take advantage of her favours, but he was thinking more of the manner in which he would by–and–by throw himself at her feet, than of amusing her at the present moment.

‘There,’ said the signora. ‘She was stretching her beautiful neck to look at you, and now you have disturbed her. Well I declare, I believe I am wrong about you; I believe that you do think Mrs Bold a charming woman. Your looks seem to say so; and by her looks I should say that she is jealous of me. Come, Mr Arabin, confide in me, and if it is so, I’ll do all in my power to make up the match.’

It is needless to say that the signora was not very sincere in her offer. She was never sincere on such subjects. She never expected others to be so, nor did she expect others to think her so. Such matters were her playthings, her billiard table, her hounds and hunters, her waltzes and polkas, her picnics and summer–day excursions. She had little else to amuse her, and therefore played at love–making in all its forms. She was now playing at it with Mr Arabin, and did not at all expect the earnestness and truth of his answer.

‘All in your power would be nothing,’ said he; ‘for Mrs Bold is, I imagine, already engaged to another.’

‘Then you own the impeachment yourself.’

‘You cross–question me rather unfairly,’ he replied, ‘and I do not know why I answer you at all. Mrs Bold is a very beautiful woman, and as intelligent as beautiful. It is impossible to know her without admiring her.’

‘So you think the widow a very beautiful woman?’

‘Indeed I do.’

‘And one that would grace the parsonage at St Ewold’s.’

‘One that would grace any man’s house.’

‘And you really have the effrontery to tell me this,’ said she; ‘to tell me, who, as you very well know, set up to be a beauty myself, and who am at this very moment taking such an interest in your affairs, you really have the effrontery to tell me that Mrs Bold is the most beautiful woman you know.’

‘I did not say so,’ said Mr Arabin; ‘you are more beautiful—’

‘Ah, come now, that is something like. I thought you would not be so unfeeling.’

‘You are more beautiful, perhaps more clever.’

‘Thank you, thank you, Mr Arabin. I knew that you and I should be friends.’

‘But—’

‘Not a word further. I will not hear a word further. If you talk till midnight, you cannot improve what you have said.’

‘But Madame Neroni, Mrs Bold—’

‘I will not hear a word about Mrs Bold. Dread thoughts of strychnine did pass across my brain, but she is welcome to the second place.’

‘Her place—’