gne, at three in the morning, when the
Hungarian music is ringing madly in her ears and there are only two more
waltzes on the programme. Music, dancing, lights and heat are to a woman
of the world what strong drinks are to a normal man; they may not
intoxicate, but they change the humour. Fortunately for San Miniato the
young lady whom he wished to marry was not just at present exposed to
the action of those stimulants, and her moods were tolerably even. If he
had been at all eloquent, the same style of eloquence would have done
almost as well after dinner as after breakfast. But the secret springs
of love speech were dried up in his brain by the haunting consciousness
that much was expected of him. He had never before thought of marrying
and had not yet in his life found himself for any length of time
constantly face to face in conversation with a young girl, with
limitations of propriety and the fear of failure before his eyes. The
situation was new and uncomfortable. He felt like a man who has got a
hat which does not belong to him, which does not fit him and which will
not stay on his head in a high wind. The consequence was that his talk
lacked interest, and that he often did not talk at all. Nevertheless, he
managed to show enough assiduity to keep himself continually in the
foreground of Beatrice's thoughts. Being almost constantly present she
could not easily forget him, and he held his ground with a determination
which kept other men away. When a man can make a woman think of him
half-a-dozen times a day and can prevent other men from taking his place
when he is beside her, he is in a fair way to success.

On a certain evening San Miniato had a final interview with the Marchesa
di Mola in which he expressed all that he felt for Beatrice, including a
little more, and in which he described his not very prosperous financial
condition with mitigated frankness. The Marchesa listened dreamily in
the darkness on the terrace while her daughter played soft dance music
in the dimly lighted room behind her. Beatrice probably had an idea of
what was going on outside, upon the terrace, and was trying to make up
her own mind. She played waltzes very prettily, as women who dance well
generally do, if they play at all.

When San Miniato had finished, the Marchesa was silent for a few
seconds. Then she tapped her companion twice upon the arm with her fan,
in a way which would have seemed lazy in any one else, but which, for
h