grave and almost child-like conviction.

"I shall remember everything you say to-day," he added, after a moment's
pause.

"I hope not!" exclaimed Veronica. "I sometimes say very foolish things,
not at all worth remembering, I assure you."

"But what you say is worth everything to me," he said, with another
sudden blush, and a quick glance, while his hands twitched.

He was painfully shy and embarrassed, and was producing anything but a
favourable impression upon Veronica. She was sorry for him, indeed, in a
superior sort of fashion, but she thought of Taquisara's bold eyes and
strong face, and of Bosio Macomer's quiet and refined assurance of
manner, and Gianluca seemed to her slightly ridiculous. It was in her
blood, and she could not help it. Some of her people had been bad, and
some good, but most of them had been strong, and she liked strength, as
a natural consequence. Moreover, she had not enough experience of the
world to put Gianluca at his ease; and a sort of girlish feeling that
she must not encourage him to say too much made her answer in such a way
as to throw him off his track.

"It is very kind of you to say so," she answered lightly. "But I am sure
I do not recollect ever saying anything important enough for you to
remember. Take what we are saying now, for instance--"

"I shall know it all, when you are gone," interrupted Gianluca, harking
back again. "Indeed--I hope you will not think me rude or
presumptuous--but I thought that perhaps I might meet you here--if I
came often, I mean; for Taquisara--"

"Oh yes," said Veronica, as he hesitated. "I met Baron Taquisara here
yesterday. I daresay that he told you so."

As his embarrassment had increased, hers had completely
disappeared--which was a bad sign for him and his hopes.

"Yes--yes. He told me--"

Gianluca leaned back suddenly in his seat, overcome with a sort of shame
at the thought that Taquisara had spoken to her for him, and that he
himself could find nothing to say. His face pale and red, and his hands
trembled.

"I like your friend," said Veronica, quietly, wondering whether he felt
ill.

"Yes--I am glad," answered Gianluca. "He is a true friend, a good
friend. If you knew him as well as I do, you would like him still
better."

Veronica thought this probable, but refrained from saying so, and
remained silent. Bianca was touching gentle chords at the piano. Now and
then a few words, sung in deep, soft notes, sad as the south wind