himself in
his quality of habitue of this house and your particular friend."

"I know you're angry, Gerald; I don't wonder you're ready to call names.
But the thing is simple, isn't it, after all, now that I understand. The
harm done isn't such as can never be mended. All I have to do is write
to Antonia and tell her I was the black crow, or, if you advise, write
to the two gentlemen I've offended."

"Heavens, no! you can't do that!"

"Why can't I?"

"You can't; that's all. You can't admit that that little vermin is on
terms of intimacy with you permitting his prompting your Carnival
witticisms, and you can't hope to make any one in Florence believe you
didn't understand what you were saying."

"Yes, I can, my friend; I can make them believe. I can speak the truth.
I can, at all events, prove that Antonia had nothing whatever to do with
it."

"No, no, no, I tell you! You can do nothing whatever about it. Your name
must not be allowed to appear in the matter at all. It would serve
Ceccherelli right that his part in the disgraceful business should be
known, dangerous little beast that he is. He would receive a lesson, and
an excellent thing it would be; but that, again, might involve you. One
couldn't trust him to keep your name out of it. Besides, it would very
likely ruin him, disgusting little beggar."

"You leave him to me! He roared his throat to a frazzle the other night,
and can't make a sound, but he'll come round as soon as he's better, and
then if I don't give it to him! Little cuss!... But I'm to blame, too,
Gerald. You told me over and over that I oughtn't to encourage him to
gossip as I did, but I went right on doing it because it was as good as
a play to hear him tell his queer stories in his queer English. It
amused me, I've no other excuse. I sort of knew all the time that it was
wrong. And so he got bolder and bolder and finally overstepped the line.
And now I've got my come-uppance. I'll settle him, trust _me_, and
I'll write to Antonia, and I'll write the two gentlemen, if you'll just
tell me where to write."

"Must I tell you again that you are above all things to do nothing of
the kind? Not certainly if you think of continuing to live in Florence.
Leave the matter to me. I am well acquainted with everybody in question
and shall be able to satisfy them, I hope, while leaving them completely
in the dark as to the real culprit."

Mrs. Hawthorne appeared to hesitate.

"I really should feel b