could not live. It is a
necessary muscle. But what YOU call 'heart'--and what the dear elusive
poets write about, is simply brain,--that is to say, an impulsive
movement of the brain, suggesting the desirability of a particular
person's companionship--and we elect to call that 'love'! On that mere
impulse people marry."

"It's a good impulse"--said Colonel Boyd, still smiling broadly--"It
founds families and continues the race!"

"Ah, yes! But I often wonder why the race should be continued at all!"
said Morgana--"The time is ripe for a new creation!"

A slow footfall sounded on the garden path, and the tall figure of a
man clad in the everyday ecclesiastical garb of the Roman Church
ascended the steps of the loggia.

"Don Aloysius!" quickly exclaimed the Marchese, and every one rose to
greet the newcomer, Morgana receiving him with a profound reverence. He
laid his hand on her head with a kindly touch of benediction.

"So the dreamer has come to her dream!" he said, in soft accents--"And
it has not broken like an air-bubble!--it still floats and shines!" As
he spoke he courteously saluted all present by a bend of his head,--and
stood for a moment gazing at the view of the sea and the dying sunset.
He was a very striking figure of a man--tall, and commanding in air and
attitude, with a fine face which might be called almost beautiful. The
features were such as one sees in classic marbles--the full clear eyes
were set somewhat widely apart under shelving brows that denoted a
brain with intelligence to use it, and the smile that lightened his
expression as he looked from, the sea to his fair hostess was of a
benignant sweetness.

"Yes"--he continued--"you have realised your vision of loveliness, have
you not? Our friend Giulio Rivardi has carried out all your plans?"

"Everything is perfect!" said Morgana--"Or will be when it is finished.
The workmen still have things to do."

"All workmen always have things to do!" said Don Aloysius,
tranquilly--"And nothing is ever finished! And you, dear child!--you
are happy?"

She flushed and paled under his deep, steady gaze.

"I--I think so!" she murmured--"I ought to be!"

The priest smiled and after a pause took the chair which the Marchese
Rivardi offered him. The other guests in the loggia looked at him with
interest, fascinated by his grave charm of manner. Morgana resumed her
seat.

"I ought to be happy"--she said--"And of course I am--or I shall be!"

"'Man