aid and a large quantity of luggage. When the victoria stopped at
the water's edge the woman got out slowly, and stood for a moment,
apparently looking for something. There were many boats ranged along the
quay, their white awnings thrown back, their oars resting on the painted
seats. Beside one, which was larger than the others, soberly decorated
in brown with touches of gold, and furnished with broad seats not unlike
small armchairs, stood two bold-looking Italian lads dressed in white
sailors' suits. One of them, after staring for a brief instant at the
veiled woman, went up to her and said in Italian:

"Is the signora for Casa Felice?"

"Yes."

The boy took off his round hat with a gallant gesture.

"The boat is here, signora."

He led the way to the brown-and-gold craft, and helped the lady to get
into it. She sat down on one of the big seats.

"That is the luggage," she said, speaking Italian in a low voice, and
pointing to the second carriage from which the maid was stepping. The
two boatmen hastened towards it. In a few minutes maid and luggage were
installed in a big black gondola, oared by two men standing up, and the
brown boat, with the two lads in white and the veiled woman, glided out
on the calm water.

The day was a grey dream, mystical in its colourless silence. Blue Italy
was shrouded as the woman's face was shrouded. The speechlessness of
Nature environed her speechlessness. She was an enigma set in an enigma,
and the two rowers looked at her and at the sunless sky, and bent to
their oars gravely. A melancholy stole into their sensitive dark
faces. This new _padrona_ had already cast a shadow upon their buoyant
temperaments.

She noticed it and clasped her hands together in her lap. She was not
accustomed yet to her new _role_ in life.

The boat stole on. Como was left behind. The thickly-wooded shores of
the lake, dotted with many villas, the tall green mountains covered with
chestnut trees, framed the long, winding riband of water which was the
way to Casa Felice. There were not many other boats out. The steamer
had already started for Bellagio, and was far away near the point
where Torno nestles around its sheltered harbour. The black gondola was
quickly left behind. Its load of luggage weighed it down. The brown boat
was alone in the grey dream of the sunless autumn day.

Behind her veil Lady Holme was watching the two Italian boys, whose
lithe bodies bent to their oars, whose dark eye