his hat in his hand. Evidently he had recovered completely
from his lesson. He looked gay and handsome. Artois realized how very
completely the young rascal's desires were being fulfilled. But of
course the introduction must be made. He made it quietly.

"Marchese Isidoro Panacci--Mrs. Delarey."

The Marchesino bent and kissed Hermione's hand. As he did so Vere came
out of the house, her hands full of Khali Targa cigarettes, her face
eager at the thought of giving pleasure to Ruffo.

"This is my daughter, Vere," Hermione said. "Vere, this is the Marchese
Isidoro Panacci, a friend of Monsieur Emile's."

The Marchesino went to kiss Vere's hand, but she said:

"I'm very sorry--look!"

She showed him that they were full of cigarettes, and so escaped from
the little ceremony. For those watching it was impossible to know
whether she wished to avoid the formal salutation of the young man's
lips or not.

"Here, Ruffo!" she said. She went up to the boy. "Put your hands
together."

Ruffo gladly obeyed. He curved his brown hands into a cup, and Vere
filled this cup with the big cigarettes, while Hermione, Artois, and
the Marchesino looked on; each one of them with a fixed attention
which--surely--the action scarcely merited. But there was something
about those two, Vere and the boy, which held the eyes and the mind.

"Good-night, Ruffo. You must carry them to the boat. They'll be crushed
if you put them into your trousers-pocket."

"Si, Signorina!"

He waited a moment. He wanted to salute them, but did not know how to.
That was evident. His expressive eyes, his whole face told it to them.

Artois suddenly set his lips together in his beard. For an instant it
seemed to him that the years had rolled back, that he was in London, in
Caminiti's restaurant, that he saw Maurice Delarey, with the reverential
expression on his face that had been so pleasing. Yes, the boy Ruffo
looked like him in that moment, as he stood there, wishing to do his
devoir, to be polite, but not knowing how to.

"Never mind, Ruffo," It was Vere's voice. "We understand! Or--shall I?"
A laughing look came into her face. She went up to the boy and, with a
delicious, childish charm and delicacy, that quite removed the action
from impertinence, she took his cap off. "There!" She put it gently back
on his dark hair. "Now you've been polite to us. Buona notte!"

"Buona notte, Signorina."

The boy ran off, half laughing, and carrying carefully the ci