see why he need have looked at it in
that light. However, it was broken off, and we left Florence--more for
poor Gigi's sake than for Genevieve's, I must say. He was quite
heart-broken; I pitied him."
Her voice had a tender fall in the closing words, and Westover could
fancy how sweet she would make her compassion to the young man. She began
several sentences aimlessly, and he suggested, to supply the broken
thread of her discourse rather than to offer consolation, while her eyes
seemed to wander with her mind, and ranged the avenue up and down: "Those
foreign marriages are not always successful."
"No, they are not," she assented. "But don't you think they're better
with Italians than with Germans, for instance."
"I don't suppose the Italians expect their wives to black their boots,
but I've heard that they beat them, sometimes."
"In exaggerated cases, perhaps they do," Mrs. Vostrand admitted. "And, of
course," she added, thoughtfully, "there is nothing like a purely
American marriage for happiness."
Westover wondered how she really regarded her own marriage, but she never
betrayed any consciousness of its variance from the type.
XIX.
A young couple came strolling down the avenue who to Westover's artistic
eye first typified grace and strength, and then to his more personal
perception identified themselves as Genevieve Vostrand and Jeff Durgin.
They faltered before one of the benches beside the mall, and he seemed to
be begging her to sit down. She cast her eyes round till they must have
caught the window of her mother's apartment; then, as if she felt safe
under it, she sank into the seat and Jeff put himself beside her. It was
quite too early yet for the simple lovers who publicly notify their
happiness by the embraces and hand-clasps everywhere evident in our parks
and gardens; and a Boston pair of social tradition would not have dreamed
of sitting on a bench in Commonwealth Avenue at any hour. But two such
aliens as Jeff and Miss Vostrand might very well do so; and Westover
sympathized with their bohemian impulse.
Mrs. Vostrand and he watched them awhile, in talk that straggled away
from them, and became more and more distraught in view of them. Jeff
leaned forward, and drew on the ground with the point of his stick;
Genevieve held her head motionless at a pensive droop. It was only their
backs that Westover could see, and he could not, of course, make out a
syllable of what was effectively
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