sformed into a bright, pleasant drawing-room, from the windows of
which was presented a marvelous view over the lovely Nithsdale and
across to the heather-clad hills beyond.

It was pleasant lounging there in the cool old room after the hot
sunshine outside, and as I gazed around the place I noted how much more
luxurious and tasteful it now was to what it had been in the days when I
had visited its owner several years before.

"We are awfully glad to be up here," my pretty companion was saying. "We
had such a busy season in London." And then she went on to describe the
Court ball, and two or three of the most notable functions about which I
had read in my English paper beside the Mediterranean.

She attracted me on account of her bright vivacity, quick wit and keen
sense of humor, therefore I sat listening to her pleasant chatter.
Exiled as I was in a foreign land, I seldom spoke English save with
Hutcheson, the Consul, and even then we generally spoke Italian if there
were others present, in order that our companions should understand.
Therefore her gossip interested me, and as the golden sunset flooded the
handsome old room I sat listening to her, inwardly admiring her innate
grace and handsome countenance.

I had no idea who or what her father was--whether a wealthy
manufacturer, like so many who take expensive shoots and give big
entertainments in order to edge their way into Society by its back door,
or whether he was a gentleman of means and of good family. I rather
guessed the latter, from his gentlemanly bearing and polished manner.
His appearance, tall and erect, was that of a retired officer, and his
clean-cut face was one of marked distinction.

I was telling my pretty companion something of my own life, how, because
I loved Italy so well, I lived in Tuscany in preference to living in
England, and how each year I came home for a month or two to visit my
relations and to keep in touch with things.

Suddenly she said--

"I was once in Leghorn for a few hours. We were yachting in the
Mediterranean. I love the sea--and yachting is such awfully good fun, if
you only get decent weather."

The mention of yachting brought back to my mind the visit of the _Lola_
and its mysterious sequel.

"Your father has a yacht, then?" I remarked, with as little concern as I
could.

"Yes. The _Iris_. My uncle is cruising on her up the Norwegian Fiords.
For us it is a change to be here, because we are so often afloat. We