o imagine
that she was in her district, and to behave accordingly.

"What a fine child, Signor Carella. And how nice of you to talk to it.
Though I see that the ungrateful little fellow is asleep! Seven months?
No, eight; of course eight. Still, he is a remarkably fine child for his
age."

Italian is a bad medium for condescension. The patronizing words came
out gracious and sincere, and he smiled with pleasure.

"You must not stand. Let us sit on the loggia, where it is cool. I am
afraid the room is very untidy," he added, with the air of a hostess who
apologizes for a stray thread on the drawing-room carpet. Miss Abbott
picked her way to the chair. He sat near her, astride the parapet, with
one foot in the loggia and the other dangling into the view. His face
was in profile, and its beautiful contours drove artfully against
the misty green of the opposing hills. "Posing!" said Miss Abbott to
herself. "A born artist's model."

"Mr. Herriton called yesterday," she began, "but you were out."

He started an elaborate and graceful explanation. He had gone for the
day to Poggibonsi. Why had the Herritons not written to him, so that he
could have received them properly? Poggibonsi would have done any day;
not but what his business there was fairly important. What did she
suppose that it was?

Naturally she was not greatly interested. She had not come from Sawston
to guess why he had been to Poggibonsi. She answered politely that she
had no idea, and returned to her mission.

"But guess!" he persisted, clapping the balustrade between his hands.

She suggested, with gentle sarcasm, that perhaps he had gone to
Poggibonsi to find something to do.

He intimated that it was not as important as all that. Something to
do--an almost hopeless quest! "E manca questo!" He rubbed his thumb and
forefinger together, to indicate that he had no money. Then he
sighed, and blew another smoke-ring. Miss Abbott took heart and turned
diplomatic.

"This house," she said, "is a large house."

"Exactly," was his gloomy reply. "And when my poor wife died--" He got
up, went in, and walked across the landing to the reception-room door,
which he closed reverently. Then he shut the door of the living-room
with his foot, returned briskly to his seat, and continued his sentence.
"When my poor wife died I thought of having my relatives to live here.
My father wished to give up his practice at Empoli; my mother and
sisters and two aunts were al