sal that had the grace and loving-kindness of a benediction, it
was annoying that Costanza should only stand still with her head on one
side gazing at her in obvious delight.

"Oh, go away!" exclaimed Lady Caroline in English, suddenly
exasperated.

There had been a fly in her bedroom that morning which had stuck
just as Costanza was sticking; only one, but it might have been a
myriad it was so tiresome from daylight on. It was determined to
settle on her face, and she was determined it should not. Its
persistence was uncanny. It woke her, and would not let her go to
sleep again. She hit at it, and it eluded her without fuss or effort
and with an almost visible blandness, and she had only hit herself. It
came back again instantly, and with a loud buzz alighted on her cheek.
She hit at it again and hurt herself, while it skimmed gracefully away.
She lost her temper, and sat up in bed and waited, watching to hit at
it and kill it. She kept on hitting at it at last with fury and with
all her strength, as if it were a real enemy deliberately trying to
madden her; and it elegantly skimmed in and out of her blows, not even
angry, to be back again the next instant. It succeeded every time in
getting on to her face, and was quite indifferent how often it was
driven away. That was why she had dressed and come out so early.
Francesca had already been told to put a net over her bed, for she was
not going to allow herself to be annoyed twice like that. People were
exactly like flies. She wished there were nets for keeping them off
too. She hit at them with words and frowns, and like the fly they
slipped between her blows and were untouched. Worse than the fly, they
seemed unaware that she had even tried to hit them. The fly at least
did for a moment go away. With human beings the only way to get rid of
them was to go away herself. That was what, so tired, she had done
this April; and having got here, having got close up to the details of
life at San Salvatore, it appeared that here, too, she was not to be
let alone.

Viewed from London there had seemed to be no details. San
Salvatore from there seemed to be an empty, a delicious blank. Yet,
after only twenty-four hours of it, she was discovering that it was not
a blank at all, and that she was having to ward off as actively as
ever. Already she had been much stuck to. Mrs. Fisher had stuck
nearly the whole of the day before, and this morning there had been no