"We are so glad to find you feeling so well," answered Maria Dolores.
But Annunziata shook her head, as one who knew better. "No—that is not the only thing. You are glad of something else besides."
"There's no taking you in," said John. "But we are under bonds to treat that Something Else as the Pope sometimes treats Princes of the Church."
"He gives them red hats," said Annunziata.
"I shall give this thing a crown of myrtle," said John.
"You sometimes say things that sound as if they hadn't any sense," Annunziata informed him, with patient indulgence, nodding at the ceiling.
Maria Dolores leaned over the bed, and kissed Annunziata's brow. "Good night, carina," she murmured.
Annunziata put up her little white arms, and encircled Maria Dolores' neck. Then she kissed her four times—on the brow, on the chin, on the left cheek, on the right. "That is a cross of kisses," she explained. "It is the way my mother used to kiss me. It means may the four Angels of Peace, Grace, Holiness, and Wisdom watch over your sleep."
But early next morning, John being still on duty, Maria Dolores came back,—booted and spurred for her journey, in tailor-made tweeds, with a little felt toque and a veil: a costume of which Annunziata's eyes were quick to catch the suggestion.
"Why are you dressed like that?" she asked, uneasily. "I never saw you dressed like that before. You look as if you were going away somewhere."