would spring up towards sunset, and the leaves that had
hung heavy and flaccid on the trees in the blazing heat of noon would
be stirred by it to some semblance of life, while the shadows
lengthened, and the incessant maddening scream of the locusts died
down into silence. The gardens were a favourite resort. As the church
bells rang the Ave Maria the people came to them by Camollia and San
Domenico, to see each other and to talk over the news of the day.

Smart be-ribboned nurses carrying babies on white silk cushions tied
with pink or blue rosettes, young married women with their children,
stout mothers chaperoning the elaborate vivacity of their daughters,
occupied seats near the bandstand, or lingered about the paths as they
chattered and fanned themselves incessantly to the strains of the
Intermezzo from _Cavalleria Rusticana_ or some march of Verdi's. A
great gulf was fixed between the sexes on these occasions. The young
men congregated about the base of Garibaldi's statue; more or less
gilded youths devoted to "le Sport," wearing black woollen jerseys
and perforated cycling shoes, while lady-killers braved strangulation
in four-inch collars. There were soldiers too, cavalry lieutenants,
slender, erect, and very conscious of their charms, and dark-faced
priests, who listened to the music carefully with their eyes fixed on
the ground, as being in the crowd but not of it. Olive watched them
all with mingled amusement and impatience. If only the boys would talk
to their friends' sisters instead of eyeing them furtively from afar;
if only the girls would refrain from useless needlework and empty
laughter. They talked incessantly and called every mortal--and
immortal--thing _carina_. Queen Margherita was _carina_, and so was
the new cross-stitch, and so was this blue-eyed Olive. Yes, they
admitted her alien charm. She was _strana_, too, but they did not use
that word when she was there or she would have rejoiced over such an
enlargement of their vocabulary.

"They are amiable," she told Astorre, "but we have not one idea in
common."

"Ah," he said, "can one woman ever praise another without that 'but'?
Do you think them pretty?" he asked.

"Yes, but one does not notice them when Gemma is there."

"That is the pale one, isn't it? I have heard of her from the
students, and also from the professors of the University. One of my
friends raves about her Greek profile and her straight black brows. He
calls her his sile