ter tea on
the wall. Lotty was delighted at more love being introduced into San
Salvatore, even if it were only one-sided, and said that when once
Rose's husband was there she didn't suppose, now that Mrs. Fisher too
had at last come unglued--Rose protested at the expression, and Lotty
retorted that it was in Keats--there would be another place in the
world more swarming with happiness than San Salvatore.

"Your husband," said Lotty, swinging her feet, "might be here
quite soon, perhaps to-morrow evening if he starts at once, and
there'll be a glorious final few days before we all go home refreshed
for life. I don't believe any of us will ever be the same again--and I
wouldn't be a bit surprised if Caroline doesn't end by getting fond of
the young man Briggs. It's in the air. You have to get fond of people
here."

Rose sat at her window thinking of these things. Lotty's
optimism . . . yet it had been justified by Mr. Wilkins; and look, too,
at Mrs. Fisher. If only it would come true as well about Frederick!
For Rose, who between lunch and tea had left off thinking about
Frederick, was now, between tea and dinner, thinking of him harder than
ever.

It has been funny and delightful, that little interlude of
admiration, but of course it couldn't go on once Caroline appeared.
Rose knew her place. She could see as well as any one the unusually,
the unique loveliness of Lady Caroline. How warm, though, things like
admiration and appreciation made one feel, how capable of really
deserving them, how different, how glowing. They seemed to quicken
unsuspected faculties into life. She was sure she had been a
thoroughly amusing woman between lunch and tea, and a pretty one too.
She was quite certain she had been pretty; she saw it in Mr. Briggs's
eyes as clearly as in a looking-glass. For a brief space, she thought,
she had been like a torpid fly brought back to gay buzzing by the
lighting of a fire in a wintry room. She still buzzed, she still
tingled, just at the remembrance. What fun it had been, having an
admirer even for that little while. No wonder people liked admirers.
They seemed, in some strange way, to make one come alive.

Although it was all over she still glowed with it and felt more
exhilarated, more optimistic, more as Lotty probably constantly felt,
than she had done since she was a girl. She dressed with care, though
she knew Mr. Briggs would no longer see her, but it gave her pleasure
to see