nt away, with a profound dislike of Miss
Alvina.

She did not notice. She was only glad he was gone. And she went
about for the rest of the day elusive and vague. She slept deeply
that night, without dreams.

The next day was Saturday. It came with a great storm of wind and
rain and hail: a fury. Alvina looked out in dismay. She knew Ciccio
would not be able to come--he could not cycle, and it was impossible
to get by train and return the same day. She was almost relieved.
She was relieved by the intermission of fate, she was thankful for
the day of neutrality.

In the early afternoon came a telegram: Coming both tomorrow morning
deepest sympathy Madame. Tomorrow was Sunday: and the funeral was in
the afternoon. Alvina felt a burning inside her, thinking of Ciccio.
She winced--and yet she wanted him to come. Terribly she wanted him
to come.

She showed the telegram to Miss Pinnegar.

"Good gracious!" said the weary Miss Pinnegar. "Fancy those people.
And I warrant they'll want to be at the funeral. As if he was
anything to _them_--"

"I think it's very nice of her," said Alvina.

"Oh well," said Miss Pinnegar. "If you think so. I don't fancy he
would have wanted such people following, myself. And what does she
mean by _both_. Who's the other?" Miss Pinnegar looked sharply at
Alvina.

"Ciccio," said Alvina.

"The Italian! Why goodness me! What's _he_ coming for? I can't make
you out, Alvina. Is that his name, Chicho? I never heard such a
name. Doesn't sound like a name at all to me. There won't be room
for them in the cabs."

"We'll order another."

"More expense. I never knew such impertinent people--"

But Alvina did not hear her. On the next morning she dressed herself
carefully in her new dress. It was black voile. Carefully she did
her hair. Ciccio and Madame were coming. The thought of Ciccio made
her shudder. She hung about, waiting. Luckily none of the funeral
guests would arrive till after one o'clock. Alvina sat listless,
musing, by the fire in the drawing-room. She left everything now to
Miss Pinnegar and Mrs. Rollings. Miss Pinnegar, red-eyed and
yellow-skinned, was irritable beyond words.

It was nearly mid-day when Alvina heard the gate. She hurried to
open the front door. Madame was in her little black hat and her
black spotted veil, Ciccio in a black overcoat was closing the yard
door behind her.

"Oh, my dear girl!" Madame cried, trotting forward with outstretched
black-kid hands, o