g up as a signal to leave, and promptly said good-by.
"Good-by, then!" Nina said frigidly; and, turning on her heel, she
abruptly left him.

Under the spur of her anger against him, the words framed themselves in
her mind--"How unfinished he is!" But down in her heart there was an
ache, deeper than could have been caused by mere irritation, or even
disappointment. Never before in her life had there been a breach between
John and her. She felt it was all the fault of his own density--or was
it lack of feeling?

She went to her room to put on her riding habit, for she was going to
the meet. Then, as she dressed, the thought came to her that John, a
foreigner, and the most venturesome person in the world, was going off
to Sicily, into the very center of one of the wildest districts. And
gradually fear for him made her forget her resentment.

Just as she was leaving her room a big cornucopia of roses was brought
in, to which was appended the following note:

"If we weren't such old friends and you didn't
know what a blundering fool I am, I wouldn't dare
to apologize for this morning. Judge me by intent,
though, won't you--and forgive me?

"JACK."

Nina broke off a rose and fastened it to the lapel of her habit; but the
note she tucked in between the buttonholes. Suddenly humming a gay
little song, she ran through the rooms and corridors to join her aunt
and uncle, who were waiting for her to motor out to the hunt, the horses
having been sent ahead with the grooms. As they drove out of the
courtyard she noticed that the sun was brilliantly shining.

At the meet the scene was really animated, for the day was perfect, and
the Via Appia was a bright moving picture of carriages, large and small,
big motors and little runabouts, the road dotted here and there with the
brilliant scarlet coats of those who were to hunt and the bright colors
of women's dresses in the various conveyances.

There was apparently much lack of system: the huntsmen chatted aimlessly
with persons in the carriages; while the hounds scurried around
according to their own inclinations, paying little attention to the snap
of the whip. The Contessa Potensi, who had appeared in a pink hunting
coat, was the cynosure of all eyes. The innovation created quite a stir
and no little admiration. She bowed to Nina with unusual civility, and
made a formal acknowledgment of the pleasure of riding with her. Yet
sh