rega, to make her warm. On the platform of the
high-way, above the valley, people were parading in the hot sun.
Alvina noticed some ultra-smart young men. They came up to
Pancrazio, speaking English. Alvina hated their Cockney accent and
florid showy vulgar presence. They were more models. Pancrazio was
cool with them.

Alvina sat apart from the crowd of peasants, on a chair the old
crone had ostentatiously dusted for her. Pancrazio ordered beer for
himself. Ciccio came with letters--long-delayed letters, that had
been censored. Alvina's heart went down.

The first she opened was from Miss Pinnegar--all war and fear and
anxiety. The second was a letter, a real insulting letter from Dr.
Mitchell. "I little thought, at the time when I was hoping to make
you my wife, that you were carrying on with a dirty Italian
organ-grinder. So your fair-seeming face covered the schemes and
vice of your true nature. Well, I can only thank Providence which
spared me the disgust and shame of marrying you, and I hope that,
when I meet you on the streets of Leicester Square, I shall have
forgiven you sufficiently to be able to throw you a coin--"

Here was a pretty little epistle! In spite of herself, she went pale
and trembled. She glanced at Ciccio. Fortunately he was turning
round talking to another man. She rose and went to the ruddy
brazier, as if to warm her hands. She threw on the screwed-up
letter. The old crone said something unintelligible to her. She
watched the letter catch fire--glanced at the peasants at the
table--and out at the wide, wild valley. The world beyond could not
help, but it still had the power to injure one here. She felt she
had received a bitter blow. A black hatred for the Mitchells of this
world filled her.

She could hardly bear to open the third letter. It was from Mrs.
Tuke, and again, all war. Would Italy join the Allies? She ought to,
her every interest lay that way. Could Alvina bear to be so far off,
when such terrible events were happening near home? Could she
possibly be happy? Nurses were so valuable now. She, Mrs. Tuke, had
volunteered. She would do whatever she could. She had had to leave
off nursing Jenifer, who had an _excellent_ Scotch nurse, much
better than a mother. Well, Alvina and Mrs. Tuke might yet meet in
some hospital in France. So the letter ended.

Alvina sat down, pale and trembling. Pancrazio was watching her
curiously.

"Have you bad news?" he asked.

"Only the war."