When I arrived in the country the Signorina Christina Nugent had been
settled there about a year. She had appeared originally as a member of
an operatic company, which had paid a visit to our National Theater
from the United States. The company passed on its not very brilliant
way, but the signorina remained behind. It was said she had taken a
fancy to Whittingham, and, being independent of her profession, had
determined to make a sojourn there. At any rate, there she was;
whether she took a fancy to Whittingham, or whether someone in
Whittingham took a fancy to her, remained in doubt. She established
herself in a pretty villa closely adjoining the Golden House; it stood
opposite the presidential grounds, commanding a view of that stately
inclosure; and here she dwelt, under the care of a lady whom she
called "Aunt," known to the rest of the world as Mrs. Carrington. The
title "Signorina" was purely professional; for all I know the name
"Nugent" was equally a creature of choice; but, anyhow, the lady
herself never professed to be anything but English, and openly stated
that she retained her title simply because it was more musical than
that of "Miss." The old lady and the young one lived together in great
apparent amity, and certainly in the utmost material comfort; for they
probably got through more money than anyone in the town, and there
always seemed to be plenty more where that came from. Where it did
come from was, I need hardly say, a subject of keen curiosity in
social circles; and when I state that the signorina was now about
twenty-three years of age, and of remarkably prepossessing appearance,
it will be allowed that we in Whittingham were no worse than other
people if we entertained some uncharitable suspicions. The signorina,
however, did not make the work of detection at all easy. She became
almost at once a leading figure in society; her _salon_ was the
meeting-place of all parties and most sets; she received many gracious
attentions from the Golden House, but none on which slander could