e dinner, after re-entering the hotel, I wrote a note and gave
it to the hall-porter to send to the Signorina.

"The Signorina and the Signora have left, Signore. They went down to the
boat for Naples half an hour ago."

I tore up the note, and next day left Palermo.

Next night I was in Naples, but could find no trace of them. So I went
on to Rome, where I was equally unsuccessful. From the Eternal City I
took the express to Calais, and on to London, where I learnt that the
Viscount her father had died six months before, and that she was
travelling on the Continent with her aunt.

Nearly a year passed without any news of my love.

I spent the spring at Monte Carlo, and in May, the month of flowers,
found myself back at Bindo's old villa in Florence, gloomy to me on
account of my own loneliness. The two English dogs barked me welcome,
and Charlie Whitaker that night came and dined; for Bindo was away.

After dinner we sat in the long wicker chairs out in the garden beneath
the palms, taking our coffee in the flower-scented air, with the myriad
fire-flies dancing about us.

At table Charlie had been in his best mood, telling me all the gossip of
Florence, but out in the garden, with his face in the shadow, he seemed
to become morose and uncommunicative. I asked how he had got on during
my absence, for I knew he was friendless.

"Oh, fairly well," was his answer. "A bit lonely, you know. But I used
to come up here every day and take the dogs out for a run. An outsider
like I am can't expect invitations to dinners and dances, you know;" and
he sighed, and drew vigorously at his cigar.

"By the way," I said presently, "you remember you once mentioned that
you knew Vivi Finlay in the old days in town. I met her in Palermo in
the winter."

He started from his chair, and leaning towards me, echoed--

"You met her!--you? Tell me about her. How did she look? What is she
doing?" he asked, with an earnest eagerness that surprised me.

Briefly I explained how I had walked and chatted with her in the gardens
of the Igiea at Palermo, though I did not tell him the subject of our
conversation. I tried, too, to induce him to tell me what he knew of
her, but he would say nothing beyond what I already knew.

"I wonder she don't marry," I remarked at last; but to this he made no
response, though I fancied that in the half light I detected a curious
smile upon his face, as though he was aware that we had been lovers.

He def