young man, whom he could not
understand, though his own dogmatic temper made him as a rule believe
that he understood most things and most men. But this particular
individual alternately puzzled, delighted, and irritated the nervous
Scotchman.

They had made acquaintance at an artists' supper in the previous year,
had afterwards met accidentally at the bookseller's in the Piazza di
Spagna, where they both went from time to time to look at the English
newspapers, and little by little they had fallen into the habit of
meeting there of a morning, and of strolling in the direction of
Dalrymple's lodging afterwards. At last Dalrymple had asked his
companion to come in and look at a book, and so the acquaintance had
grown. Gloria watched the young stranger, and at first she disliked
him.

The aforesaid bookseller dealt, and deals still, in photographs and
prints, as well as in foreign and Italian books. At the present time his
establishment is distinctively a Roman Catholic one. In those days it
was almost the only one of its kind, and was patronized alike by Romans
and foreigners. Even Donna Francesca Campodonico went there from time to
time for a book on art or an engraving which she and Reanda needed for
their work. They occasionally walked all the way from the Palazzetto
Borgia to the Piazza di Spagna together in the morning. When they had
found what they wanted, Donna Francesca generally drove home in a cab,
and Reanda went to his midday meal before returning. For the line of his
intimacy with her was drawn at this point. He had never sat down at the
same table with her, and he never expected to do so. As the two stood to
one another at present, though Francesca would willingly have asked him
to breakfast, she would have hesitated to do so, merely because the
first invitation would inevitably call attention to the fact that the
line had been drawn somewhere, whereas both were willing to believe that
it had never existed at all. Under any pressure of necessity she would
have driven with him in a cab, but not in her own carriage. They both
knew it, and by tacit consent never allowed such unknown possibilities
to suggest themselves. But in the mornings, there was nothing to
prevent their walking together as far as the Piazza di Spagna, or
anywhere else.

They went to the bookseller's one day soon after the conversation which
had led Francesca to mention the Dalrymples. As they walked along the
east side of the great sq