t to."

"Needless to ask," Anthony threw back. "It's let to a duffer, of
course. None but a duffer would be duffer enough to take it."

"Well, then, you 're quite mistaken," said Adrian, airily swaggering.
"It's let to a lady."

"Oh, there be lady duffers," Anthony apprised him.

"It's very ungallant of you to say so." Adrian frowned disapprobation.
"This lady, if you can bear to hear the whole improbable truth at once,
is an Italian lady."

"An Italian lady? Oh?" Anthony's interest appeared to wake a little.

Adrian laughed.

"I expected that would rouse you. A Madame Torrebianca."

"Ah?" said Anthony; and his interest appeared to drop.

"Yes--la Nobil Donna Susanna Torrebianca. Is n't that a romantic name?
A lady like the heroine of some splendid old Italian story,--like
Pompilia, like Francesca,--like Kate the Queen, when her maiden was
binding her tresses. Young, and dark, and beautiful, and altogether
charming."

"H'm. And not a duffer? An adventuress, then, clearly," said Anthony.
"You 'll never get the rent."

"Nothing of the sort," Adrian asserted, with emphasis. "A lady of the
highest possible respectability. Trust me to know. A scrupulous
Catholic, besides. It was partly because we have a chapel that she
decided to take the house. Father David is hand and glove with her.
And rich. She gave the very best of banker's references. 'Get the
rent,' says he--as if I had n't got my quarter in advance. I let
furnished--what? Well, that's the custom--rent payable quarterly in
advance. And cultivated. She's read everything, and she prattles
English like you or me. She had English governesses when she was a
kiddie. And appreciative. She thinks I 'm without exception the
nicest man she 's ever met. She adores my singing, and delights in all
the brilliant things I say. She says things that are n't half bad
herself, and plays my accompaniments with really a great deal of
sympathy and insight. And Tony dear,"--he laid his hand impressively
on Tony's arm, while his voice sank to the pitch of deep emotion,--"she
has a cook--a cook--ah, me!"

He smacked his lips, as at an unutterable recollection.

"She brought him with her from Italy. He has a method of preparing
sweetbreads--well, you wait. His name is Serafino--and no wonder. And
she has the nicest person who was ever born to live with her: a Miss
Sandus, Miss Ruth Sandus, a daughter of the late Admiral Sir Geoffrey
Sandus. She