e lorgnette. It was
distinctly a sign of approval. These Americans were never slow-witted. She
swung the parasol to and fro, slowly, like a pendulum.

"It is too bad," she said, her glance roving over the white walls of the
villa.

"It was irrevocably lost," Abbott declared.

"No, no; I do not mean the picture. I am thinking of La Toscana. Her voice
was really superb; and to lose it entirely...!" She waved a sympathetic
hand.

Abbott was about to rise up in vigorous protest. But fate itself chose to
rebuke Flora. From the window came--"_Sai cos' ebbe cuore!_"--sung as only
Nora could sing it.

The ferrule of Flora Desimone's parasol bit deeply into the clover-turf.

CHAPTER XVII

THE BALL AT THE VILLA

"Do you know the Duchessa?" asked Flora Desimone.

"Yes." It was three o'clock the same afternoon. The duke sat with his wife
under the vine-clad trattoria on the quay. Between his knees he held his
Panama hat, which was filled with ripe hazelnuts. He cracked them
vigorously with his strong white teeth and filliped the broken shells into
the lake, where a frantic little fish called _agoni_ darted in and about
the slowly sinking particles. "Why?" The duke was not any grayer than he
had been four or five months previous, but the characteristic expression
of his features had undergone a change. He looked less Jovian than
Job-like.

"I want you to get an invitation to her ball at the Villa Rosa to-night."

"We haven't been here twenty-four hours!" in mild protest.

"What has that to do with it? It doesn't make any difference."

"I suppose not." He cracked and ate a nut. "Where is he?"

"He has gone to Milan. He left hurriedly. He's a fool," impatiently.

"Not necessarily. Foolishness is one thing and discretion is another. Oh,
well; his presence here was not absolutely essential. Presently he will
marry and settle down and be a good boy." The next nut was withered, and
he tossed it aside. "Is her voice really gone?"

"No." Flora leaned with her arms upon the railing and glared at the
wimpling water. She had carried the Apple of Discord up the hill and down
again. Nora had been indisposed.

"I am glad of that."

She turned the glare upon him.

"I am very glad of that, considering your part in the affair."

"Michael...!"

"Be careful. Michael is always a prelude to a temper. Have one of these,"
offering a nut.

She struck it rudely from his hand.

"Sometimes I am tempted to put my two hands