on that Beatrice makes no comments. Give me a cigarette,
Teresina."

"The congregation will not interrupt the preacher before the
benediction," said Beatrice folding her small hands on her knee, and
looking down with a devout expression.

"Charm," began San Miniato, "is the something which some women possess,
and which holds the men who love them--"

"Only those who love them?" interrupted Beatrice, looking up quickly.

"I thought," said the Marchesa, "that you were not to give us any
comments." She dropped the words one or two at a time between the puffs
of her cigarette.

"A question is not a comment, mamma. I ask for instruction."

"Go on, dearest friend," said her mother to the Count. "She is
incorrigible."

"On the contrary, Donna Beatrice fills my empty head with ideas. The
question was to the point. All men feel the charm of such women as all
men smell the orange blossoms here in May--"

"The language of flowers again!" laughed Beatrice.

"You are so like a flower," answered San Miniato softly.

"Am I?" She laughed again, then grew grave and looked away.

Ruggiero's hand shook on the heavy tiller, and San Miniato, who supposed
he was steering all the time, turned suddenly.

"What is the matter?" he asked.

"The rudder is draking, Excellency," answered Ruggiero.

"And what does that mean?" asked Beatrice.

"It means that the rudder trembles as the boat rises and falls with each
sea, when there is a good breeze," answered Ruggiero.

"Is there any danger?" asked Beatrice indifferently.

"What danger could there be, Excellency?" asked the sailor.

"Because you are so pale, Ruggiero. What is the matter with you,
to-day?"

"Nothing, Excellency."

"Ruggiero is in love," laughed San Miniato. "Is it not true, Ruggiero?"

But the sailor did not answer, though the hot blood came quickly to his
face and stayed there a moment and then sank away again. He looked
steadily at the dancing waves to windward, and set his lips tightly
together.

"I would like to ask that sailor what he thinks of love and charm, and
all the rest of it," said Beatrice. "His ideas would be interesting."

Ruggiero's blue eyes turned slowly upon her, with an odd expression.
Then he looked away again.

"I will ask him," said San Miniato in a low voice. "Ruggiero!"

"Excellency!"

"We want to know what you think about love. What is the best quality a
woman can have?"

"To be honest," answered Ruggiero promptly.

"And af