fficient reason for following the party to Florence and on to Venice;
therefore it had seemed the only thing to do.

Now that she was again with them she watched Mr. Sumner and Barbara most
zealously. Her quick eyes had noted the altered condition of affairs
during the latter days of the Naples journey, and she was feverishly
anxious to understand the cause. Her intuition told her that there was
some peculiar underlying interest for each in the other, and when this
exists between a man and woman, some sequel may always be expected. One
thing was certain; Mr. Sumner covertly watched Barbara, and Barbara
avoided meeting his eye. She could only wait, while putting forth every
effort to gain the interest in herself she so coveted.

And Barbara, of course, was trying to determine whether there was any
ground for the suspicions, or rather suggestions, that Malcom gave voice
to on that dreadful ride to Sorrento.

And Bettina watched all three; and so did Malcom, after a fashion, but
he was less keenly interested than the others. He sometimes tried to
talk with Bettina about the studio incident, but never could he begin to
discuss Barbara in the slightest way without encountering her sister's
indignation.

Mrs. Douglas, who had outlived her former wish concerning her brother
and Lucile Sherman, and Margery were the only ones who had nothing to
hide, and so gave themselves simply to the enjoyment of the occurrences
of each hour.

"We must begin to see Tintoretto's paintings," said Mr. Sumner at
breakfast one fine morning; "and, since the sun shines brightly, I
suggest that we go at once to the Scuola di San Rocco, for the only time
to see the pictures there is the early morning of a bright day."

"We must not forget Lucile," said Mrs. Douglas, with an inquiring look
at her brother, "for she asked particularly to go there with us."

"Then we must call for her of course," quietly answered he, as all rose
from the table. "We will start at once."

"I do not believe," said Bettina, as she and Barbara were in their room
putting on their hats a moment afterward, "that Mr. Sumner cares one bit
more for Lucile Sherman than for anybody else."

"Why don't you think so?" asked Barbara, as she turned aside to find her
gloves, which search kept her busy for a minute or two.

"Because he never seems to take any pains to be where she is--he does
not watch for the expression of her eyes--his voice never changes when
he speaks to her,"