l undiminished glories
of a veglione, perceiving finally that the usually merry lady was on her
best behavior to the point of almost complete taciturnity, from
necessity addressed herself more directly to Miss Seymour, who shared
the sofa with her; and from talking of _veglioni_ the two slid into
talking of Florentine affairs more personal.

The task of entertaining Mrs. Hawthorne thus devolving upon Gerald, he
took it up in a way that flatteringly presupposed in her an interest in
general questions. His manner seemed to her very formal. She forgot
that, innocent as their relations were, he yet could not before people
speak to her with the lack of ceremony that in private made her feel
they were such good friends. But even aside from this cool and correct
manner, Gerald seemed to her different to-day--calmer, more serene, less
needing sympathy, as if something of his friend the abbe had rubbed off
on to him.

As he was going on, in language that reminded her of a book, she
interrupted him.

"Don't you want to show me your house?"

"I was going to suggest it," he said at once. "There are several things
I should like to show you. Will you come?"

She rose to follow, losing some of her constraint.

"It's what we always do on the Cape. Any one comes for the first time,
we show them all over our house."

When they were outside the drawing-room door, she felt more like
herself.

"Oh, I'm so glad I can't tell you to see the place where you live!" she
expanded.

They went down the long corridor, past a closed door which he
disappointingly did not open.

"It's a dark room we use to store things," he explained. Neither did he
open the door at the end of the hall. "It's Vincent's room," he said.

They turned into the darker, narrower corridor, bent again, and went
toward the little window high over somebody else's garden. He ushered
Mrs. Hawthorne into the kitchen, for here, near the ceiling, was the
door-bell, and on it the well-known coat of arms, crown and
cannon-balls, which testified to the age and aristocracy of the house.

While he sought to interest her in this curiosity, Aurora was looking at
everything besides; for Giovanna was making preparations for dinner, and
Aurora's thoughts were busy with the fowl she saw run on a long spit and
waiting to be roasted before a bundle of sticks at the back of the sort
of masonry counter that served as kitchen stove.

"They do have the queerest ways of doing things!"