er. People pushed perspiringly for the shady side of the
street, puffed and panted under pillar and portico. The public gardens
were besieged; fans fluttered everywhere; iced-beer and pezzi duri were
in constant requisition.

It was on a Friday afternoon. Guiseppina had sunk, exhausted with the
heat and exasperated with the flies, into a large arm-chair opposite her
bed, and was sitting there fanning herself violently and trying to catch
a breath of fresh air from the widely-opened window beside her. But
there was no air, fresh or otherwise; and nothing but the languid steps
of the passers in the street below was heard. Not the roll of a wheel,
the hoof of a horse, or the yelp of a dog. It seemed as if the whole
place had been given over to the cruel glare of sunshine and the
persevering impertinence of flies.

It was just one of those days which make one long intensely for the
shade of ilexes upon the sea shore, and the swish of idle waters upon
the beach.

And Guiseppina _did_ long, and _had_ longed, and had finally driven her
poor mother in tears to her room with reproaches for not being able to
go for a month to Pegli, as, that very morning, their upper floor
neighbours, the Castelles, had gone--and--and--and--: the usual
litany--the usual nagging--the usual temper; hinc ille lacrimae.

"Why should she alone," she exclaimed to herself sitting there, "remain
to roast in town, while all her friends--? Ah, it was too cruel! If she
could only--!"

Her eyes fell upon the little picture of Saint Antonio hanging over her
bed--the Saint credited with presiding over marriages--the Saint to
which, through all these long years, Guiseppina had daily appealed and
prayed. Alas, all in vain! Not the shadow of a lover had he sent
her--not the ghost of an offer had he vouchsafed her in return for all
her tears and tapers.

She looked across at the Saint, this time with a scowl, however. The
Saint seemed to return her gaze with a mocking smile. No! That was
indeed adding insult to injury! After thirty years unswerving devotion,
to mock at her thus!

She didn't say thirty years, mind, though she could have added somewhat
to the figure without risking a fib. She said something else, a
something that didn't sound exactly like a blessing; and, in a sudden
fit of rage, started from her seat, sprang across the room, tore the
offending Saint from the nail from which he had dangled for such long
years, and, without further ceremony,