ght fashion of young people who
can lose themselves in a ray of fancy at any season.

Vittoria heard her mother's wailful voice. 'Twenty gnats in one,' she
said.

Ammiani whispered quickly to know whether she had decided for the morrow.
She nodded, and ran up to her mother, who cried:

'At this hour! And Beppo has been here after you, and he told me I wrote
for him, in Italian, when not a word can I put to paper: I wouldn't!--and
you are threatened by dreadful dangers, he declares. His behaviour was
mad; they are all mad over in this country, I believe. I have put the
last stitch to your dress. There is a letter or two upstairs for you.
Always letters!'

'My dear good Zotti,' Vittoria turned to the artist in condiments, 'you
must insist upon my mother going to bed at her proper time when I am
out.'

'Signorina,' rejoined Zotti, a fat little round-headed man, with
vivacious starting brown eyes, 'I have only to tell her to do a thing--I
pull a dog by the collar; be it said with reverence.'

'However, I am very glad to see you both such good friends.'

'Yes, signorina, we are good friends till we quarrel again. I regret to
observe to you that the respectable lady is incurably suspicious. Of
me--Zotti! Mother of heaven!'

'It is you that are suspicious of me, sir,' retorted madame. 'Of me, of
all persons! It's "tell me this, tell me that," all day with you; and
because I can't answer, you are angry.'

'Behold! the signora speaks English; we have quarrelled again,' said
Zotti.

'My mother thinks him a perfect web of plots,' Vittoria explained the
case between them, laughing, to Ammiani; 'and Zotti is persuaded that she
is an inveterate schemer. They are both entirely innocent, only they are
both excessively timid. Out of that it grows.'

The pair dramatized her outline on the instant:

'"Did I not see him speak to an English lady, and he will not tell me a
word about it, though she's my own countrywoman?"'

'"Is it not true that she received two letters this afternoon, and still
does she pretend to be ignorant of what is going on?"'

'Happily,' said Vittoria, 'my mother is not a widow, or these quarrels
might some day end in a fearful reconciliation.'

'My child,' her mother whimpered, 'you know what these autumn nights are
in this country; as sure as you live, Emilia, you will catch cold, and
then you're like a shop with shutters up for the dead.'

At the same time Zotti whispered: 'Signorina, I have kep