'tutti i gusti son gusti,' all tastes are
tastes, as they say here."

"Pardon! no: not at the sight of Paul
for Paul's sake, but——"

"But for mine?"

"For yours, caro mio. I had never
heard that you were married; never."

"I wonder if he had," thought Sir John.
"He says it so emphatically, that it is
probably a lie."

"And the sight of miladi positively
dazzled me! What eyes! What a grace!
How beautiful!"

"Take another cup of coffee," said Sir
John, dryly, interrupting the raptures of his
companion. And yet the raptures did not
altogether displease him.

Sir John Gale and the Principe Cesare
de' Barletti were sitting together beneath
the loggia on the western side of the Villa
Chiari. The setting sun was flushing all
the sky before them. They looked out on
the garden, where, among the laurels and
acacias, a white figure passed and repassed
slowly.

The cracked scagliola pavement of the
loggia was covered, where the two men sat,
by a thick carpet. Footstools and cushions
were there too, in abundance. Between
Sir John and his guest stood a little marble-
topped table, bearing coffee and wine. Sir
John was half reclining in an easy chair,
with his legs stretched out before him
supported by cushions. Barletti sat in a
rocking-chair, on which he swung slowly
backwards and forwards. Both men were
smoking.

"The coffee is not bad, eh?" said Sir John.

"It is very strong."

"Better than the stuff they give you at
your caffè, isn't it?"

"Ma, si! Better no doubt. But very
strong. I should like a little cold water,
if I may have it."

Sir John rang a bell that stood on the
table.

Before a servant could answer the
summons, Veronica approached. She had
been strolling up and down the garden,
and had just reached the spot in front of
the loggia, when the bell sounded.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"The Principe would like some cold
water. He finds the coffee stronger than
he is accustomed to."

There was an indefinable sneer in the
tone in which Sir John pronounced these
words. The words were innocent enough.
But Veronica understood the tone, and it
offended her.

"I dare say he does," she retorted. "It
is made to suit our English taste, which
likes strong flavours—some people would
say, coarse flavours."

"Oh no!" protested Barletti, not having
in the least understood either the sneer
or the retort; "the flavour is very good
indeed."

"There is some deliciously cold water
always in the marble basin of the broken
fountain yonder," said Veronica,
impulsively. "Let us go and get some! It
will be better than any the servants will
bring."

The words were addressed to Cesare de'
Barletti, who threw away his cigarette—
with secret reluctance, by the way—and
rose to follow 'miladi.'

She had taken up a goblet from the
table and was running towards the fountain.

She had resolved to impress this stranger
—already appreciative enough of her
beauty—with her dignity, hauteur, and
airs de grande dame. And on a sudden
behold her skipping through the garden
like a school-girl!

The first plan was too slow, and required
too much phlegm and patience to carry out.
Barletti took her queenly mood very much
as a matter of course. She could not bear
to be ten minutes in the society of a stranger
without producing an effect. And moreover
she required to see an immediate
result. She was vain and arrogant, but
not proud, and not stupid; so that she
could neither disregard the opinion of the
most contemptible persons, nor delude
herself in the teeth of evidence with the
dull, comfortable faith that she was being
admired, when she was not. And then
came the irresistible craving to make a
coup—to shine—to dazzle.

Sir John looked after her in surprised
vexation. He remembered her having
done similar things for his behoof; that
had been very natural and laudable. But
for a beggarly Neapolitan principino! Sir
John felt himself defrauded. Had a pet
animal approached him at the moment, he
would certainly have kicked it. As it was,
all he could do to relieve his feelings was
to swear at the frightened servant who
answered the bell, for not coming sooner.

Cesare de' Barletti wondered much within
himself that any human being should
move more, or more quickly, than was
absolutely necessary, on a hot June
evening. He at first attributed Veronica's
unexpected proceeding to that inexhaustible