ur boys their Latin accidence--that's all."

"Not so fast, if you please," said Mr. Heron, more impressed by
Stretton's tone of cold independence than he would have been by sheaves
of testimonials to his abilities; "not so fast, my good fellow. Now,
will you do me a favour? Let me think the matter over for half-an-hour,
and come to you again. Then we will decide the matter, one way or the
other."

"I should prefer to consider the matter decided now," said Stretton.

"Nonsense, my dear sir, you must not be hasty. In half-an-hour I shall
see you again," cried the artist, as he turned his back on the young
man, and walked off towards the Villa Venturi, swinging his stick
jauntily in his hand. Stretton watched him, and bit his lip.

"I was a fool to say that I wanted work," he said to himself, "and
perhaps a greater fool to blurt out the fact that I had no respectable
references so easily. However, I've done for myself in that quarter. The
British dragon, Mrs. Grundy, would never admit a man as tutor to her
boys under these mysterious circumstances. All the better, perhaps. I
should be looked upon with suspicion, as a man 'under a cloud.' And I
should not like that, especially in the case of that beautiful Miss
Heron, whose clear eyes seem to rebuke any want of candour or courage by
their calm fearlessness of gaze. Well, I shall not meet her under false
pretences now, at any rate." And then he gave vent to a short, impatient
sigh, and resumed the seat that he had vacated for Mr. Heron's benefit.

He tried to read; but found, to his disgust, that he could not fix his
mind on the printed page. He kept wondering what report Mr. Heron was
giving to his wife and family of the interview that he had had with the
English tutor "without references."

"Perhaps they think that I was civil to the father because I hoped to
get something out of them," said Stretton to himself, frowning anxiously
at the line of blue sea in the distance. "Perhaps they are accusing me
of being a rank impostor. What if they do? What else have I been all my
life? What a fool I am!"

In despair he flung aside his book, went up to his bed-room, and began
to pack the modest knapsack which contained all his worldly wealth. In
half-an-hour--when he had had that five minutes' decisive conversation
with Mr. Heron--he would be on his way to Naples.

He had all but finished his packing when the landlord shuffled upstairs
to speak to him. There was a messenger