 was more bracing. But for her daughters' sake
she abode here: »You know, my girls adore Italy.«
    Of these young ladies, the two elder - Barbara and Madeline were their
seductive names - had good looks. Barbara, perhaps twenty-two years old, was
rather colourless, somewhat too slim, altogether a trifle limp; but she had a
commendable taste in dress. Madeline, a couple of years younger, presented a
more healthy physique and a less common comeliness, but in the matter of costume
she lacked her sister's discretion. Her colours were ill-matched, her ornaments
awkwardly worn; even her hair sought more freedom than was consistent with
grace. The youngest girl, Zillah, who was about nineteen, had been less kindly
dealt with by nature; like Barbara, she was of very light complexion, and this
accentuated her plainness. She aimed at no compensation in attire, unless it
were that her sober garments exhibited perfect neatness and complete
inoffensiveness. Zillah's was a good face, in spite of its unattractive
features; she had a peculiarly earnest look, a reflective manner, and much
conscientiousness of speech.
    Common to the three was a resolve to be modern, advanced, and emancipated,
or perish in the attempt. Every one who spoke with them must understand that
they were no everyday young ladies, imbued with notions and prejudices
recognized as feminine, frittering away their lives amid the follies of the
drawing-room and of the circulating library. Culture was their pursuit,
heterodoxy their pride. If indeed it were true, as Mrs. Bradshaw somewhat
acrimoniously declared, that they were all desperately bent on capturing
husbands, then assuredly the poor girls went about their enterprise with
singular lack of prudence.
    Each had her rôle. Barbara's was to pose as the adorer of Italy, the
enthusiastic glorifier of Italian unity. She spoke Italian feebly, but, with
English people, never lost an opportunity of babbling its phrases. Speak to her
of Rome, and before long she was sure to murmur rapturously, »Roma capitale
d'Italia!« - the watch-word of antipapal victory. Of English writers she loved,
or affected to love, those only who had found inspiration south of the Alps. The
proud mother repeated a story of Barbara's going up to the wall of Casa Guidi
and kissing it. In her view, the modern Italians could do no wrong; they were
divinely regenerate. She praised their architecture.
    Madeline - whom her sisters addressed affectionately as Mad - professed a
wider intellectual scope; less given to the melting
