his room. His mind and soul were in a whirl. He
sat down in his chair, and did not move again for a great while. When
he did move, he took his flute and played he knew not what. But strange,
strange his soul passed into his instrument. Or passed half into his
instrument. There was a big residue left, to go bitter, or to ferment
into gold old wine of wisdom.

He did not notice the dinner gong, and only the arrival of the
chamber-maid, to put the wash-table in order, sent him down to the
restaurant. The first thing he saw, as he entered, was the two young
Englishmen seated at a table in a corner just behind him. Their hair was
brushed straight back from their foreheads, making the sweep of the head
bright and impeccable, and leaving both the young faces clear as if in
cameo. Angus had laid his monocle on the table, and was looking
round the room with wide, light-blue eyes, looking hard, like some
bird-creature, and seeming to see nothing. He had evidently been very
ill: was still very ill. His cheeks and even his jaw seemed shrunken,
almost withered. He forgot his dinner: or he did not care for it.
Probably the latter.

"What do you think, Francis," he said, "of making a plan to see Florence
and Sienna and Orvieto on the way down, instead of going straight
to Rome?" He spoke in precise, particularly-enunciated words, in a
public-school manner, but with a strong twang of South Wales.

"Why, Angus," came the graceful voice of Francis, "I thought we had
settled to go straight through via Pisa." Francis was graceful in
everything--in his tall, elegant figure, in the poses of his handsome
head, in the modulation of his voice.

"Yes, but I see we can go either way--either Pisa or Florence. And I
thought it might be nice to look at Florence and Sienna and Orvieto.
I believe they're very lovely," came the soft, precise voice of Angus,
ending in a touch of odd emotion on the words "very lovely," as if it
were a new experience to him to be using them.

"I'm SURE they're marvellous. I'm quite sure they're marvellously
beautiful," said Francis, in his assured, elegant way. "Well, then,
Angus--suppose we do that, then?--When shall we start?"

Angus was the nervous insister. Francis was quite occupied with his own
thoughts and calculations and curiosity. For he was very curious, not
to say inquisitive. And at the present moment he had a new subject to
ponder.

This new subject was Aaron, who sat with his back to our new couple