"That's a good thing," snapped Miss Prunty; "for there's not much here to make her so!"
"Oh, Brigida! I am sure there are many attractions. The air! the view! the historic association! and, more than all, you know there is always a chance of the Signorino!"
"Of whom?" said Miss Hamelyn, rather anxiously.
"Of him!" cried Madame Petrucci, pointing to the engraving opposite. "He lives, of course, in the capital; but he rents the villa behind our house—the Medici Villa; and when he is tired of Rome he runs down here for a week or so; and so your Gonerilla may have the benefit of his society!"
"Very nice, I'm sure!" said Miss Hamelyn, greatly relieved; for she knew that Signor Graziano must be fifty.
"We have known him," went on the old lady, "very nearly thirty years. He used to largely frequent the salon of our dear, our cherished Madame Lilli."
The tears came into the old lady's eyes. No doubt those days seemed near and dear to her; she did not see the dust on those faded triumphs.
"That's all stale news!" cried Miss Prunty, jumping up. "And Gon'ril (since I'll have to call her so) must be tired of waiting in the garden."
They walked out on the terrace. The girl was not there; but by the gate into the olive-yard, where there was a lean-to shed for tools, they found her sitting on a cask, whittling a piece of wood and talking to a curly-headed little contadino.
Hearing steps, Goneril turned round. "He was asleep," she said. "Fancy, in such beautiful weather!"