Mr. Vane appeared at the same moment, looking as if he had enjoyed a most satisfying nap, and tea was prepared. The Signora and the two girls occupied the long red sofa, over which, on the wall, a stately Penelope, seated among her maidens, laid aside her often-ravelled web, and earnestly regarded the Ulysses whom she had not yet recognized, but could not remove her eyes from. At the other side of the table, opposite them, a high-backed, ample chair had been placed for the gentleman of the family, who seemed to feel himself very much at home.
“Has my little girl been asleep?” he asked, looking at his younger daughter.
“Well, no, papa,” was the reply, “but she has been dreaming.”
No more questions were asked then. Mr. Vane was looking at the picture opposite him, which had a very pleasant suggestion of perils and journeys over, and happy reunion after long separation. Suddenly his glance dropped to the lady beneath, went back to the picture, and a second time sought the Signora’s face.
“Why,” he said, “that Penelope looks as though you had sat for her to a not very good artist.”
The Signora gave him his tea. “I assure you,” she said, “that I never posed for that nor any other Penelope during the whole course of my life. The character doesn’t suit me.”
Mr. Vane took his cup, and studied over this little speech while he slowly stirred in his tea two cubes of sugar. He had been quite correct in his remark. The two faces were strikingly alike—fine in their oval
shape, with dark-blue eyes, and a hint of yellow in the thick flaxen hair.
Presently he looked up. “I can’t guess,” he said.
The lady laughed. “When it is so plain? Well, in the first place, I am not so industrious; in the next place, I shouldn’t have let Ulysses go away without me; in the third place, I haven’t the suitors; and, in the fourth place, if I had had them, I should have kept them in better order. I think the places are all taken. And now, Bianca has for a long time had something on her mind to say. You have the floor, my dear.”