t manner, "I always remember what my
dearest Madame Lilli told me. It was at one of Prince Teano's concerts.
You remember, signorino?"

"_Che!_ How should I remember?" he exclaimed. "It was a lifetime ago,
dead and forgotten."

The old lady shrank, as if a glass of water had been rudely thrown in
her face. She said nothing, staring blindly.

"Go to bed, Goneril!" cried Miss Prunty, in a voice of thunder.

CHAPTER IV

BIRDS OF A FEATHER

A few mornings after these events the postman brought a letter for
Goneril. This was such a rare occurrence that she blushed rose red at
the very sight of it and had to walk up and down the terrace several
times before she felt calm enough to read it. Then she went upstairs and
knocked at the door of Madame Petrucci's room.

"Come in, little bird."

The old lady, in pink merino and curl-papers, opened the door. Goneril
held up her letter.

"My cousin Jack is coming to Florence, and he is going to walk over to
see me this afternoon. And may he stay to dinner, _cara_ signora?"

"Why, of course, Gonerilla. I am charmed!"

Goneril kissed the old lady, and danced downstairs brimming over with
delight.

Later in the morning Signor Graziano called.

"Will you come out with me, Mees Goneril?" he said. "On my land the
earliest vintage begins to-day."

"Oh, how nice!" she cried.

"Come, then," said the signorino, smiling.

"Oh, I can't come to-day, because of Jack."

"Jack?"

"My cousin; he may come at any time."

"Your cousin!" The signorino frowned a little. "Ah, you English," he
said, "you consider all your cousins brothers and sisters!"

Goneril laughed.

"Is it not so?" he asked, a little anxiously.

"Jack is much nicer than my brothers," said the young girl.

"And who is he, this Jack?"

"He's a dear boy," said Goneril, "and very clever; he is going home for
the Indian civil-service exam; he has been out to Calcutta to see my
father."

The signorino did not pay any attention to the latter part of this
description, but he appeared to find the beginning very satisfactory.

"So he is only a boy," he muttered to himself, and went away
comparatively satisfied.

Goneril spent most of the day watching the road from Florence. She might
not walk on the highway, but a steep short cut that joined the main road
at the bottom of the hill was quite at her disposal. She walked up and
down for more than an hour. At last she saw some one on the Florence
road. She walke