with the way the plot thickened on the Lake
of Como. I was watching Bellagio slip past among the trees on the left
shore and wondering whether we could hear the nightingales if it were
not for the steamer's engines--which was particularly unlikely as it was
the middle of the afternoon--and thinking about the trifles that would
sometimes divide lives plainly intended to mingle. Mere enunciation, for
example, was a thing one could so soon become reaccustomed to; already
momma had ceased to congratulate me on my broad a's, and I could not
help the inference that my conversation was again unobtrusively
Chicagoan. It was frustrating, too, that I had no way of finding out
how much poppa knew, and extremely irritating to think that he knew
anything. He was sitting near me as I mused, immersed in the American
mail, while momma and his Aunt Caroline insensibly glided towards
intimacy again on two wicker chairs close by. Mr. Mafferton was counting
the luggage somewhere; he was never happy on a steamer until he had done
that; and Isabel was being fervently apologised to by Dicky on the other
side of the deck. I hoped she was taking it in the proper spirit. I had
the terms all ready in which _I_ should accept an apology, if it were
ever offered to me.

[Illustration: Fervent apologies.]

"Now, I must not put off any longer telling you how delighted I am at
your dear Mamie's re-engagement."

The statement reached us all, though it was intended for momma only.
Even Mrs. Portheris's more amiable accents had a quality which
penetrated far, with a suggestion of whiskers. I looked again languidly
at Bellagio, but not until I had observed a rapid glance between my
parents, recommending each other not to be taken by surprise.

"Has she confided in you?" inquired momma.

"No--no. I heard it in a roundabout way. You must be very pleased, dear
Augusta. Such an advantage that they have known each other all their
lives!"

Poppa looked guardedly round at me, but by this time I was asleep in my
camp chair, the air was so balmily cool after our hot rattle to Como.

"How _did_ you hear?" he demanded, coming straight to the point, while
momma struggled after tentative uncertainties.

"Oh, a little bird, a little bird--who had it from them both! And much
better, I said when I heard it, that she should marry one of her own
country-people. American girls nowadays will so often be content with
nothing less than an Englishman!"

"So far as tha