reggio of the Tribune--the Virgin kneeling down before the
sacred infant, who lies in a litter of straw, and clapping her hands
to him while he delightedly laughs and crows. Henrietta had a special
devotion to this intimate scene--she thought it the most beautiful
picture in the world. On her way, at present, from New York to Rome, she
was spending but three days in Florence, and yet reminded herself that
they must not elapse without her paying another visit to her favourite
work of art. She had a great sense of beauty in all ways, and it
involved a good many intellectual obligations. She was about to turn
into the Tribune when a gentleman came out of it; whereupon she gave a
little exclamation and stood before Caspar Goodwood.

"I've just been at your hotel," she said. "I left a card for you."

"I'm very much honoured," Caspar Goodwood answered as if he really meant
it.

"It was not to honour you I did it; I've called on you before and I know
you don't like it. It was to talk to you a little about something."

He looked for a moment at the buckle in her hat. "I shall be very glad
to hear what you wish to say."

"You don't like to talk with me," said Henrietta. "But I don't care for
that; I don't talk for your amusement. I wrote a word to ask you to come
and see me; but since I've met you here this will do as well."

"I was just going away," Goodwood stated; "but of course I'll stop." He
was civil, but not enthusiastic.

Henrietta, however, never looked for great professions, and she was
so much in earnest that she was thankful he would listen to her on
any terms. She asked him first, none the less, if he had seen all the
pictures.

"All I want to. I've been here an hour."

"I wonder if you've seen my Correggio," said Henrietta. "I came up on
purpose to have a look at it." She went into the Tribune and he slowly
accompanied her.

"I suppose I've seen it, but I didn't know it was yours. I don't
remember pictures--especially that sort." She had pointed out her
favourite work, and he asked her if it was about Correggio she wished to
talk with him.

"No," said Henrietta, "it's about something less harmonious!" They
had the small, brilliant room, a splendid cabinet of treasures, to
themselves; there was only a custode hovering about the Medicean Venus.
"I want you to do me a favour," Miss Stackpole went on.

Caspar Goodwood frowned a little, but he expressed no embarrassment at
the sense of not looking eager.