ce, and I hate my long gowns.
O--my--dear--brother--do you like it all as well as you thought you
would?"

"Why, Mae, you poor little tot, you're sentimental--for you. Yes, I like
the future as well as I always did. I never gave much for the present,
at any rate."

"But I did, Eric; I always did, till just now, and now I hate it, and
I'm afraid of the future, and I'd like to grow backwards, and instead,
in a month, I'll have another birth-day, and go into those dreadful
twenties." Then Mae was quiet a moment. "Eric, I was sentimental," she
said, after a pause. "Really, I do like the future very much. I quite
forgot how much for the moment."

"You're a strange child, indeed," replied Eric, the puzzled. "Your words
are like lightning. I had just got melted down and ready to reply to
your reminiscences by lots of others, and here you are all jolly and
matter-of-fact again. I was growing so dreadfully unselfish that I
should have insisted on staying home with you this evening to cheer you
up a bit."

"And give up the mocoletti! Why, Eric! I shouldn't have known how to
take such an offer. No, no, trot off and array yourself, and you may
come back and say good-bye."

"I must say good-bye now, dear, for I dine at the Costanzi with the
girls and their aunt."

"Now, just now, Eric?"

"Why yes, Mae. You are getting blue again, aren't you? Getting ready for
Ash Wednesday to-morrow?"

"Oh, no, no, dear. Kiss me, Eric, again. You're a good, dear boy. No; I
didn't cry that drop at all. Good-bye; and to-morrow is Ash Wednesday.
But we don't sorrow or fast in Paradise, I suppose."

CHAPTER XI.

The Corso was all ablaze. The whole world was there. Under a balcony
stood a party of peasants. Of this group, two were somewhat aside. One
of these was tall, dark, a fair type of Southern Italian; the other
small, agile and graceful, dressed in a fresh contadina costume, with
her brown hair braided down her shoulders. She seemed excited, and as
the crowd pressed nearer she would draw back half-fearfully. "Lisetta,"
she whispered, "I am spoiling your good time. Talk to your friends;
never mind me. I will follow by your side, and soon I shall catch the
spirit of it all, too." Saying this, she stepped from under the balcony,
held out her feeble little taper and joined in the cries around her,
pausing to blow at any lowered bit of wax that came in her way. It was
maddening sport; her light was extinguished again and again, but