said. "But if you will
forgive me, I will not accept your invitation to-day. An old friend of
mine is at the other hotel for a few hours and I have promised to
breakfast with him. Will you excuse me?"

Beatrice made an almost imperceptible gesture of indifference with her
hand.

"Who is your friend?" she asked.

"A Piedmontese," answered San Miniato indifferently. "You do not know
him."

"We are very sorry to lose you, especially to-day, San Miniato
carissimo," said the Marchesa. "But if it cannot be helped--well,
good-bye."

So San Miniato went out and left the mother and daughter together again
as he had found them. It is needless to say that the Piedmontese friend
was a fiction, and that San Miniato had no engagement of that kind. He
had hastily resolved to keep one of a different nature because he
guessed that in Beatrice's present temper he would make matters more
difficult by staying. And in this he was right, for Beatrice had made up
her mind to be thoroughly disagreeable and she possessed the elements of
success requisite for that purpose--a sharp tongue, a quick instinct and
great presence of mind.

San Miniato descended the stairs and strolled out into the orange
garden, looking at his watch as he left the door of the hotel. It was
very hot, but further away from the house the sea breeze was blowing
through the trees. He was still smoking the cigarette he had lighted
upstairs, and he sat down on a bench in the shade, took out a pocket
book and began to make notes. From time to time he looked along the
path in the direction of the hotel, which was hidden from view by the
shrubbery. Then the clock struck twelve and a few minutes later the
church bells began to ring, as they do half a dozen times a day in Italy
on small provocation. Still San Miniato went on with his calculations.

Before many minutes more had passed, a trim young figure appeared in the
path--a young girl, with pink cheeks and bright dark eyes, no other than
Teresina, the Marchesa's maid. She carried some sewing in her hand and
looked nervously behind her and to the right and left as she walked. But
there was no one in the garden at that hour. The guests of the hotel
were all at breakfast, and the servants were either asleep or at work
indoors. The porter was at his dinner and the sailors were presumably
eating their midday bread and cheese down by the boats, or dining at
their homes if they lived near by. The breeze blew pleasantly thr