Eleanor listened to him with a sort of gay self-restraint.
'Yes—I know'—she said, nodding—'I know.—Reggie, there is a glorious tuft of carnations in that pot in the cloisters. Ask Mamma Doni if we may have them. Ecco—take her a lira for the baby. I must have them for the table.'
And soon the little white-spread breakfast-table, with it rolls and fruit, was aglow with flowers, and a little bunch lay on each plate. The loggia, was in festa; and the morning sun flickered through the vine-leaves on the bright table, and the patterns of the brick floor.
'There—there they are!—Reggie!—Father!—leave me a minute! Quick—into the garden! We will call you directly.'
And Reggie, looking back with a gulp from the garden-stairs, saw her leaning over the loggia, waving her handkerchief; the figure in its light dress, tossed a little by the morning breeze, the soft muslin and lace eddying round it.
They mounted. Lucy entered first.
She stood on the threshold a moment, looking at Eleanor with a sweet and piteous appeal. Then her young foot ran, her arms opened; and with the tender dignity of a mother rejoicing over her child Eleanor received her on her breast.
* * * * *
By easy stages Manisty and Lucy took Mrs. Burgoyne to England. At the end of August Lucy returned to the States with her friends; and in October she and Manisty were married.
Mrs. Burgoyne lived through the autumn; and in November she hungered so pitifully for the South that by a great effort she was moved to Rome. There she took up her quarters in the house of the Contessa Guerrini, who lavished on her last days all that care and affection could bestow.