her merriment found utterance very childishly.

"Our most tragical encounter, though, was with the monkey. Have you
forgotten that? It was on one of your birthdays--you had a good many
of them in Florence--I forget which it was. You must have been about
ten. I had taken you to the Zoological Gardens, such as they were."

Her laughter rippled out softly again.

"I remember," she nodded, "it was dreadful."

"Yes," he said; "we were at the monkey-cage; you had grown tired of
feeding the ostrich with _centesimi_."

"Oh, Philip!" she interrupted him; "I never, _never_ would have done
such a thing. It was you who used to give the poor bird _centesimi_.
I only used to watch."

"Ah, you connived at it, anyhow," he went on. "Well, we were feeding
the monkeys, this time with melon-seeds, when we somehow aroused the
ire of a particularly ugly brute, who must have been distantly
connected with a bull. Anyhow, he made a grab at the scarlet _berret_
you were wearing, just missed your hair, and demolished the cap."

"I remember," she laughed. "You tied your handkerchief round my
head, like an old peasant woman, and took me back in a carriage. And
mamma was dreadfully angry about the cap, because she had bought it
at Biarritz, and couldn't replace it in Italy. She thought you ought
to have taken steps to get it back."

"Dear me!" said Rainham solemnly, "why didn't I think of it before?
I wonder if it's too late to do anything now."

The girl's laughter broke out again, this time attracting the
attention of her brother, who was discussing the projected travels,
with the aid of Bradshaw, at Mary Masters' side. He glanced at them
askance, pulling at his collar in his stiff, nervous fashion a
little uneasily.

"What a long time ago all that seems, Philip!" she remarked after a
while.

He was silent for a moment examining his finger-nails intently.

"Yes," he said rather sadly; "I suppose it does. I dare say you
wouldn't care much for the Zoo now?"

"Oh, I shouldn't mind," she said gaily, "if you will take me."

But a move had been made opposite, and Charles Sylvester, coming up
to them, overheard this last remark.

"I think we must be off," he said, consulting his watch. "Where is
Rainham going to take you?"

"To Florence," she said, smiling, "to the Zoo."

"Ah, a good idea," he murmured. "Well, good-bye, Lady Garnett;
good-day, Rainham. I am sorry to see you don't seem to have
benefited much by your winter abroad. I