que. There was no woman in the household; he might
smoke in any room he pleased. A cook, a butler, and a valet were the
sum-total of his retinue. In appearance he resembled many another
clean-cut, clean-living American gentleman.

Giovanni sought his own room at the end of the hall, squatted on a low
stool and solemnly began the business of blacking his master's boots. He
was still as lean and tall as a Lombardy poplar, this handsome old
Roman. His hair was white; there was now no black beard on his face,
which was as brown and creased as Spanish levant; and some of the
fullness was gone from his chest and arms; but for all that he carried
his fifty-odd years lightly. He worked swiftly to-night, but his mind
was far away from his task.

There was a pitiful story, commonplace enough. A daughter, a
loose-living officer, a knife flung from a dark alley, and sudden flight
to the south. Hillard had found him wandering through the streets of
Naples, hiding from the _carabinieri_ as best he could. Hillard
contrived to smuggle him on the private yacht of a friend. He found a
peasant who was reconsidering the advisability of digging sewers and
laying railroad ties in the Eldorado of the West. A few pieces of
silver, and the passport changed hands. With this Giovanni blandly lied
his way into the United States. After due time he applied for
citizenship, and through Hillard's influence it was accorded him. He
solemnly voted when elections came round, and hoarded his wages, like
the thrifty man he was. Some day he would return to Rome, or Naples, or
Venice, or Florence, as the case might be; and then!

When the boots shone flawlessly, he carried them to Hillard's door and
softly tiptoed back. He put his face against the cold window. He, too,
had heard the Voice. How his heart hurt him with its wild hope! But only
for a moment. It was not the voice he hungered for. The words were
Italian, but he knew that the woman who sang them was not!

CHAPTER II

OBJECT, MATRIMONY

Winter fogs in New York are never quite so intolerable as their
counterparts in London; and while their frequency is a matter of
complaint, their duration is seldom of any length. So, by the morrow a
strong wind from the west had winnowed the skies and cleared the sun.
There was an exhilarating tingle of frost in the air and a visible rime
on the windows. Hillard, having breakfasted lightly, was standing with
his back to the grate in the cozy breakfast-