ld and one very young. The young lady--"

"Those must be the ladies from the island," interrupted the man. "The
English ladies who come in the summer to the Casa del Mare as they call
it, on the island close to the Grotto of Virgilio by San Francesco's
Pool. They were here this afternoon, but they're gone back. Their boat
is white with a green line, Signorino Marchesino."

"Grazie, Giuseppe," said the Marchesino, with an immovable countenance.
"Do you smoke cigarettes?'

"Signorino Marchesino, I do when I have any soldi to buy them with."

"Take these."

The Marchesino emptied one side of his cigarette case into the boatman's
hand, called a hired carriage, and drove off towards the Villa--the
horse going at a frantic trot, while the coachman, holding a rein in
each hand, ejaculated, "A--ah!" every ten seconds, in a voice that was
fiercely hortatory.

Artois, from his window, saw the carriage rattle past, and saw his
friend leaning back in it, with alert eyes, to scan every woman passing
by. He stood on the balcony for a moment till the noise of the wheels on
the stone pavement died away. When he returned to his writing-table the
mood for work was gone. He sat down in his chair. He took up his
pen. But he found himself thinking of two people, the extraordinary
difference between whom was the cause of his now linking them together
in his mind. He found himself thinking of the Marchesino and of Vere.

Not for a moment did he doubt the identity of the two women in the white
boat. They were Hermione and Vere. The Marchesino had read him rightly,
but Artois was not aware of it. His friend had deceived him, as almost
any sharp-witted Neapolitan can deceive even a clever forestiere.
Certainly he did not particularly wish to introduce his friend to
Vere. Yet now he was thinking of the two in connection, and not without
amusement. What would they be like together? How would Vere's divine
innocence receive the amiable seductions of the Marchesino? Artois,
in fancy, could see his friend Doro for once completely disarmed by a
child. Vere's innocence did not spring from folly, but was backed up
by excellent brains. It was that fact which made it so beautiful. The
innocence and the brains together might well read Doro a pretty little
lesson. And Vere after the lesson--would she be changed? Would she lose
by giving, even if the gift were a lesson?

Artois had certainly felt that his instinct told him not to do what Doro
wanted