'Miss Foster is not getting up? How is she?'
'I believe Aunt Pattie only persuaded her to rest till after breakfast, and that was hard work. Aunt Pattie thought her rather shaken still.'
The speakers were Manisty and Mrs. Burgoyne. Eleanor was sitting in the deep shade of the avenue that ran along the outer edge of the garden. Through the gnarled trunks to her right shone the blazing stretches of the Campagna, melting into the hot shimmer of the Mediterranean. A new volume of French memoirs, whereof not a page had yet been cut, was lying upon her knee.
Manisty, who had come out to consult with her, leant against the tree beside her. Presently he broke out impetuously:
'Eleanor! we must protect that girl. You know what I mean? You'll help me?'
'What are you afraid of?'
'Good heavens!—I hardly know. But we must keep Alice away from Miss Foster. She mustn't walk with her, or sit with her, or be allowed to worry her in any way. I should be beside myself with alarm if Alice were to take a fancy to her.'
Eleanor hesitated a moment. The slightest flush rose to her cheek, unnoticed in the shadow of her hat.
'You know—if you are in any real anxiety—Miss Foster could go to Florence. She told me yesterday that the Porters have friends there whom she could join.'
Manisty fidgeted.