---"

"_Maman! Te ne scongiuro!_" cried Amaldi, springing to his feet. She
could see his face white as silver in the heavy dusk. His brows made a
straight line across it.

"I have finished, my son," she said, with dignity. "You will never hear
me allude to this again."

And she left him.

XXXIII

The finding of a suitable villa for Sophy proved to be quite an
undertaking. Three days did the kindly Marchesa devote to helping her in
this quest. And as they chugged about the Lake in the little _Fretta_,
Sophy grew more and more impressed with the hideousness of the houses
that man had thrust upon this lovely nature. She had dreamed of
columns--white columns rising from groves of lemon and orange, reflected
in pale blue water. The reality was a noticeable lack of these trees and
a collection of ugly boxes, now bristling with ginger-bread towers,
gilded, pricked out, machicolated, decorated in red and blue, now roofed
and verandahed in clumsy imitation of Swiss chalets, the stucco walls
painted to represent yellow wood. Sometimes these houses would be
ornamented with gaudy flowers like a frieze of chintz; sometimes they
would wriggle all over with the results of modern _graffito_ work. Only
a few villas, here and there, were simple and attractive in
architecture--and these were always old buildings, not to be rented.

Sophy was in despair. She thought she had better remain at the Hotel
Bellevue or slip over to the Eden Hotel in Pallanza. But the Marchesa
never gave up an idea once she had determined to accomplish it. So,
finally, they found in the "Villa Bianca," near Ghiffa, what even Sophy
admitted was the very thing.

It took her two weeks to get settled--to have the walls whitewashed,
and to cover the frightful furniture with slips of chintz. She was so
busy over this that she had no time to feel lonely, though Amaldi and
his mother came to see her only once during that period. The letters
from Anne Harding were very encouraging. Bobby looked like a bit of
brown bisque and had already gained in weight. It was wonderful after
the day's bustle to sit on the broad, flagged terrace that overlooked
the Lake. Two huge cypresses towered on either side. At the foot of
the priestly trees two oleanders in full bloom spread their pinky
skirts, like court ladies kneeling in perfumed humility before stern
spiritual directors. Their heady fragrance streamed through the night,
stirring vague desires and regrets. The st