vant, you know. I thought at first that C. G. must have been
cracked, and that the tall man was his keeper."

"I never knew any one less like a madman."

"No;--but the man was so queer. He did nothing, you know. We hardly
saw him, if you remember, at Turin. All he did was to tie the shawls
at Bologna. What can any man want with another man about with him
like that, unless he is cracked either in body or mind?"

"You'd better ask C. G. yourself."

"I shall never see C. G. again, I suppose. I should like to see him
again. I guess you would too, Carry. Eh?"

"Of course, I should;--why not?"

"I never knew a man so imperturbable, and who had yet so much to say
for himself. I wonder what he is! Perhaps he's on business, and that
man was a kind of a clerk."

"He had livery buttons on," said Carry.

"And does that make a difference?"

"I don't think they put clerks into livery, even in England."

"Nor yet mad doctors," said Olivia. "Well, I like him very much; and
the only thing against him is that he should have a man, six feet
high, going about with him doing nothing."

"You'll make me angry, Livy, if you talk in that way. It's
uncharitable."

"In what way?"

"About a mad doctor."

"It's my belief," said Olivia, "that he's an English swell, a lord,
or a duke;--and it's my belief, too, that he's in love with you."

"It's my belief, Livy, that you're a regular ass;"--and so the
conversation was ended on that occasion.

On the next day, about noon, the American Minister, as a part of the
duty which he owed to his country, read in a publication of that day,
issued for the purpose, the names of the new arrivals at Florence.
First and foremost was that of the Honourable Charles Glascock, with
his suite, at the York Hotel, en route to join his father, Lord
Peterborough, at Naples. Having read the news first to himself, the
minister read it out loud in the presence of his nieces.

"That's our friend C. G.," said Livy.

"I should think not," said the minister, who had his own ideas about
an English lord.

"I'm sure it is, because of the tall man with the buttons," said
Olivia.

"It's very unlikely," said the secretary of legation. "Lord
Peterborough is a man of immense wealth, very old, indeed. They say
he is dying at Naples. This man is his eldest son."

"Is that any reason why he shouldn't have been civil to us?" asked
Olivia.

"I don't think he is the sort of man likely to sit up in the
banquette; an