f them--the long one on the top of the
pile, on the table over there--seemed to contain ugly inferences directed
at herself in a menacing way. She begged me to read it and see what I
could make of it.

I knew enough of the general situation to see at a glance that she had
misunderstood it thoroughly and even amazingly. I proved it to her very
quickly. But her mistake was so ingenious in its wrongheadedness and
arose so obviously from the distraction of an acute mind, that I couldn't
help looking at her admiringly.

"Rita," I said, "you are a marvellous idiot."

"Am I? Imbecile," she retorted with an enchanting smile of relief. "But
perhaps it only seems so to you in contrast with the lady so perfect in
her way. What is her way?"

"Her way, I should say, lies somewhere between her sixtieth and
seventieth year, and I have walked tete-a-tete with her for some little
distance this afternoon."

"Heavens," she whispered, thunderstruck. "And meantime I had the son
here. He arrived about five minutes after Rose left with that note for
you," she went on in a tone of awe. "As a matter of fact, Rose saw him
across the street but she thought she had better go on to you."

"I am furious with myself for not having guessed that much," I said
bitterly. "I suppose you got him out of the house about five minutes
after you heard I was coming here. Rose ought to have turned back when
she saw him on his way to cheer your solitude. That girl is stupid after
all, though she has got a certain amount of low cunning which no doubt is
very useful at times."

"I forbid you to talk like this about Rose. I won't have it. Rose is
not to be abused before me."

"I only mean to say that she failed in this instance to read your mind,
that's all."

"This is, without exception, the most unintelligent thing you have said
ever since I have known you. You may understand a lot about running
contraband and about the minds of a certain class of people, but as to
Rose's mind let me tell you that in comparison with hers yours is
absolutely infantile, my adventurous friend. It would be contemptible if
it weren't so--what shall I call it?--babyish. You ought to be slapped
and put to bed." There was an extraordinary earnestness in her tone and
when she ceased I listened yet to the seductive inflexions of her voice,
that no matter in what mood she spoke seemed only fit for tenderness and
love. And I thought suddenly of Azzolati being orde