rm knock. Vere turned round, rather startled. She had been very much
absorbed by her colloquy.

"What is it, Gaspare?"

"Signorina, there's a boat coming in from Naples with Don Emilio in it."

"Don Emilio! He's come back! Oh!" There was a pause. Then she cried out,
"Capital! Capital!"

She ran to the door and opened it.

"Just think of Don Emilio's being back already, Gaspare. But Madre! She
will be sorry."

"Signorina?"

"Why? What's the matter?"

"Are you coming out like that?"

"What?--Oh, you mean my hair?"

"Si, Signorina."

"Gaspare, you ought to have been a lady's maid! Go and bring in Don
Emilio to Madre's room. And--wait--you're not to tell him Madre is away.
Now mind!"

"Va bene, Signorina."

He went away.

"Shall I put up my hair?"

Vere went again to the glass, and stood considering herself.

"For Monsieur Emile! No, it's too absurd! Gaspare really is... I
sha'n't!"

And she ran out just as she was to meet Artois.

CHAPTER XI

When she reached her mother's sitting-room Artois was already there
speaking to Gaspare by a window. He turned rather quickly as Vere came
in, and exclaimed:

"Vere! Why--"

"Oh!" she cried, "Gaspare hasn't gone!"

A look almost of dread, half pretence but with some reality in it, too,
came into her face.

"Gaspare, forgive me! I was in such a hurry. And it is only Don Emilio!"

Her voice was coaxing. Gaspare looked at his Padroncina with an attempt
at reprobation; but his nose twitched, and though he tried to compress
his lips they began to stretch themselves in a smile.

"Signorina! Signorina!" he exclaimed. "Madonna!"

On that exclamation he went out, trying to make his back look
condemnatory.

"Only Don Emilio!" Artois repeated.

Vere went to him, and took and held his hand for a moment.

"Yes--only! That's my little compliment. Madre would say of you. 'He's
such an old shoe!' Such compliments come from the heart, you know."

She still held his hand.

"I should have to put my hair up for anybody else. And Gaspare wanted me
to for you."

Artois was looking rather grave and tired. She noticed that now, and
dropped his hand and moved towards a bell.

"Tea!" she said, "all alone with me--for a treat!"

"Isn't your mother in?"

"No. She's gone to Naples. I'm very, very sorry. Make the best of
it, Monsieur Emile, for the sake of my _amour propre_. I said I was
sorry--but that was only for you, and Madre."

Artois smiled.

"Is an