He Knew He Was Right

Carry and Livy Spalding had met Mr. Glascock twice before the dinner at their uncle’s house, so that they met at dinner quite as intimate friends. Mrs. Spalding had very large rooms, up three flights of stairs, on the Lungarno. The height of her abode was attributed by Mrs. Spalding to her dread of mosquitoes. She had not yet learned that people in Florence require no excuse for being asked to walk up three flights of stairs. The rooms, when they were reached, were very lofty, floored with what seemed to be marble, and were of a nature almost to warrant Mrs. Spalding in feeling that nature had made her more akin to an Italian countess than to a matron of Nubbly Creek, State of Illinois, where Mr. Spalding had found her and made her his own. There was one other Englishman present, Mr. Harris Hyde Granville Gore, from the Foreign Office, now serving temporarily at the English Legation in Florence; and an American, Mr. Jackson Unthank, a man of wealth and taste, who was resolved on having such a collection of pictures at his house in Baltimore that no English private collection should in any way come near to it; and a Tuscan, from the Italian Foreign Office, to whom nobody could speak except Mr. Harris Hyde Granville Gore⁠—who did not indeed seem to enjoy the efforts of conversation which were expected of him. The Italian, who had a handle to his name⁠—he was a Count Buonarosci⁠—took Mrs. Spalding in to dinner. Mrs. Spalding had been at great trouble to ascertain whether this was proper, or whether she should not entrust herself to Mr. Glascock. There were different points to be considered in the matter. She did not quite know whether she was in Italy or in America. She had glimmerings on the subject of her privilege to carry her own nationality into her own drawing-room. And then she was called upon to deal between an Italian Count with an elder brother, and an English Honourable, who had no such incumbrance. Which of the two was possessed of the higher rank? “I’ve found it all out, Aunt Mary,” said Livy. “You must take the Count.” For Livy wanted to give her sister every chance. “How have you found it out?” said the aunt. “You may be sure it is so,” said Livy. And the lady in her doubt yielded the point. Mrs. Spalding, as she walked along the passage on the Count’s arm, determined that she would learn Italian. She would have given all Nubbly Creek to have been able to speak a word to Count Buonarosci. To do her justice, it must be admitted that she had studied a few words. But her courage failed her, and she could not speak them. She was very careful, however, that Mr. H. H. G. Gore was placed in the chair next to the Count.

“We are very glad to see you here,” said Mr. Spalding, addressing himself especially to Mr. Glascock, as he stood up at his own seat at the round table. “In leaving my own country, sir, there is nothing that I value more than the privilege of becoming acquainted with those whose historic names and existing positions are of such inestimable value to the world at large.” In saying this, Mr. Spalding was not in the least insincere, nor did his conscience at all prick him in reference to that speech at Nubbly Creek. On both occasions he half thought as he spoke⁠—or thought that he thought so. Unless it be on subjects especially endeared to us the thoughts of but few of us go much beyond this.

Mr. Glascock, who sat between Mrs. Spalding and her niece, was soon asked by the elder lady whether he had been in the States. No; he had not been in the States. “Then you must come, Mr. Glascock,” said Mrs. Spalding, “though I will not say, dwelling as we now are in the metropolis of the world of art, that we in our own homes have as much of the outer beauty of form to charm the stranger as is to be found in other lands. Yet I think that the busy lives of men, and the varied institutions of a free country, must always have an interest peculiarly their own.” Mr. Glascock declared that he quite agreed with her, and expressed a hope that he might some day find himself in New York.

“You wouldn’t like it at all,” said Carry; “because you are an aristocrat. I don’t mean that it would be your fault.”

“Why should that prevent my liking it⁠—even if I were an aristocrat?”

“One half of the people would run after you, and the other half would run away from you,” said Carry.

“Then I’d take to the people who ran after me, and would not regard the others.”

“That’s all very well⁠—but you wouldn’t like it. And then you would become unfair to what you saw. When some of our speechifying people talked to you about our institutions through their noses, you would think that the institutions themselves must be bad. And we have nothing to show except our institutions.”

“What are American institutions?” asked Mr. Glascock.

“Everything is an institution. Having iced water to drink in every room of the house is an institution. Having hospitals in every town is an institution. Travelling altogether in one class of railway cars is an institution. Saying sir, is an institution. Teaching all the children mathematics is an institution. Plenty of food is an institution. Getting drunk is an institution in a great many towns. Lecturing is an institution. There are plenty of them, and some are very good;⁠—but you wouldn’t like it.”

“At any rate, I’ll go and see,” said Mr. Glascock.

“If you do, I hope we may be at home,” said Miss Spalding.

Mr. Spalding, in the meantime, with the assistance of his countryman, the man of taste, was endeavouring to explain a certain point in American politics to the Count. As, in