was dressed in approved English fashion, as a man of
leisure, wore a massive watchguard across his buff summer waistcoat,
and carried a silver-headed cane.

"You are taking a little walk," he said, with a very slight foreign
accent. "If you will let me walk with you a little way I shall be
honoured. The Park? A delightful day for the Park! Let us walk over the
grass, as we may do in this free country. I have something to tell you,
Miss Hannaford."

"That's nice of you, Mr. Florio. So few people tell one anything one
doesn't know; but yours is sure to be real news."

"It is--I assure you it is. But, first of all, I was thinking on the
'bus--I often ride on the 'bus, it gives one ideas--I was thinking what
a pity they do not use the back of the 'bus driver to display
advertisements. It is a loss of space. Those men are so beautifully
broad, and one looks at their backs, and there is nothing, nothing to
see but an ugly coat. I shall mention my little scheme to a friend of
mine, a very practical man."

Olga laughed merrily.

"Oh, you are too clever, Mr. Florio!"

"Oh, I have my little ideas. Do you know, I've just come back from
Italy."

"I envy you--I mean, I envy you for having been there."

"Ah, that is your mistake, dear Miss Hannaford! That is the mistake of
the romantic English young lady. Italy? Yes, there is a blue sky--not
always. Yes, there are ruins that interest, if one is educated. And,
there is misery, misery! Italy is a poor country, poor, poor, poor,
poor." He intoned the words as if speaking his own language. "And
poverty is the worst thing in the world. You make an illusion for
yourself, Miss Hannaford. For a holiday when one's rich, yes, Italy is
not bad--though there is fever, and there are thieves--oh, thieves! Of
course The man who is poor will steal--_ecco_! It amuses me, when the
English talk of Italy."

"But you are proud of--of your memories?"

"Memories!" Mr. Florio laughed a whole melody. "One is not proud of
former riches when one has become a beggar. It is you, the English, who
can be proud of the past, because you can be proud of the present. You
have grown free, free, free! Rich, rich, rich, ah!"

Olga laughed.

"I am sorry to say that I have not grown rich."

He bent his gaze upon her, and it glowed with tender amorousness.

"You remind me--I have something to tell you. In Italy, not everybody
is quite poor. For example, my grandfather, at Bologna. I have made a
visit to