t?"

"But think, Madame, of the sylph's form that it will give you!" replied
Clotilde, in respectably good English.

"I do think of it. Give me another cup. Mr. Fane, this is Miss--no, I
won't launch on that name. It's Italo's sister, who has saved our lives
and become our greatest blessing."

Clotilde exposed in smiling a fine array of white teeth. She was not at
all like her brother, but well-grown, white and pink beneath her neat
head-dress of crisp black hair. She impressed Gerald as belonging to a
different and better class. If she were vulgar, it was at least not in
the same way. She appeared like that paradox, a lady of the
working-class, with a distinguishing air of capability, good humor, and
openness. The latter Gerald was not disposed absolutely to trust, but he
was glad to trust all the rest.

No sooner had she left the room than Aurora and Estelle in one voice
started telling him about her. He learned that she and Italo were not
what they called "own" brother and sister, but only half. Their father,
being left by the death of his wife with a young family on his hands,
had in feeble despair married the cook, become the father of one more
child, and died. Italo was that latest born. The children of the first
wife had then been taken by her folks, while their step-mother retained
her own chick, assisted from a distance by the prouder portion of the
family to educate and give him a trade. He had chosen an art instead,
and by it was rising in the world. There had been published a waltz of
his composing, dedicated by permission to a name with a coronet over it.
He lived with and supported his good soul of a mother, and saw something
of his half-brethren, all of them through lack of fortune condemned to
small ways of life, like himself.

Clotilde, the best-hearted, was his favorite and he hers. She recognized
his gifts, she further regarded him as a man of spirit, or wit.

"It must be," reflected Gerald, "that the fellow can stir up a laugh."

He knew him only as a fixture at the piano, but could well accommodate
the idea of a species of buffoonery to that boldly jutting nose of his.
He fancied that _maldicenza_, gossip further spiced with
backbiting, would form the chief baggage of his wit. If he possessed
sharp ears, his opportunities for picking up knowledge of other people's
affairs were certainly unusual. He passed from house to house, playing
accompaniments, drumming for dancing, so insignificant on h