softened.

"Yes," she said.

But before he could move, she had sprung up, and disappeared through
one of the French windows, joining Miss Sandus and Adrian at the piano.

In her flight, however, she forgot her fan. It lay where she had left
it on the table.

Anthony picked it up, pressed it to his face. He closed his eyes, and
kept it pressed to his face. Its fragrance was more than a mere
fragrance--there was something of herself in it, something poignantly,
intimately personal.

By and by he put the fan in his pocket, in the inside pocket of his
coat--feathers downwards, the better to conceal it. Then he too joined
the group at the piano.

XX

In their sitting-room in the Hotel de Rome, at Vallanza, Anthony and
Adrian were waiting for their breakfast. It is evident, therefore,
that Susanna's will had prevailed, and a fool's errand was in process
of accomplishment. The fool, no doubt, to the last moment, had renewed
his protests, his pleadings, his refusals; but, at each fresh outburst,
coldly, firmly, the lady had reiterated her ultimatum, "Then all is
over between you and me." And in the end, very conscious of his folly,
very much incensed by her perversity, disgusted, dejected, and, as his
travelling-companion had occasion to observe, in the very devil of a
temper, he had left Victoria by the eleven o'clock Continental express.
"Never forget," Miss Sandus whispered in his ear, as he paid her his
adieux, "never forget that sound old adage--'journeys end in lovers
meeting.'" This was oracular, and he had no opportunity to press for
an interpretation; but it was clearly intended as of good omen. At the
same time, in another part of the room, Susanna was whispering to
Adrian. As Adrian never again expressed the slightest curiosity anent
the motive of their hegira, I am led to wonder whether Susanna had
admitted him to her confidence. She had intimated that she should n't
especially mind doing so; and it is certain that he, from that time
forth, now and then smiled at the sky with an eye that looked very
knowing.

Those who have recently visited Sampaolo will remember the Hotel de
Rome as a small, new, spick-and-span establishment, built at the corner
of the Piazza San Guido and the Riva Vittorio Emmanuele, and presenting
none of that "local colour in the shape of dirt and discomfort" which
we are warned to expect in Italy, if we depart from the track beaten by
the tourist. I am told that th