well. It is as though you were
two persons, Mr. Griggs," she added, smiling at the covered expression
of her thought about him.

"I sometimes think so myself," answered Griggs, with one of his steady
looks. "In a way, every one must have a sort of duality--a good and evil
principle."

"God and the devil," suggested Francesca, simply.

"Body and soul would do, I suppose. The one is always in slavery to the
other. The result is a sinner or a saint, as the case may be. One never
can tell," he added more carelessly. "I am not sure that it matters. But
one can see it. The battle is fought in the face."

"I do not understand. What battle?"

"The battle between body and soul. The face tells which way the fight is
going."

She looked at his own, and she felt that she could not tell. But to a
certain extent she understood him.

"Griggs is full of theories," observed Dalrymple. "Gloria, come down!"
he cried in English, suddenly.

Gloria, intent upon understanding how fresco-painting was done, was
boldly mounting the steps of the ladder towards the top of the little
scaffolding, which might have been fourteen feet high. For the vault
had long been finished, and Reanda was painting the walls.

"Nonsense, papa!" answered the young girl, also in English. "There's no
danger at all."

"Well--don't break your neck," said Dalrymple. "I wish you would come
down, though."

Francesca was surprised at his indifference, and at his daughter's calm
disregard of his authority. Timid, too, as most Italian women of higher
rank, she watched the girl nervously. Griggs raised his eyes without
lifting his head.

"Gloria is rather wild," said Dalrymple, in a sort of apology. "I hope
you will forgive her--she is so much interested."

"Oh--if she wishes to see, let her go, of course," answered Francesca,
concealing a little nervous irritation she felt.

A moment later Gloria and Reanda were on the small platform, on one side
of which only there was a hand rail. It had been made for him, and his
head was steady even at a much greater elevation. He was pointing out to
her the way in which the colours slowly changed as the stucco dried from
day to day, and explaining how it was impossible to see the effect of
what was done until all was completely dry. The others continued to talk
below, but Griggs glanced up from time to time, and Francesca's eyes
followed his. Dalrymple had become indifferent, allowing his daughter
to do what she pleas