e beggar
children."

"Yes; to our eyes. But, do you know, I rather think the Italians
themselves can tell the difference. I would rather trust Giuditta's
judgment than my own. Besides," he added, after a long pause, during
which he had been watching the expressive face of the child.
"Besides,--there's that Giovanni Bellini. That sort of thing doesn't
often stray into low society."

At this juncture the tall Italian moved again into their
neighbourhood, and stood, at a point where the awning had been drawn
back, gazing, with a preoccupied air, out to sea.

Rising from his seat, Mr. Grey approached him, remarking abruptly, and
with a jerk of the head toward Cecilia, "Florentine, is she not?"

"_Sicuro_," was the grave reply; upon which the Count moved away, to
be seen no more that evening.

As the Englishman rejoined them after this laconic interview, Blythe
greeted him with a new theory.

"Do you know," she said, "I used to think the Count was haughty and
disagreeable, but I have changed my mind."

"That only shows how susceptible you good Republicans are to any sign
of attention from the nobility," was the teasing reply.

"Perhaps you are right," Blythe returned, with the fair-mindedness
which distinguished her. "You know I never saw a titled person before,
excepting one red-headed English Lord, who hadn't any manners. I've
often thought I should like, of all things, to know a King or Queen
really well!"

"You don't say so!" Mr. Grey laughed. "And what's your opinion now, of
the old gentleman, since he deigned to interrupt your conversation?"

"I believe he is unhappy."

"What makes you think so?"

"There's an unhappy look away back in his eyes. I never looked in
before,--and then----"

"And then----?"

"There's something about his voice."

"Yes; Tuscan, you know."

"Oh, is that it? Well, any way, I like him!"

"If that's the case, perhaps you could make better headway with him
than I."

"But I don't speak Italian."

"Perhaps you speak French."

"I know my conjugations," was the modest admission.

"And I'm sure he would be enchanted to hear them," Mr. Grey laughed,
as the orchestra struck into the familiar music of the Lancers,
causing him to beat a retreat into the smoking-room.

And while Blythe danced gaily and heartily with a boy somewhat younger
than herself, and not quite as tall, her little protegee fell into a
deep sleep. And presently, the dance being over, the faithful Gustav
ca