answered. "He is not very talkative."

"Do you like silent people?" enquired Cecilia.

"I like a woman who can talk, and a man who can hold his tongue,"
replied Guido readily.

Cecilia looked at him and smiled carelessly. The Princess rose slowly,
but she was so short, and her arm-chair was so high, that she seemed to
walk away from it without being any taller than when she had been
sitting, rather than really to get up.

"Shall we go into the garden?" she suggested. "It is not too cold.
Doudou, my cloak!"

Monsieur Leroy brought a pretty confusion of mouse-coloured silk and
lace, disentangled it skilfully, and held it up behind the Princess's
shoulders. It looked like a big butterfly as he spread it in the air,
and it had ribands that hung down to the floor.

When she had put it on, the Princess led the way to a long window, which
Leroy opened, and leaning lightly on the Countess Fortiguerra's arm, she
went out into the evening light. She evidently meant to give the young
people a chance of talking together by themselves, for as soon as they
were outside she sent Monsieur Leroy away.

"My dear Doudou!" she cried, as if suddenly remembering something, "we
have quite forgotten those invitations for to-morrow! Should you mind
writing them now, so that they can be sent before dinner?"

Monsieur Leroy disappeared with an alacrity which suggested that the
plan had been arranged beforehand.

"Take Mademoiselle Palladio round the garden, Guido," said the Princess.
"We will walk a little before the house till you come back. It is drier
here."

Guido must have been dull indeed if he had not at last understood why he
had been made to come, and what was expected of him. He was annoyed, and
raised his eyebrows a little.

"Will you come, Mademoiselle?" he asked coldly.

"Yes," answered Cecilia in a constrained tone, for she understood as
well as Guido himself.

Her mother was often afraid of her, and had not dared to tell her that
the whole object of their visit was that she should see Guido and be
seen by him. She thought that the Princess was really pushing matters
too hastily, considering the time-honoured traditions of Latin
etiquette, which forbid that young people should be left alone together
for a moment, even when engaged to be married. But the Countess had
great faith in the correctness of anything which such a very high-born
person as the Princess Anatolie chose to suggest, and as the latter held
her by t