Of course, you’ve had to suffer as much . . .”
“Yes, but I have my work. There’s nothing like a river full of logs to keep a man’s mind busy, and then the gentlemen in the legislature have contrived to keep me lively . . .”
“You mean the new bill to protect the forests?” Mrs. Ramsdale asks, glad she’s kept up with the news. “Will that affect your lumber business?”
Latham shrugs. “Not seriously. And that’s if it passes at all. There’s plenty of opposition.”
Giacomo Lantini, overhearing this last remark, tears his eyes away from Corinth Blackwell and addresses his host in his faltering English. “But isn’t it true that the cutting down of the trees is—how do you say?—making the springs to run dry? And if the springs and the streams that feed your great American rivers and canals dry up, then how will the ships carry their goods across such a huge country? From where will come the water to feed your great cities? Our ancestors, the Romans, understood the power of water.”
“Signore Lantini is descended from a long line of fountain makers,” Aurora says, bestowing a proud look in the little man’s direction. “ Fontanieri. He has designed our marvelous fountains for us and routed the springs to feed them. Only this summer the pressure has been so low that he’s had to build a new pump to draw water from the springs at the bottom of the hill up to the top. There’s barely enough water to keep the fountains going.”
“Leave it to my wife to place her gardening plans above the demands of commerce and urban hygiene,” Milo Latham says, smiling indulgently at Aurora at the other end of the long table.
“We should be grateful,” Frank Campbell, the portraitist, says, speaking up for the first time this evening, “for Mrs. Latham’s devotion to art and beauty. I know I am.” He lifts his glass to his hostess, and the other guests follow suit. “Here’s to our Muse of Water!”
“Easy for him to say,” Milo Latham murmurs in a low whisper into Mrs. Ramsdale’s ear as she touches her lips to the brim of her glass without drinking. “He doesn’t pay the bill for Aurora’s devotion.”
Corinth, on the other side of the table, overhears the remark. She has long ceased paying attention to Signore Lantini’s lecture on gardening. She has found it difficult to concentrate on anything with Tom sitting next to her, but the exact nature of the Lathams’ marriage is of moment to her, as her success here depends on pleasing them both. She wishes Tom were as concerned with his employer’s feelings. Mrs. Ramsdale is clearly jealous of her amanuensis’s attention to
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