ederick would do, taking his place.

"Just stand still a moment--"

She obeyed automatically.

"Yes--quite astonishing. Do you mind taking off your hat?"

Rose, surprised, took it off obediently.

"Yes--I thought so--I just wanted to make sure. And look--have
you noticed--"

He began to make odd swift passes with his hand over the face in
the picture, measuring it, looking from it to her.

Rose's surprise became amusement, and she could not help smiling.
"Have you come to compare me with my original?" she asked.

"You do see how extraordinarily alike--"

"I didn't know I looked so solemn."

"You don't. Not now. You did a minute ago, quite as solemn. Oh
yes--how do you do," he finished suddenly, noticing her outstretched
hand. And he laughed and shook it, flushing--a trick of his--to the
roots of his hair.

Francesca came back. "The Signora Fisher," she said, "will be
pleased to see Him."

"Who is the Signora Fisher?" he asked Rose.

"One of the four who are sharing your house."

"Then there are four of you?"

"Yes. My friend and I found we couldn't afford it by ourselves."

"Oh, I say--" began Briggs in confusion, for he would best have
liked Rose Arbuthnot--pretty name--not to have to afford anything, but
to stay at San Salvatore as long as she liked as his guest.

"Mrs. Fisher is having coffee in the top garden," said Rose.
"I'll take you to her and introduce you."

"I don't want to go. You've got your hat on, so you were going
for a walk. Mayn't I come too? I'd immensely like being shown round
by you."

"But Mrs. Fisher is waiting for you."

"Won't she keep?"

"Yes," said Rose, with the smile that had so much attracted him
the first day. "I think she will keep quite well till tea."

"Do you speak Italian?"

"No," said Rose. "Why?"

On that he turned to Francesca, and told her at a great rate, for
in Italian he was glib, to go back to the Signora in the top garden and
tell her he had encountered his old friend the Signora Arbuthnot, and
was going for a walk with her and would present himself to her later.

"Do you invite me to tea?" he asked Rose, when Francesca had
gone.

"Of course. It's your house."

"It isn't. It's yours."

"Till Monday week," she smiled.

"Come and show me all the views," he said eagerly; and it was
plain, even to the self-depreciatory Rose, that she did not bore Mr.
Briggs.

Chapter 18

They had a very pleasant walk, with a great