is
because you despair of his conversion?"

"I confess I am not greatly interested in him," Beatrice answered. "And
I certainly have no hopes of his conversion."

The Cardinal smiled at his ring. He opened his snuffbox, and inhaled a
long deliberate pinch of snuff.

"Ah, well--who can tell?" he said. "But--he will be free now, and it is
so long since he has been at the castle--had you not better ask him to
luncheon or dinner?"

"Why should I?" answered Beatrice. "If he does not come to Ventirose, it
is presumably because he does not care to come. If he does care to come,
he needs no invitation. He knows that he is at liberty to call whenever
he likes."

"But it would be civil, it would be neighbourly, to ask him to a meal,"
the Cardinal submitted.

"And it would put him in the embarrassing predicament of having either
to accept against his will, or to decline and appear ungracious,"
submitted Beatrice. "No, it is evident that Ventirose does not amuse
him."

"Bene," said the Cardinal. "Be it as you wish."

But when they reached Villa Floriano, Peter was not at home.

"He has gone to Spiaggia for the day," Emilia informed them.

Beatrice, the Cardinal fancied, looked at once relieved and
disappointed.

Marietta was seated in the sun, in a sheltered corner of the garden.

While Beatrice talked with her, the Cardinal walked about.

Now it so happened that on Peter's rustic table a book lay open, face
downwards.

The Cardinal saw the book. He halted in his walk, and glanced round
the garden, as if to make sure that he was not observed. He tapped his
snuff--box, and took a pinch of snuff. Then he appeared to meditate for
an instant, the lines about his mouth becoming very marked indeed.
At last, swiftly, stealthily, almost with the air of a man committing
felony, he slipped his snuff-box under the open book, well under it, so
that it was completely covered up.

On the way back to Ventirose, the Cardinal put his hand in his pocket.

"Dear me!" he suddenly exclaimed. "I have lost my snuff box again." He
shook his head, as one who recognises a fatality. "I am always losing
it."

"Are you sure you had it with you?" Beatrice asked.

"Oh, yes, I think I had it with me. I should have missed it before this,
if I had left it at home. I must have dropped it in Mr. Marchdale's
garden."

"In that case it will probably be found," said Beatrice.

Peter had gone to Spiaggia, I imagine, in the hope of meeting Mrs