shing around Naples,"
Sophy went on, nervously garrulous. "Cecil won't be coming for another
month, I suppose; but I could go and look up a villa and--and get things
ready."

"And what will you do with _this_ villa, my dear? You've four months yet
to run. You should sublet it."

And the Marchesa, always practical, began to discuss with Sophy the
possibilities of subletting Villa Bianca.

It was six o'clock when they left Isola Bella. The train from Milan did
not reach Laveno until half-past seven. Amaldi spoke of this as they
went toward the landing.

"What shall we do with our extra hour?" asked the Marchesa. "What would
you like to do, my dear?" she said, turning to Sophy, who was gazing at
the Palazzo on the Isola Madre.

Sophy started, as she often did these days when some one spoke suddenly
to her. She had been immersed in a sad, prescient feeling, as though
this afternoon were one of long farewells. Now as the Marchesa spoke,
she yielded to a wish that she had often had, and that came to her in
this moment very strongly. They had never visited the Isola Madre. There
had been so many other things of more obvious interest to see; but Sophy
had always felt drawn to that tranquil, tree-clad spot, with its rosy
Palace in which no one lived.

"Do you think--would there be time, for us to go to Isola Madre?" she
asked hesitatingly.

The Marchesa said briskly that it was the very thing--and on their way,
too.

The evening came stealing on as with a gracious modesty. There was no
flare of gorgeous colour--not a cloud. Very delicately, very slowly, sky
and water became suffused with soft, dim saffron. The Isola Madre lay
against it like an island of dark-green smoke, sent up to the lake's
clear surface by some submerged volcano.

They found another boat at the landing. No sooner had they reached the
upper terrace than the Marchesa was approached by a lively French lady
who had brought some friends to see the island. There was a flutter of
introductions all round. Sophy was much disappointed. This vivacious
lady seemed so jarringly out of key with the lovely hour, and the
wistful beauty of the island. Amaldi was standing near her.

"Shall we walk on?" he said, in a low voice. "I know the island
well...."

She turned away with him, feeling that perhaps she should not, feeling
also that whether it were wrong or right she would have this last,
beautiful hour with him.

They went in silence across the lawns to t