eave; but Hillard was for going on
to Sorrento, for which his heart was always longing.

A spring rain fell as they took the incline, and it followed them over
the mountains and down into Sorrento. The ruddy oranges hung in clusters
over the old walls which lined both sides of the road, walls so old that
history stops before them doubtfully. And the perfume of the sweet rain
mingling with that of the fruit was like nothing Merrihew had ever
sensed before. They finally drew up in the courtyard of the Hotel de la
Sirena, and the long ride was at an end. The little garden was white and
pink with roses and camellias, and the tubbed mandarins were heavy with
fruit.

"And this is March!" said Merrihew, his thought traveling back to his
own bleak country, where winter is so long and summer is so short.

Their rooms were on the northeast corner, on the first floor; and from
the windows they could look down upon the _marina piccola_ and the
tideless sea, a sheer hundred and fifty feet below. Everybody welcomed
the Signore Hillard; the hotel was his, and everything and everybody in
it. Fire? It was already burning in the grate; orange wood, too, the
smoke of which leaves no strong acidulous odor on the air. The Signore
Hillard had only to speak, he had only to express a wish; they would
scour the village to gratify it. Hillard accepted all these attentions
as a matter of course, as a duke or a prince might have accepted them.

"By George!" whispered Merrihew; "they treat you like a prince here."

Later, when they were alone, Hillard began to explain.

"They remember my father; he used to live like a prince in Sorrento.
Every time I come here I do the best I can to keep the luster to his
name. To-morrow I shall point out to you the villa in which I was born.
A Russian princess owns it now. You will know the place by the pet
monkey which is always clambering about the balconies near the porter's
lodge. More than that, if the princess is not on the Riviera, I'll take
you there to tea some afternoon."

"A real live princess!" said Merrihew. "Is she beautiful?"

"Once upon a time," returned Hillard, laughing. "And, now, what do you
say to a game of penuchle till dinner, a penny a point?"

Merrihew found two decks of cards, arranged them, and the game began. It
was all very cheerful, the fire in the grate, the rain on the
casement-windows, the blur on the bay, and the fragrance of two
well-filled pipes.

There is very little