cold.

Five more minutes passed. He looked again at the villa; sighed, and
gracefully flicked a fly from the basket of crisp rolls. Then suddenly
he stood newly erect and attentive, as his quick ear caught the swish
of a skirt and the sound of a light step. A moment later Clodagh
emerged upon the sunny terrace, followed by her dog Mick.

At any period of existence, four years is a span of time to be reckoned
with. But when four years serves to bridge the gulf between childhood
and womanhood, its power is well-nigh limitless. As Clodagh stepped
through the long window of her room and came slowly out into the
morning light, it would have been a close observer who would, at a
first glance, have recognised the unformed girl of four years ago in
the graceful, well-dressed woman moving forward through the Italian
sunshine. On a second glance, or a third, one would undoubtedly have
seen traces of the long, undeveloped limbs in the tall, supple figure;
caught a suggestion of the rough luxurious plait in the golden-brown
hair coiled about the well-shaped head; and have been fascinated by
numerous undeniable and haunting suggestions in contour and colouring.
But there memory would have hesitated. The Clodagh who had scoured the
woods, scrambled over the rocks, and galloped across the lands of
Orristown was no longer visible. Another being, infinitely more
distinguished, infinitely more attractive--and yet vaguely deprived of
some essential quality--had taken her place. In the four years that had
passed since she left Ireland she had, from being a child, become a
woman; and below the new beauty that nature had painted upon her face
lay an intangible, a poignantly suggested regret for the girlhood that
had been denied her.

As she stepped out upon the terrace, she paused for a moment and her
eyes travelled mechanically over Florence--warm, beautiful, inert.
Then, with the same uninterested calm, she turned slowly towards the
breakfast table; but there her glance brightened.

"Oh, letters!" she said aloud; and with an impulsive movement, she
hurried forward, letting her elaborate muslin dress trail unheeded
behind her.

Scarcely seeing the profound bow with which the man-servant greeted
her, she picked up the letters, and scanned them one by one. Then as
she disappointedly threw the last back upon the table, she half turned,
in acknowledgment of a measured step that came across the terrace from
the direction of the house. At t