he kind of thing that grows much oftener in Trastevere than
among our German oaks."

"And why don't you give _me_ credit, too, for enough taste to do this
lady justice?" asked Felix.

"Because--well, because you are a trifle young, and--thus far at
least--you are not an artist. This beauty of mine is far from being
conspicuous or attracting attention--like everything really great. I
will wager, Baron, that you find my enthusiasm exaggerated. These
polished checks and temples, and the poise of the head on the neck and
the neck on the shoulders, and the whole figure--neither too full nor
too slender--but hush! I believe she is standing over there at this
moment! Yes, it is she--the one in the raw silk, with the broad,
somewhat antiquated straw-hat set back upon her head--doesn't it look
almost like a halo? Well, Jansen? Do say something! Generally you are
so extraordinarily prompt in picking flaws in my ideals."

Jansen had paused, and had coolly turned his quiet, clear gaze upon the
lady, who stood, entirely unsuspicious of scrutiny, a few alcoves away
from them, and turned her full face toward the observing party.
Angelica had not said too much. Her figure was of rare grace and
majesty, as her light summer-dress showed its beautiful outlines
clearly against the dark background; her head, thrown back a little,
hardly moved upon the slender, graceful neck, and her hat allowed its
form to be all the more distinctly seen, as she wore her soft, light
hair simply parted, and falling in a few curls upon her shoulders. Her
face was not striking at first glance; quiet, steel-gray eyes,
concealing their brilliancy behind the slightly closed lids; a mouth
not exactly full or rosy, but of the most beautiful form and full of
character; and a chin and neck worthy of an antique statue. She seemed
so completely absorbed in the study of the gallery that she did not
look up as the friends approached her. It was only when they entered
the alcove, and Angelica began to express her wild admiration (quite
secretly, she imagined, but really loud enough to be plainly audible),
that the stranger suddenly noticed them. With a slight blush, she drew
about her shoulders the white shawl that had hung carelessly about her
waist--as though to shield her from these curious eyes--cast an annoyed
glance at the whispering painter, and left the alcove.

"See how she moves--a queenly walk!" cried Angelica, looking after her.
"But alas! I have driven he