ly freckled
complexion. But, though she was one of those women who might be of any
age between twenty-eight and forty, her piercing gray eyes under black
eyebrows, her quivering nostrils and slightly pointed chin, gave her a
look of intense vitality. She was like a powerful if small electric
lamp, purposely veiled by a dun-coloured shade. "It's doubly strange,
because"----she went on; then let her voice trail away into silence
rather than break off abruptly. She had a slight accent suggesting the
Middle West of America.

"Because--what?" Miss Bland caught her up with impatience.

The other deliberated before answering. Then she replied: "I'd rather
not say anything more yet. I may be mistaken--very likely am. Wait until
I've seen your Princess and this girl together. Then--probably I shall
know."

Idina Bland glanced at her angrily, and opened her lips, but closed them
again, and in silence began to walk on toward the Villa Mirasole. The
neat little figure of her friend in its khaki-brown tailor-made dress
kept up with her briskly. The bright eyes fixed themselves for an
instant on Miss Bland's sullen profile, and twinkled as they turned
away. It was as if she enjoyed the knowledge that Idina was afraid to
show impatience, as a small, intelligent animal often revels in
dominating one that is larger and more important in its own estimation.

When Mary returned to the loggia to gather up the writing materials she
had left there, the Princess had come back, wearing a gown which Mary
had never seen. It was a silky white taffeta over yellow, and as she
moved light seemed to run through the folds like liquid gold.

"'Clothed in samite, mystic, wonderful,'" Mary quoted.

"This is Angelo's favourite frock," said Marie. "He thinks"--her tone
changed to bitterness--"that I look like a saint in it."

Mary made no comment. She felt that Marie was commanding her to silence.
But it was true: this gleaming dress with its white and golden lights,
and a filmy fichu crossed meekly over the breast, gave Marie a look of
sweet and virginal innocence. Her head, on the long white throat rising
out of the pointed folds, seemed delicately balanced as an aigrette.

"Do you think I shall be able to hold my own against the lovely ladies
who are coming?" she asked lightly, snatching up her sleigh-bell gayety
again.

"I feel sure you will," Mary replied in the same tone. Just then they
faintly heard the electric bell which told that the gu