that last evening as ever in my life,"
she afterward declared, "and I thought he seemed all right."

When he spoke of the precious porcelain jars, however, she did cut short
his appetizing description with:

"Don't speak of it. I daresn't, Charlie. I've been lectured so much for
extravagance, I daresn't buy a toothpick. If these jars you speak of
cost nine francs instead of nine hundred, I couldn't, I tell you. I
guess Florence has got all she's going to out of me. I've turned over a
new leaf."

Aurora had all evening been so entirely her kind and jolly self that
Charlie had almost forgotten the black crow. At this check, and the
barren prospect opening out beyond, he remembered it, and felt a vicious
little desire to pay her back for the pin she had stuck into him under,
as she idiotically supposed, an impenetrable disguise. He went away, as
has been said, in a bad humor.

CHAPTER XVIII

The loveliness of Florence at this point of the year, while inspiring
poets, made the rest feel helpless before the task of finding words for
it. Even Aurora, who could not be called contemplative, or highly
susceptible to influences of form and color, was heard to heave an
occasional great sigh, so was her heart oppressed, she could not think
why, during their drives among the hills around Florence, by the sight
of the spring flowers,--tulips, narcissi, fleur-de-lys, imagine it,
growing wild, as if gold pieces should lie scattered in the road for
passers to pick up!--and by the sight of the warm and tender tones of
the sky, and by the silver sparks of windows flashing back the sun where
the hazy city houses huddled around the Duomo's brown head and
shoulders, majestically lifted above them.

It was something in the air, Aurora thought, which forced her to sigh
with that half-sweet oppression and fatigue: the air was fragrant with a
scent which seemed to her upon sniffing it analytically to be the breath
of hyacinths; and the air was warm, it "let her down," she said.

Why, instead of delicious contentment, is a sort of melancholy, of
unrest, created in us by the beauty of spring, will somebody tell?

Aurora, when she thought she could do it without attracting the notice
of the other two, would slip from their presence sometimes, so as to
have a few minutes by herself and stop pretending to be so everlastingly
light of heart. For nothing in the world would she have had Tom know but
that his visit made her happy to the