to be."

"I didn't say he was pleased, I said he would be," remarked Aunt Maria
placidly. "No doubt you vexed him at the time, but when he's thought it
over, he'll be flattered at your showing so much interest in him."

"I shouldn't like him to take it like that," said May thoughtfully.

"It's the true way to take it, though."

"Well then, I suppose it is. Except that there's no reason why my
interest should flatter anybody." She determined on an offensive movement
against the sharp confident old lady. "All his faults are merely faults
of bringing up. You brought him up; why didn't you bring him up better?"

Miss Quisante looked at her for several moments.

"I didn't bring him up well, that's true enough," she said. "But, my
dear, don't you run off with the idea that there's nothing wrong with
Sandro except his manners."

"That's exactly the idea I have about him," May persisted defiantly.

"Ah!" sighed Aunt Maria resignedly. "Probably you'll never know him well
enough to find out your mistake."

Warnings pique curiosity as often as they arouse prudence.

"I intend to know him much better if he'll let me," said May.

"Oh, he'll let you." The old lady's gaze was very intent; she had by now
made up her mind that this must be Sandro's Empress. Had she been
omnipotent, she would at that moment have decreed that Sandro should
never see his Empress again; she was quite clear that he and his Empress
would not be good for one another. "I begin to hear them talking about
him," she went on with a chuckle. "He's coming into fashion, he's to be
the new man for a while. You London people love a new man just as you do
a new craze. You're fine talkers too. I like your buzz. It's a great hum,
hum, buzz, buzz. It turns some men's heads, but it only sharpens others'
wits; it won't turn Sandro's head."

"I'm glad you allow him some virtues."

"Oh, if it's a virtue to look so straight forward to where you mean to
get that nothing will turn your head away from it."

"That's twisting your own words, Miss Quisante. I don't think he's that
sort of man at all; he isn't the least your--your iron adventurer. He's
full of emotion, of feeling, of--well, almost of poetry. Oh, not always
good poetry, I know. But how funny that I should be defending him and you
attacking him; it would be much more natural the other way round."

"I don't see that. I know him better than you do. Now he's to champion
the Church--or some such nonsense! Wh