he woman of twenty-six and the woman of
sixty, and roamed about the streets of Florence like a couple of
school-girls. And Lettice bought her friend a brooch, and herself a ring
in memory of the day; and as the ten pounds would not cover it she
borrowed fifteen; and then they had a delightful drive through the noble
squares, past many a venerable palace and lofty church, through richly
storied streets, and across a bridge of marble to the other side of the
Arno; so onward till they came to the wood-enshrouded valley, where the
trees were breaking into tender leafage, every shade of green
commingling with the blue screen of the Apennines beyond. Back again
they came into the city of palaces, which they had learned to love, and
alighting near the Duomo sought out a _pasticceria_ in a street hard by,
and ate a genuine school-girl's meal.

"It has been the pleasantest day of my life here!" said Lettice as they
reached home in the evening. "I have not had a cloud upon my
conscience."

"And it has made the old woman young," said Mrs. Hartley, kissing her
friend upon the cheek. "Oh, why are you not my daughter!"

"You would soon have too much of me if I were your daughter. But tell me
what a daughter would have done for you, and let me do it while I can."

"It is not to do, but to be. Be just what you are and never desert me,
and then I will forget that I was once a childless woman."

So the spring advanced, and drew towards summer. And on the first of May
Mrs. Hartley, writing to her cousin, Edith Dalton, the most intimate of
all her confidants, gave a glowing account of Lettice.

"My sweetheart here (she wrote) is cured at last. Three months have gone
since she spoke about returning to England, and I believe she is
thoroughly contented. She has taken to writing again, and seems to be
fairly absorbed in her work, but you may be sure that I shall not let
her overdo it. The death of her mother, and the break-up of their home,
probably severed all the ties that bound her to London; and, so far as I
can see, _not one of them_ remains. I laughed to read that you were
jealous of her. When you and Brooke come here I am certain you will like
her every bit as much as I do. What you tell me of Brooke is rather a
surprise, but I know you must be very happy about it. To have had him
with you for six months at a time, during which he has never once been
up to his club, is a great triumph, and speaks volumes for your clever
managemen