An Encounter.
Sunny Italy, the home of music.
The sun was shining as it can shine in Naples, but the courtyard of the Hotel di Sevril was pleasantly shady, for there was a piazza all round, and in the centre a cool and sparkling fountain played in its marble basin, while evergreen trees spread dark tracery on the white pavement.
In one of the shadiest and coolest spots sat Maude, daughter of The Earl of Barmouth, looking exceedingly pretty, though there was a certain languid air, undoubtedly caused by the warmth of the climate, which seemed to make her listless and disposed to neglect the work which lay in her lap, and lean back in the lounging chair, which creaked sharply at every movement.
“I do wish he would come back,” she said softly, and as she spoke her eyes lit up with an intense look of happiness, and a sweet smile played about her lips. “But he will not leave me alone long.”
Here she made a pretence of working, but ceased directly.
“I wonder what they are all doing at home. How dear Tryphie is, and papa, and darling Tom. Will Tom marry Tryphie? Yes, he is so determined, he will be sure to. Heigho! I shall be so glad when we are forgiven, and Tom and he are friends. I can feel sure about papa, but Tom can be so stern and sharp.”
There was no allusion made to Lady Barmouth, for she seemed to have dropped out of her daughter’s thoughts, but Sir Grantley Wilters was remembered with a shudder, which was cleared away by the coming of a smiling waiter.
“Would the signore and signora dine at the table-d’hôte?”
Maude hesitated for a few moments, moved by monetary considerations, and then said—“Yes. Has the signore returned?”