Uncle Peabody had won this place long since. His genial disposition and quiet philosophy appealed to them from the first by its very contrast to their own impulsive Latin temperament. It was an easy matter, therefore, for him to introduce his niece to those whom he counted among his friends, and this he made it a point to do when he discovered how much she would otherwise have been alone. Helen had ceased to urge Jack to accompany her, and he seemed quite content to be omitted. Their first weeks in Florence had been devoted to getting settled in their villa and in rambling over the surrounding hills, entirely satisfied with their own society. The house-party had taken up another week, and even before the guests had departed Armstrong began his researches at the library, which required a larger portion of each day as time went on. The moment when Helen and Jack would naturally have jointly assumed their social pleasures and responsibilities had passed, and the necessity for diversion of some kind prompted Helen gratefully to accept her uncle as a substitute.
“There is a countrywoman of ours—the Contessa Morelli,” Uncle Peabody remarked, as he skilfully piloted Helen and Emory away from the crush in the reception-hall, indicating a strikingly attractive woman surrounded by a group of Italian gallants. “She came from Milwaukee, I believe, and married the title, with the husband thrown in as a gratuity for good measure.”
“She looks far too refined and agreeable to answer to your description,” Helen replied, after regarding the object of his comments.
“She is refined and agreeable,” assented Uncle Peabody, “and—worldly. When you have once seen the count you will understand. She is a neighbor of yours, so you must meet her—the Villa Morelli is scarcely a quarter of a mile beyond the Villa Godilombra.”
“Don’t overlook me in the introduction, will you?” urged Emory, eagerly.
“Still as fond as ever of a pretty face, Phil?” queried Helen, laughing.
“Of course,” he acquiesced, cheerfully; “but this is a case of national pride. You and she—the two American Beauties present—would make any American proud of his country.”
Helen smiled and held up a finger warningly as she followed Uncle Peabody’s lead. The contessa acknowledged the introductions with much cordiality, but to Emory’s disappointment devoted herself at once to Helen.
“So you are from dear, old, chilly Boston,” she said, breezily. “The last time I passed through was on a July day, and I was so glad I had my furs with me.”
“Boston is celebrated for its east winds,” volunteered Emory, calmly.