actually roused to
a sense of the necessity for action. Her constitution must have been
far stronger than any one supposed. She must indeed have been in
considerable anxiety about the success of her plans, more than once
during the past few days. Yet she was outwardly almost as unruffled and
as lazy as ever.

"Dearest child," she said at last, "of course, as I have said, I cannot
argue the point with you. No one could, in your present state of mind.
But there is one thing which I must say, and which I am sure you will be
quite ready to understand."

Beatrice said nothing, but slowly turned her head towards her mother
with a look of inquiry.

"I only want to say, my angel, that whatever you may think of San
Miniato, and however much you may choose to let him know what you think,
it may be quite possible to act with more civility than you have used
during the last few days."

"Is that all?" asked Beatrice with a hard laugh. "How nicely you turn
your phrases when you lecture me, mamma! So you wish me to be civil.
Very well, I will try."

"Thank you, Beatrice carissima," answered her mother with a sigh and a
gentle smile. "It will make life so much easier."

Again there was a long silence, and Beatrice sat motionless in her
chair, debating whether she should wait where she was until San Miniato
came, as he was sure to do before long, or whether she should go to her
room and write a letter to some intimate friend, which would of course
never be sent, or, lastly, whether she should not take Teresina and go
down to her bath in the sea before the midday breakfast. While she was
still hesitating, San Miniato arrived.

There was something peculiarly irritating to her in his appearance on
that morning. He was arrayed in perfectly new clothes of light gray,
which fitted him admirably. He wore shoes of untanned leather which
seemed to be perfectly new also, and reflected the light as though they
were waxed. His stiff collar was like porcelain, the single pearl he
wore in his white scarf was so perfect that it might have been false.
His light hair and moustache were very smoothly brushed and combed and
his face was exasperatingly sleek. There was a look of conscious
security about him, of overwhelming correctness and good taste, of pride
in himself and in his success, which Beatrice felt to be almost more
than she could bear with equanimity. He bent gracefully over the
Marchesa's hand and bowed low to the young girl, not sup