d her song of madness and death.

Philip had whispered introductions to the pleasant people who had pulled
him in--tradesmen's sons perhaps they were, or medical students, or
solicitors' clerks, or sons of other dentists. There is no knowing who
is who in Italy. The guest of the evening was a private soldier. He
shared the honour now with Philip. The two had to stand side by side in
the front, and exchange compliments, whilst Gino presided, courteous,
but delightfully familiar. Philip would have a spasm of horror at the
muddle he had made. But the spasm would pass, and again he would be
enchanted by the kind, cheerful voices, the laughter that was never
vapid, and the light caress of the arm across his back.

He could not get away till the play was nearly finished, and Edgardo was
singing amongst the tombs of ancestors. His new friends hoped to see him
at the Garibaldi tomorrow evening. He promised; then he remembered that
if they kept to Harriet's plan he would have left Monteriano. "At ten
o'clock, then," he said to Gino. "I want to speak to you alone. At ten."

"Certainly!" laughed the other.

Miss Abbott was sitting up for him when he got back. Harriet, it seemed,
had gone straight to bed.

"That was he, wasn't it?" she asked.

"Yes, rather."

"I suppose you didn't settle anything?"

"Why, no; how could I? The fact is--well, I got taken by surprise,
but after all, what does it matter? There's no earthly reason why we
shouldn't do the business pleasantly. He's a perfectly charming person,
and so are his friends. I'm his friend now--his long-lost brother.
What's the harm? I tell you, Miss Abbott, it's one thing for England and
another for Italy. There we plan and get on high moral horses. Here
we find what asses we are, for things go off quite easily, all by
themselves. My hat, what a night! Did you ever see a really purple sky
and really silver stars before? Well, as I was saying, it's absurd to
worry; he's not a porky father. He wants that baby as little as I do.
He's been ragging my dear mother--just as he ragged me eighteen months
ago, and I've forgiven him. Oh, but he has a sense of humour!"

Miss Abbott, too, had a wonderful evening, nor did she ever remember
such stars or such a sky. Her head, too, was full of music, and that
night when she opened the window her room was filled with warm, sweet
air. She was bathed in beauty within and without; she could not go to
bed for happiness. Had she ever been s