arance of great
candour. "I had not noticed that I was nervous or depressed."

"We are entering October," said the Cardinal. "I must return to Rome. I
have been absent too long already. I must return next week. But I should
not like to go away with the feeling that you are unhappy."

"If a thing were needed to make me unhappy, it would be the announcement
of your intended departure," Beatrice said, smiling. "But otherwise,
I am no more unhappy than it is natural to be. Life, after all, is n't
such a furiously gay business as to keep one perpetually singing and
dancing--is it? But I am not especially unhappy."

"H'm," said the Cardinal. Then, in a minute, "You will come to Rome in
November, I suppose?" he asked.

"Yes--towards the end of November, I think," said Beatrice.

The Cardinal rose, and began to walk backwards and forwards again.

In a little while the sound of carriage-wheels could be heard, in the
sweep, round the corner of the house.

The Cardinal looked at his watch.

"Here is the carriage," he said. "I must go down and see that poor old
woman.... Do you know," he added, after a moment's hesitation, "I think
it would be well if you were to go with me."

A shadow came into Beatrice's eyes.

"What good would that do?" she asked.

"It would give her pleasure, no doubt. And besides, she is one of your
parishioners, as it were. I think you ought to go. You have never been
to see her since she fell ill."

"Oh--well," said Beatrice.

She was plainly unwilling. But she went to put on her things.

In the carriage, when they had passed the village and crossed the
bridge, as they were bowling along the straight white road that led
to the villa, "What a long time it is since Mr. Marchdale has been at
Ventirose," remarked the Cardinal.

"Oh--? Is it?" responded Beatrice, with indifference.

"It is more than three weeks, I think--it is nearly a month," the
Cardinal said.

"Oh--?" said she.

"He has had his hands full, of course; he has had little leisure," the
Cardinal pursued. "His devotion to his poor old servant has been quite
admirable. But now that she is practically recovered, he will be freer."

"Yes," said Beatrice.

"He is a young man whom I like very much," said the Cardinal. "He is
intelligent; he has good manners; and he has a fine sense of the droll.
Yes, he has wit--a wit that you seldom find in an Anglo-Saxon, a wit
that is almost Latin. But you have lost your interest in him? That