be
rich, though he is poor; and he will marry a dark woman, who will also
be rich; and they will have many, many children, and live in peace to
the end of their lives. But there!" Annunziata cried out suddenly, with
excitement, waving the hand that held her narcissus. "There is my friend
Prospero now, coming in the gig."

Down the avenue, sure enough, a gig was coming, a sufficiently shabby,
ancient gig, drawn, however, at a very decent pace by a very
decent-looking horse, and driven by John Blanchemain.

"_Ciao_, Prospero!" called Annunziata, as he passed.

And John took off his hat, a modish Panama, and bowed and smiled to her
and to the lady. And one adept in reading the meaning of smiles might
have read three or four separate meanings in that smile of his. It
seemed to say to Annunziata, "Ah, you rogue! So already you have waylaid
her, and made her acquaintance." To the lady: "I congratulate you upon
your companion. Isn't she a diverting little monkey?" To himself: "And I
congratulate _you_, my dear, upon being clothed and in your right mind,
and upon having a proper hat to make your bow with." And to the universe
at large "By Jove, she _is_ good-looking. Standing there before that
marble bench, in the cool green light, under the great ilexes, with her
lilac frock and her white sunshade, and Annunziata all in grey beside
her,--what a subject for a painting, if only there were any painters
who knew how to paint!"

"He is going to a dinner at Roccadoro," said Annunziata, while John's
back grew small and smaller in the distance. "Did you see, he had a
portmanteau under the seat? He is going to a dinner of ceremony, and he
will have his costume of ceremony in the portmaneau. I wonder what he
will bring back with him for me. When he goes to Roccadoro he always
brings something back for me. Last time it was a box of chocolate
cigars. I should like to see him in his costume of ceremony. Wouldn't
you?"

But the lady merely laughed. And then, taking Annunziata's chin in her
hand, she looked down into her big clear eyes, and said, "I must be off
now, to join Signora Brandi. But I cannot leave without telling you how
glad I am to have met you, and what pleasure I have derived from your
conversation. I hope we shall meet often. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, Signorina," said Annunziata, becoming formally polite again.
"I shall always be at your service." And she dropped another courtesy.
"If you will come to see me at the presb