owhere, and walking quickly up the zigzag path, for he was an
active young man not much more than thirty, he pulled the ancient chain
that range the bell, and waited decorously on the proper side of the
open door to be allowed to come in.

At the sight of him Francesca flung up every bit of her that
would fling up--eyebrows, eyelids, and hands, and volubly assured him
that all was in perfect order and that she was doing her duty.

"Of course, of course," said Briggs, cutting her short. "No one
doubts it."

And he asked her to take in his card to her mistress.

"Which mistress?" asked Francesca.

"Which mistress?"

"There are four," said Francesca, scenting an irregularity on the
part of the tenants, for her master looked surprised; and she felt
pleased, for life was dull and irregularities helped it along at least
a little.

"Four?" he repeated surprised. "Well, take it to the lot then,"
he said, recovering himself, for he noticed her expression.

Coffee was being drunk in the top garden in the shade of the
umbrella pine. Only Mrs. Fisher and Mr. Wilkins were drinking it, for
Mrs. Arbuthnot, after eating nothing and being completely silent during
lunch, had disappeared immediately afterwards.

While Francesca went away into the garden with his card, her
master stood examining the picture on the staircase of that Madonna by
an early Italian painter, name unknown, picked up by him at Orvieto,
who was so much like his tenant. It really was remarkable, the
likeness. Of course his tenant that day in London had had her hat on,
but he was pretty sure her hair grew just like that off her forehead.
The expression of the eyes, grave and sweet, was exactly the same. He
rejoiced to think that he would always have her portrait.

He looked up at the sound of footsteps, and there she was, coming
down the stairs just as he had imagined her in that place, dressed in
white.

She was astonished to see him so soon. She had supposed he would
come about tea-time, and till then she had meant to sit somewhere out
of doors where she could be by herself.

He watched her coming down the stairs with the utmost eager
interest. In a moment she would be level with her portrait.

"It really is extraordinary," said Briggs.

"How do you do," said Rose, intent only on a decent show of
welcome.

She did not welcome him. He was here, she felt, the telegram
bitter in her heart, instead of Frederick, doing what she had longed
Fr