n hair, was sitting at
ease on the balustrade, fanning herself with a wide brimmed hat and
dangling her feet, clad in white tennis shoes, over the edge. She wore a
suit of white linen cut sailor fashion, low at the throat and with
sleeves rolled to the elbows. She looked very cool and comfortable and
free as she talked, with the utmost friendliness, to the three girls
below. Her Italian, to an unaccustomed ear, was exactly as glib as
theirs.

The washer-girls were dressed in the gayest of peasant clothes--green and
scarlet petticoats, flowered kerchiefs, coral beads and flashing
earrings; you would have to go far into the hills in these degenerate
days before meeting their match on an Italian highway. But the girl on
the wall, who was actual if not titular ruler of the domain of Villa
Rosa, possessed a keen eye for effect; and--she plausibly argued--since
one must have washer-women about, why not, in the name of all that is
beautiful, have them in harmony with tradition and the landscape?
Accordingly, she designed and purchased their costumes herself.

There drifted presently into sight from around the little promontory that
hid the village, a blue and white boat with yellow lateen sails. She was
propelled gondolier fashion, for the wind was a mere breath, by a
picturesque youth in a suit of dark blue with white sash and flaring
collar--the hand of the girl on the wall was here visible also.

[Illustration: "The fourth girl, with gray eyes and yellow-brown hair,
was sitting at ease on the balustrade"]

The boat fluttering in toward shore, looked like a giant butterfly; and
her name, emblazoned in gold on her prow, was, appropriately, the
_Farfalla_. Earlier in the season, with a green hull and a dingy brown
sail, she had been prosaically enough, the _Maria_. But since the advent
of the girl all this had been changed. The _Farfalla_ dropped her yellow
wings with the air of a salute, and lighted at the foot of the
water-steps under the terrace. The girl on the parapet leaned forward
eagerly.

"Did you get any mail, Giuseppe?" she called.

"_Si_, signorina." He scrambled up the steps and presented a copy of the
London _Times_.

She received it with a shrug. Clearly, she felt little interest in the
London _Times_. Giuseppe took himself back to his boat and commenced
fussing about its fittings, dusting the seats, plumping up the cushions,
with an air of absorption which deceived nobody. The signorina watched
him a m