"Have you ever been to the East?" asked Lady Kingswood.
"No—but I'm going! My 'White Eagle' will take me there in a very short time! But, as I've already told you, I must learn to fly alone."
"What does the Marchese Rivardi say to that?"
"I don't ask him!" replied Morgana, indifferently—"What I may decide to do is not his business." She broke off abruptly—then continued—"He is coming to luncheon,—and afterwards you shall see my air-ship. I won't persuade you to go up in it!"
"I COULDN'T!" said Lady Kingswood, emphatically—"I've no nerve for such an adventure."
Morgana rose from her chair, smiling kindly.
"Dear 'Duchess' be quite easy in your mind!" she said—"I want you very much on land, but I shall not want you in the air! You will be quite safe and happy here in the Palazzo d'Oro"—she turned as she saw the shadow of a man's tall figure fall on the smooth marble pavement of the loggia—"Ah! Here is the Marchese! We were just speaking of you!"
"Tropp' onore!" he murmured, as he kissed the little hand she held out to him in the Sicilian fashion of gallantry—"I fear I am perhaps too early?"
"Oh no! We were about to go in to luncheon—I know the hour by the bell of the monastery down there—you hear it?"
A soft "ting-ting tong"—rang from the olive and ilex woods below the Palazzo,—and Morgana, listening, smiled.