d arrangimento it is always quite _quite_
happy."

"We are said," I observed thoughtfully, "to be able, as a people, to
accommodate ourselves to circumstances."

"You approve this idea! Signorina, you are so amiable, it is heavenly."

"I see no objection to it," I said. "It is entirely a matter of taste."

"And the American ladies have much taste," observed Count Filgiatti
blandly.

"I'm afraid it isn't infallible," I said, "but it is charming to hear it
approved."

"The American lady comes in Italy. She is young, beautiful, with a
grace--ah! And perhaps there is a little income--a few dollar--but we do
not speak of that--it is a trifle, only to make possible the
arrangimento."

"I see," I said.

"The American lady is so perceiving--it is also a charm. The Italian
gentleman has a dignity of his. He is perhaps from a family a little
old. It is nothing--the matter is of the heart--but it makes possible
the arrangimento."

"I have read of such things before," I said, "in the newspapers. It is
most amusing to hear them corroborated on the spot. But that is one of
the charms of travel, Count Filgiatti."

The Count hesitated and a shade of indecision crossed his swarthy little
features. Then he added simply, "For me she has always been a vision,
that American lady. It is for this that I study the English. I have
thought, 'When I meet one of those so charming Americans, I will do my
possible.'"

I could not help thinking of that family of eleven and the father with
the saints. It was pathetic to feel one's self a realised vision without
any capacity for beneficence--worse in some respects than being obliged
to be unkind to hopes with no financial basis. It made one feel somehow
so mercenary. But before I could think of anything to say--it was such a
difficult juncture--the Count went on.

"But in the Italian idea it is better first one thing to know--the
agreement of the American signorina. If she will not, the Italian
nobleman is too much disgrace. It is not good to offer the name and the
title if the lady say no, I do not want--take that poor thing away."

How artless it was! Yet my sympathy ebbed immediately. Not my curiosity,
however. Perhaps at this or an earlier point I should have gone blushing
away and forever pondered in secret the problem of Count Filgiatti's
intentions. I confess that it didn't even occur to me--it was such a
little Count and so far beyond the range of my emotions. Instead, I
smile