Part 3 (1/2)

Accordingly when, the Virginia Reel being finished, Blythe came and sat on the foot of the little girl's chair, they fell into an animated conversation, each in her own tongue. And presently, during a pause in the music, the Italian Count chanced to pa.s.s their way, and, stopping in his solitary promenade, appeared to give ear to their talk.

Suddenly he stooped, and, looking into the animated face of the child, inquired in his own tongue; ”What is thy name, little one?”

But when the pure, liquid, childish voice answered ”Cecilia Dopo,” he merely lifted his hat and, bowing ceremoniously, pa.s.sed on.

Mr. Grey, who had watched the little scene from a distance, joined the group a moment later and, taking a vacant chair beside Mrs. Halliday, remarked:

”I think we shall have to cultivate the old gentleman. He might be induced to lend a hand in behalf of this young person. They are both Florentines,” he added, thoughtfully, ”and Florentine society is not large.”

”Then you really believe the nurse is right about the child?” Mrs.

Halliday asked.

”Oh, I shouldn't dare say that the mother was a great lady,” he returned; ”but there is certainly something high-bred about the little thing.”

”They often have that air,” Mrs. Halliday demurred,--”even the beggar children.”

”Yes; to our eyes. But, do you know, I rather think the Italians themselves can tell the difference. I would rather trust Giuditta's judgment than my own. Besides,” he added, after a long pause, during which he had been watching the expressive face of the child.

”Besides,--there's that Giovanni Bellini. That sort of thing doesn't often stray into low society.”

At this juncture the tall Italian moved again into their neighbourhood, and stood, at a point where the awning had been drawn back, gazing, with a preoccupied air, out to sea.

Rising from his seat, Mr. Grey approached him, remarking abruptly, and with a jerk of the head toward Cecilia, ”Florentine, is she not?”

”_Sicuro_,” was the grave reply; upon which the Count moved away, to be seen no more that evening.

As the Englishman rejoined them after this laconic interview, Blythe greeted him with a new theory.

”Do you know,” she said, ”I used to think the Count was haughty and disagreeable, but I have changed my mind.”

”That only shows how susceptible you good Republicans are to any sign of attention from the n.o.bility,” was the teasing reply.

”Perhaps you are right,” Blythe returned, with the fair-mindedness which distinguished her. ”You know I never saw a t.i.tled person before, excepting one red-headed English Lord, who hadn't any manners. I've often thought I should like, of all things, to know a King or Queen really well!”

”You don't say so!” Mr. Grey laughed. ”And what's your opinion now, of the old gentleman, since he deigned to interrupt your conversation?”

”I believe he is unhappy.”

”What makes you think so?”

”There's an unhappy look away back in his eyes. I never looked in before,--and then----”

”And then----?”

”There's something about his voice.”

”Yes; Tuscan, you know.”