tom tringle, though he had first appeared to his cousin ayala as a newfoundland dog which might perhaps be pleasantly playful, and then, as the same dog, very unpleasant because dripping with muddy water, was nevertheless a young man with so much manly truth about him as to be very much in love. he did not look like it; but then perhaps the young men who do fall most absolutely into love do not look like it. to ayala her cousin tom was as unloveable as mr septimus traffick. she could like them both well enough while they would be kind to her. but as to regarding cousin tom as a lover — the idea was so preposterous to her that she could not imagine that anyone else should look upon it as real. but with tom the idea had been real, and was, moreover, permanent. the black locks which would be shaken here and there, the bright glancing eyes which could be so joyous and could be so indignant, the colour of her face which had nothing in it of pink, which was brown rather, but over which the tell-tale blood would rush with a quickness which was marvellous to him, the lithe quick figure which had in it nothing of the weight of earth, the little foot which in itself was a perfect joy, the step with all the elasticity of a fawn — these charms together had mastered him. tom was not romantic or poetic, but the romance and poetry of ayala had been divine to him. it is not always like to like in love. titania loved the weaver bottom with the ass’s head. bluebeard, though a bad husband, is supposed to have been fond of his last wife. the beauty has always been beloved by the beast. to ayala the thing was monstrous: but it was natural. tom tringle was determined to have his way, and when he started for rome was more intent upon his love-making than all the glories of the capitol and the vatican.

when he first made his appearance before ayala’s eyes he was bedecked in a manner that was awful to her. down at glenbogie he had affected a rough attire, as is the custom with young men of ample means when fishing, shooting, or the like, is supposed to be the employment then in hand. the roughness had been a little overdone, but it had added nothing to his own uncouthness. in london he was apt to run a little towards ornamental gilding, but in london his tastes had been tempered by the ill-natured criticism of the world at large. he had hardly dared at queen’s gate to wear his biggest pins; but he had taken upon himself to think that at rome an englishman might expose himself with all his jewelry. “oh, tom, i never saw anything so stunning,” his sister gertrude said to him. he had simply frowned upon her, and had turned himself to ayala, as though ayala, being an artist, would be able to appreciate something beautiful in art. ayala had looked at him and had marvelled, and had ventured to hope that, with his glenbogie dress, his glenbogie manners and glenbogie propensities would be changed.

at this time the family at rome was very uncomfortable. augusta would not speak to her cousin, and had declared to her mother and sister her determination never to speak to ayala again. for a time aunt emmeline had almost taken her niece’s part, feeling that she might, best bring things back to a condition of peace in this manner. ayala, she had thought, might thus be decoyed into a state of submission. ayala, so instigated, had made her attempt. “what is the matter, augusta,” she had said, “that you are determined to quarrel with me?” then had followed a little offer that bygones should be bygones.

“i have quarrelled with you”, said augusta, because you do not know how to behave yourself.” then ayala had flashed forth, and the little attempt led to a worse condition than ever, and words were spoken which even aunt emmeline had felt to be irrevocable, irremediable.

“only that you are going away i would not consent to live here.” said ayala. then aunt emmeline had asked her where she would go to live should it please her to remove herself. ayala had thought of this for a moment, and then had burst into tears. “if i could not live i could die. anything would be better than to be treated as she treats me.” so the matters were when tom came to rome with all his jewelry.

lady tringle had already told herself that, in choosing ayala, she had chosen wrong. lucy, though not so attractive as ayala, was pretty, quiet, and ladylike. so she thought now. and as to ayala’s attractions, they were not at all of a nature to be serviceable to such a family as hers. to have her own girls outshone, to be made to feel that the poor orphan was the one person most worthy of note among them, to be subjected to the caprices of a pretty, proud, ill-conditioned minx — thus it was that aunt emmeline was taught to regard her own charity and good-nature towards her niece. there was, she said, no gratitude in ayala. had she said that there was no humility she would have been more nearly right. she was entitled, she thought, to expect both gratitude and humility, and she was sorry that she had opened the paradise of her opulent home to one so little grateful and so little humble as ayala. she saw now her want of judgment in that she had not taken lucy.

tom, who was not a fool, in spite of his trinkets, saw the state of the case, and took ayala’s part at once. “i think you are quite right,“he said to her, on the first occasion on which he had contrived to find himself alone with her after his arrival.

“right about what?”

“in not giving up to augusta. she was always like that when she was a child, and now her head is turned about traffick.”

“i shouldn’t grudge her her lover if she would only let me alone.”

“i don’t suppose she hurts you much?”

“she sets my aunt against me, and that makes me unhappy. of course i am wretched.”

“oh, ayala, don’t be wretched.”

“how is one to help it? i never said an ill-natured word to her, and now i am so lonely among them!” in saying this — in seeking to get one word of sympathy from her cousin, she forgot for a moment his disagreeable pretensions. but, no sooner had she spoken of her loneliness, than she saw that ogle in his eye of which she had spoken with so much ludicrous awe in her letters from glenbogie to her sister.

“i shall always take your part,” said he.

“i don’t want any taking of parts.”

“but i shall. i am not going to see you put upon. you are more to me, ayala, than any of them.” then he looked at her, whereupon she got up and ran away.

but she could not always run away, nor could she always refuse when he asked her to go with him about the show-places of the city. to avoid starting alone with him was within her power; but she found herself compelled to join herself to gertrude and her brother in some of those little excursions which were taken for her benefit. at this time there had come to be a direct quarrel between lady tringle and the marchesa, which, however, had arisen altogether on the part of augusta. augusta had forced her mother to declare that she was insulted, and then there was no more visiting between them. this had been sad enough for ayala, who had struck up an intimacy with the marchesa’s daughters. but the marchesa had explained to her that there was no help for it. “it won’t do for you to separate yourself from your aunt,” she had said. “of course we shall be friends, and at some future time you shall come and see us.” so there had been a division, and ayala would have been quite alone had she declined the proffered companionship of gertrude.

within the walls and arches and upraised terraces of the coliseum they were joined one day by young hamel, the sculptor, who had not, as yet, gone back to london — and had not, as yet, met lucy in the gardens at kensington; and with him there had been one frank houston, who had made acquaintance with lady tringle, and with the tringles generally, since they had been at rome. frank houston was a young man of family, with a taste for art, very good-looking, but not specially well off in regard to income. he had heard of the good fortune of septimus traffick in having prepared for himself a connection with so wealthy a family as the tringles, and had thought it possible that a settlement in life might be comfortable for himself. what few softwords he had hitherto been able to say to gertrude had been taken in good part, and when, therefore, they met among the walls of the coliseum, she had naturally straggled away to see some special wonder which he had a special aptitude for showing. hamel remained with ayala and tom, talking of the old days at the bijou, till he found himself obliged to leave them. then tom had his opportunity.

“ayala,” he said, all this must be altered.

“what must be altered?”

“if you only knew, ayala, how much you are to me.”

“i wish you wouldn’t, tom. i don’t want to be anything to anybody in particular.”

“what i mean is, that i won’t have them sit upon you. they treat you as — as — well, as though you had only half a right to be one of them.”

“no more i have. i have no right at all.”

“but that’s not the way i want it to be. if you were my wife — ”

“tom, pray don’t.”

“why not? i’m in earnest. why ain’t i to speak as i think? oh, ayala, if you knew how much i think of you.”

“but you shouldn’t. you haven’t got a right.”

“i have got a right.”

“but i don’t want it, tom, and i won’t have it.” he had carried her away now to the end of the terrace, or ruined tier of seats, on which they were walking, and had got her so hemmed into a corner that she could not get away from him. she was afraid of him, lest he should put out his hand to take hold of her — lest something even more might be attempted. and yet his manner was manly and sincere, and had it not been for his pins and his chains she could not but have acknowledged his goodness to her, much as she might have disliked his person. “i want to get out,” she said. i won’t stay here any more. mr traffick, on the top of st peter’s, had been a much pleasanter companion.

“don’t you believe me when i tell you that i love you better than anybody?” pleaded tom.

“no.”

“not believe me? oh, ayala!”

“i don’t want to believe anything. i want to get out. if you go on, i’ll tell my aunt.”

tell her aunt! there was a want of personal consideration to himself in this way of receiving his addresses which almost angered him. tom tringle was not in the least afraid of his mother — was not even afraid of his father as long as he was fairly regular at the office in lombard street. he was quite determined to please himself in marriage, and was disposed to think that his father and mother would like him to be settled. money was no object. there was, to his thinking, no good reason why he should not marry his cousin. for her the match was so excellent that he hardly expected she would reject him when she could be made to understand that he was really in earnest. “you may tell all the world,” lie said proudly. “all i want is that you should love me.”

“but i don’t. there are gertrude and mr houston, and i want to go to them.”

“say one nice word to me, ayala.”

“i don’t know how to say a nice word. can’t you be made to understand that i don’t like it?”

“ayala.”

“why don’t you let me go away?”

“ayala — give me — one — kiss.” then ayala did go away, escaping by some kid-like manoeuvre among the ruins, and running quickly, while he followed her, joined herself to the other pair of lovers, who probably were less in want of her society than she of theirs. “ayala, i am quite in earnest,” said tom, as they were walking home, “and i mean to go on with it.”

ayala thought that there was nothing for it but to tell her aunt. that there would be some absurdity in such a proceeding she did feel — that she would be acting as though her cousin were a naughty boy who was merely teasing her. but she felt also the peculiar danger of her own position. her aunt must be made to understand that she, ayala, was innocent in the matter. it would be terrible to her to be suspected even for a moment of a desire to inveigle the heir. that augusta would bring such an accusation against her she thought probable. augusta had said as much even at glenbogie. she must therefore be on the alert, and let it be understood at once that she was not leagued with her cousin tom. there would be an absurdity — but that would be better than suspicion.

she thought about it all that afternoon, and in the evening she came to a resolution. she would write a letter to her cousin and persuade him if possible to desist. if he should again annoy her after that she would appeal to her aunt. then she wrote and sent her letter, which was as follows —

dear tom,

you don’t know how unhappy you made me at the coliseum today. i don’t think you ought to turn against me when you know what i have to bear. it is turning against me to talk as you did. of course it means nothing; but you shouldn’t do it. it never never could mean anything. i hope you will be good-natured and kind to me, and then i shall be so much obliged to you. if you won’t say anything more like that i will forget it altogether.

your affectionate cousin,

ayala

the letter ought to have convinced him. those two underscored nevers should have eradicated from his mind the feeling which had been previously produced by the assertion that he had “meant nothing”. but he was so assured in his own meanings that he paid no attention whatever to the nevers. the letter was a delight to him because it gave him the opportunity of a rejoinder — and he wrote his rejoinder on a scented sheet of notepaper and copied it twice —

dearest ayala ,

why do you say that it means nothing? it means everything. no man was ever more in earnest in speaking to a lady than i am with you. why should i not be in earnest when i am so deeply in love? from the first moment in which i saw you down at glenbogie i knew how it was going to be with me.

as for my mother i don’t think she would say a word. why should she? but i am not the sort of man to be talked out of my intentions in such a matter as this. i have set my heart upon having you and nothing will ever turn me off.

dearest ayala, let me have one look to say that you will love me, and i shall be the happiest man in england. i think you so beautiful! i do, indeed. the governor has always said that if i would settle down and marry there should be lots of money. what could i do better with it than make my darling look as grand as the best of them?

yours, always meaning it, most affectionately,

t. tringle

it almost touched her — not in the way of love but of gratitude. he was still to her like bottom with the ass’s head, or the newfoundland dog gambolling out of the water. there was the heavy face, and there were the big chains and the odious rings, and the great hands and the clumsy feet — making together a creature whom it was impossible even to think of with love. she shuddered as she remembered the proposition which had been made to her in the coliseum.

and now by writing to him she had brought down upon herself this absolute love-letter. she had thought that by appealing to him as “dear tom,” and by signing herself his affectionate cousin, she might have prevailed. if he could only be made to understand that it could never mean anything! but now, on the other hand, she had begun to understand that it did mean a great deal. he had sent to her a regular offer of marriage! the magnitude of the thing struck her at last. the heir of all the wealth of her mighty uncle wanted to make her his wife!

but it was to her exactly as though the heir had come to her wearing an ass’s head on his shoulders. love him! marry him! or even touch him? oh, no. they might ill-use her; they might scold her,; they might turn her out of the house; but no consideration would induce her to think of tom tringle as a lover.

and yet he was in earnest, and honest, and good. and some answer — some further communication must be made to him. she did recognise some nobility in him, though personally he was so distasteful to her. now his appeal to her had taken the guise of an absolute offer of marriage he was entitled to a discreet and civil answer. romantic, dreamy, poetic, childish as she was, she knew as much as that. “go away, tom, you fool, you,” would no longer do for the occasion. as she thought of it all that night it was borne in upon her more strongly than ever that her only protection would be in telling her aunt, and in getting her aunt to make tom understand that there must be no more of it. early on the following morning she found herself in her aunt’s bedroom.