"Such a divinely handsome man, dear," said Clara one night, as we lay talking in bed, with the moon streaming her rays like a silver cascade through the window; while Patty Smith played an accompaniment upon her dreadful pug-nose. And then, of course, I wanted to hear all; but I fancy Clara thought Patty was only pretending to be asleep, for she said no more that night, but the next day during lessons she asked me to walk with her in the garden directly they were over, and of course I did, when she began again,-- "Such a divinely handsome man, dear! Dark complexion and aquiline features. He is a count by rights, only he has exiled himself from Italy on account of internal troubles." I did not believe it a bit, for I thought it more likely that he was some poor foreigner whom Mrs Blunt had managed to engage cheaply; so when Clara spoke of internal troubles, I said, spitefully,--"Ah, that's what mamma talks about when she has the spasms and wants papa to get her the brandy. Was the Signor a smuggler, and had the troubles anything to do with brandy?" "Oh, no, dear," said Clara, innocently, "it was something about politics; but you should hear him sing `_Il balen_' and `_Ah, che la morte_'. It quite brings the tears into my eyes. But I am getting on with my Italian so famously." "So it seems," I said, maliciously; "but does he know that you call him your Italian?" "Now, don't be such a wicked old quiz," said Clara. "You know what I mean--my Italian lessons. We have nearly gone through `_I Miei Prigioni_', and it does seem so romantic. You might almost fancy he was Silvio Pellico himself. I hope you will like him." "No, you don't," I said, mockingly. "I'm sure I do," said Clara; "I said _like_, didn't I?" I was about to reply with some sharp saying, but just then I began thinking about the Reverend Theodore Saint Purre and his sad, patient face, and that seemed to stop me. "But I know whom you will like," said Clara. "Just stop till some one comes--you'll see." "And who may that be, you little goose?" I cried, contemptuously. "Monsieur Achille de Tiraille, young ladies," squeaked Miss Furness. "I hope the exercises are ready." Clara looked at me with her handsome eyes twinkling, and then we hurried in, or rather Clara hurried me in; and we went into the classroom. Almost directly after, the French master was introduced by Miss Sloman, who frowned at me, and motioned to me to remain standing. I had risen when he entered, and then resumed my seat; for I believe Miss Sloman took a dislike to me from the first, because I laughed upon the day when she overset the little table while performing her act of deportment.