There was the sound of some one singing in the flower-garden outside.
It was Felise. She came in with one handful of roses, while the other held a newspaper which she was studying with a thoughtful brow.
"Bonnibel," she said, abruptly, "do you recollect that young artist, Leslie Dane, who used to visit at Sea View last summer?"
A wave of color drifted into the girl's white cheek. She looked up quickly into the thoughtful face of Felise.
"Yes," she answered, "what of him, Felise?"
"Did he not go to Rome to study painting?" inquired the artful girl.
"That was his intention, I believe," said Bonnibel, wondering what was coming now.
"I thought so. There can be no mistake, then—poor fellow! Look here, Bonnibel."
She put the paper she carried into the young girl's hand, and touched her taper finger to a marked paragraph.