one sketching, the
other lazily chatting. It did not seem to have occurred to him that the
strangers might understand English.

"Leave off daubing at the landscape, Willie," he said; "and draw that
glorious Italian boy going into ecstasies over those bits of ferns. Just
look at the line of his eyebrows! You only need to put a crucifix for
the magnifying-glass and a Roman toga for the jacket and knickerbockers,
and there's your Early Christian complete, expression and all."

"Early Christian be hanged! I sat beside that youth at dinner; he was
just as ecstatic over the roast fowl as over those grubby little weeds.
He's pretty enough; that olive colouring is beautiful; but he's not half
so picturesque as his father."

"His--who?"

"His father, sitting there straight in front of you. Do you mean to say
you've passed him over? It's a perfectly magnificent face."

"Why, you dunder-headed, go-to-meeting Methodist! Don't you know a
Catholic priest when you see one?"

"A priest? By Jove, so he is! Yes, I forgot; vow of chastity, and all
that sort of thing. Well then, we'll be charitable and suppose the boy's
his nephew."

"What idiotic people!" Arthur whispered, looking up with dancing eyes.
"Still, it is kind of them to think me like you; I wish I were really
your nephew----Padre, what is the matter? How white you are!"

Montanelli was standing up, pressing one hand to his forehead. "I am a
little giddy," he said in a curiously faint, dull tone. "Perhaps I was
too much in the sun this morning. I will go and lie down, carino; it's
nothing but the heat."

*****

After a fortnight beside the Lake of Lucerne Arthur and Montanelli
returned to Italy by the St. Gothard Pass. They had been fortunate as
to weather and had made several very pleasant excursions; but the
first charm was gone out of their enjoyment. Montanelli was continually
haunted by an uneasy thought of the "more definite talk" for which this
holiday was to have been the opportunity. In the Arve valley he had
purposely put off all reference to the subject of which they had spoken
under the magnolia tree; it would be cruel, he thought, to spoil the
first delights of Alpine scenery for a nature so artistic as Arthur's by
associating them with a conversation which must necessarily be painful.
Ever since the day at Martigny he had said to himself each morning; "I
will speak to-day," and each evening: "I will speak to-morrow;" and now
the holiday was over,