me, going to be fast friends with Mrs.
Fisher!"

Her face when she lifted her head was full of laughter. Too
extraordinary, the developments produced by San Salvatore. She and
Mrs. Fisher . . . but she saw them being fast friends.

"Where are the others?" asked Mrs. Fisher. "Thank you--dear,"
she added, as Mrs. Wilkins put a footstool under her feet, a footstool
obviously needed, Mrs. Fisher's legs being short.

"I see myself throughout the years," thought Mrs. Wilkins, her
eyes dancing, "bringing footstools to Mrs. Fisher. . ."

"The Roses," she said, straightening herself, "have gone into the
lower garden--I think love-making."

"The Roses?"

"The Fredericks, then, if you like. They're completely merged
and indistinguishable."

"Why not say the Arbuthnots, my dear?" said Mr. Wilkins.

"Very well, Mellersh--the Arbuthnots. And the Carolines--"

Both Mr. Wilkins and Mrs. Fisher started. Mr. Wilkins, usually
in such complete control of himself, started even more than Mrs.
Fisher, and for the first time since his arrival felt angry with his
wife.

"Really--" he began indignantly.

"Very well, Mellersh--the Briggses, then."

"The Briggses!" cried Mr. Wilkins, now very angry indeed; for the
implication was to him a most outrageous insult to the entire race of
Desters--dead Desters, living Desters, and Desters still harmless
because they were yet unborn. "Really--"

"I'm sorry, Mellersh," said Mrs. Wilkins, pretending meekness,
"if you don't like it."

"Like it! You've taken leave of your senses. Why they've never
set eyes on each other before to-day."

"That's true. But that's why they're able now to go ahead."

"Go ahead!" Mr. Wilkins could only echo the outrageous words.

"I'm sorry, Mellersh," said Mrs. Wilkins again, "if you don't
like it, but--"

Her grey eyes shone, and her face rippled with the light and
conviction that had so much surprised Rose the first time they met.

"It's useless minding," she said. "I shouldn't struggle if I
were you. Because--"

She stopped, and looked first at one alarmed solemn face and then
at the other, and laughter as well as light flickered and danced over
her.

"I see them being the Briggses," finished Mrs. Wilkins.

That last week the syringa came out at San Salvatore, and all the
acacias flowered. No one had noticed how many acacias there were till
one day the garden was full of a new scent, and there were the delicate
trees, the lovely su