ll I can do for you in the way of a chair," he said.

"Ah, that is all right," said the Marchese. "Well, it is very nice
up here--and very nice company. Of the very best, the very best in
Florence."

"The highest, anyhow," said Argyle grimly, as he entered with the glass.
"Have a whiskey and soda, Del Torre. It's the bottom of the bottle, as
you see."

"The bottom of the bottle! Then I start with the tail-end, yes!" He
stretched his blue eyes so that the whites showed all round, and grinned
a wide, gnome-like grin.

"You made that start long ago, my dear fellow. Don't play the _ingenue_
with me, you know it won't work. Say when, my man, say when!"

"Yes, when," said Del Torre. "When did I make that start, then?"

"At some unmentionably young age. Chickens such as you soon learn to
cheep."

"Chickens such as I soon learn to cheap," repeated Del Torre, pleased
with the verbal play. "What is cheap, please? What is TO CHEAP?"

"Cheep! Cheep!" squeaked Argyle, making a face at the little Italian,
who was perched on one strap of the luggage-stool. "It's what chickens
say when they're poking their little noses into new adventures--naughty
ones."

"Are chickens naughty? Oh! I thought they could only be good!"

"Featherless chickens like yourself, my boy."

"Oh, as for featherless--then there is no saying what they will do.--"
And here the Marchese turned away from Argyle with the inevitable
question to Lilly:

"Well, and how long will you stay in Florence?"

Lilly did not know: but he was not leaving immediately.

"Good! Then you will come and see us at once...."

Argyle rose once more, and went to make the tea. He shoved a lump of
cake--or rather panetone, good currant loaf--through the window, with a
knife to cut it.

"Help yourselves to the panetone," he said. "Eat it up. The tea is
coming at once. You'll have to drink it in your glasses, there's only
one old cup."

The Marchese cut the cake, and offered pieces. The two men took and ate.

"So you have already found Mr. Sisson!" said Del Torre to Lilly.

"Ran straight into him in the Via Nazionale," said Lilly.

"Oh, one always runs into everybody in Florence. We are all already
acquainted: also with the flute. That is a great pleasure."

"So I think.--Does your wife like it, too?"

"Very much, indeed! She is quite _eprise_. I, too, shall have to learn
to play it."

"And run the risk of spoiling the shape of your mouth--like Alcibiades."

"Is th