and after that he will have to cave in gracefully."

Meantime the dainty gowns and pretty costumes were one by one finished
and sent to the hotel, and the girls ransacked the rather inadequate
shops of Syracuse for the smartest things in lingerie that could be
procured. As they were determined to "try everything on" and see how
their protege looked in her finery, Tato was now obliged to dress for
dinner and on every other possible occasion, and she not only astonished
her friends by her loveliness but drew the eye of every stranger as
surely as the magnet attracts the needle.

Even in Sicily, where the Greek type of beauty to-day exists more
perfectly than in Helene, there were few to compare with Tato, and it
was only natural that the Americans should be very proud of her.

Kenneth was sketching a bit of the quarry and the old monastery beyond
it, with the blue sea glimmering in the distance. Sometimes he would
join the others in their morning trips to the catacombs, the cathedrals
or the museum; but the afternoons he devoted to his picture, and the
others came to the gardens with him and sat themselves down to sew or
read beside his easel.

Arthur Weldon was behaving very well indeed; and although a good deal of
the credit belonged to Louise, who managed him with rare diplomatic
ability, Uncle John grew to like the young man better each day, and had
no fault whatever to find with him.

He was still rather silent and reserved; but that seemed a part of his
nature, inherited doubtless from his father, and when he chose to talk
his conversation was interesting and agreeable.

Kenneth claimed that Arthur had a bad habit of "making goo-goo eyes" at
Louise; but the young man's manner was always courteous and judicious
when addressing her, and he managed to conceal his love with admirable
discretion--at least when others were present.

Uncle John's private opinion, confided in secret to his friend Mr.
Watson, was that Louise "really might do worse; that is, if they were
both of the same mind when they grew up."

And so the days passed pleasantly away, and the time for their departure
from Syracuse drew near.

On the last morning all of them--with the exception of Tato, who pleaded
a headache--drove to the Latomia del Paradiso to see the celebrated "Ear
of Dionysius"--that vast cavern through which the tyrant is said to
have overheard every whisper uttered by the prisoners who were confined
in that quarry. There is