o po' di fravole, e dammi crema ancor,'"

she sang softly, in the Roman dialect.

Then she laughed again, and Reanda smiled at the absurd words--"A few
more strawberries, and give me some more cream." But even the few notes,
a lazy parody of the prima donna's singing of the phrase, charmed his
simple love of melody.

"Don't look so grim, papa," she said in English. "Nobody can hear me
here, you know."

"I should not think anybody would wish to," answered the Scotchman; but
he spoke in Italian, in consideration of his guest, who did not
understand English.

"I do not know why you are always so angry if I sing anything foolish,"
said the young girl, going back to Italian. "One cannot be always
serious. But I was talking about your frescoes, Signor Reanda. I have
thought of nothing else."

Again her eyes met the artist's, but fell before his. He was too great a
painter not to know the value of such flattering speeches in general,
and in a way he was inclined to resent the girl's boldness. But at the
same time, it was hard to believe that she was not really in earnest,
for she had that power of sudden gravity which lends great weight to
little speeches. In spite of himself, and perhaps rightly, he believed
her. Paul Griggs did not, and he watched her curiously.

"Why do you look at me like that?" she asked, turning upon him with a
little show of temper.

"If your father will allow me to say so, you are the object most worth
looking at in the room," answered the young man, calmly.

"You will make her vain with your pretty speeches, Griggs," said
Dalrymple.

"I doubt that," answered Griggs.

He relapsed into silence, and drained a big tumbler of wine. Reanda
suspected, with a shrewd intuition, that the American admired Gloria,
but that she did not like him much.

"Miss Dalrymple is doing her best to make me vain with her praise," said
Reanda.

"I never flattered any one in my life," answered Gloria. "Signor Reanda
is the greatest painter in Italy. Everybody says so. It would be foolish
of me to even pretend that after seeing him at work I had thought of
anything else. We have all said, this evening, that the frescoes were
wonderful, and that no one, not even Raphael, who did the same thing,
has ever had a more beautiful idea of the history of Cupid and Psyche.
Why should we not tell the truth, just because he happens to be here?
How illogical you are!"

"I believe I excepted Raphael," said Dalrymple, with h