As I was turning away I caught sight of Daphne, who, having gone the round of the cathedral, was sitting near the picture of the Madonna, with the artist by her side. They were chatting away as confidentially as if there were no one in the world but themselves. The sight of the Italian offering his homage to my beautiful cousin would have moved my jealousy at any other time, but at present my head was occupied with the tableau at the confessional.
"Your father will be with us in a few minutes, Daphne," I said, taking a seat beside her. "You have seen all that is to be seen?"
"Yes. I have to thank Mr. Vasari for a very interesting lecture. He is quite a learned antiquary, minus the pedantry."
"Ah! that last is a stroke at me, I suppose," I returned carelessly, without looking at her. My eyes were directed toward my uncle, whom I could see in the distance, keeping watch by the sacristy door.
"May I ask why papa is playing the part of a statue?"
Here was a question! But I was equal to the occasion.
"He fancies he saw an old friend of his enter that room, and he is waiting for him to come out."
"Why doesn't he go in after him?"
"Well, if you ask Mr. Vasari, he will perhaps tell you (for he knows better than I) that that is the priest's private room, and naturally your parent is reluctant to intrude."
"True, Miss Leslie. It is the sacristy of Father Ignatius."