“No, clearly the sense does not come from her,” said Ferris to himself; it is impossible to think well of the mind of a girl who treats one with tacit contempt. “Yes,” resumed Mrs. Vervain, “it’s certainly very good in the abstract. But oh dear me! you’ve no idea of the difficulties in the way. I may speak frankly with you, Mr. Ferris, for you are here as the representative of the country, and you naturally sympathize with the difficulties of Americans abroad; the teachers will fall in love with their pupils.” “Mother!” began Miss Vervain; and then she checked herself. Ferris gave a vengeful laugh. “Really, Mrs. Vervain, though I sympathize with you in my official capacity, I must own that as a man and a brother, I can’t help feeling a little sorry for those poor fellows, too.” “To be sure, they are to be pitied, of course, and _I_ feel for them; I did when I was a girl; for the same thing used to happen then. I don’t know why Florida should be subjected to such embarrassments, too. It does seem sometimes as if it were something in the blood. They all get the idea that you have money, you know.” “Then I should say that it might be something in the pocket,” suggested Ferris with a look at Miss Vervain, in whose silent suffering, as he imagined it, he found a malicious consolation for her scorn. “Well, whatever it is,” replied Mrs. Vervain, “it’s too vexatious. Of course, going to new places, that way, as we’re always doing, and only going to stay for a limited time, perhaps, you can’t pick and choose. And even when you _do_ get an elderly teacher, they’re as bad as any. It really is too trying. Now, when I was talking with that nice monk of yours at the convent, there, I couldn’t help thinking how perfectly delightful it would be if Florida could have _him_ for a teacher. Why couldn’t she? He told me that he would come to take breakfast or lunch with us, but not dinner, for he always had to be at the convent before nightfall. Well, he might come to give the lessons sometime in the middle of the day.” “You couldn’t manage it, Mrs. Vervain, I know you couldn’t,” answered Ferris earnestly. “I’m sure the Armenians never do anything of the kind. They’re all very busy men, engaged in ecclesiastical or literary work, and they couldn’t give the time.” “Why not? There was Byron.” “But Byron went to them, and he studied Armenian, not Italian, with them. Padre Girolamo speaks perfect Italian, for all that I can see; but I doubt if he’d undertake to impart the native accent, which is what you want. In fact, the scheme is altogether impracticable.” “Well,” said Mrs. Vervain; “I’m exceedingly sorry. I had quite set my heart on it. I never took such a fancy to any one in such a short time before.” “It seemed to be a case of love at first sight on both sides,” said Ferris. “Padre Girolamo doesn’t shower those syruped rose-leaves indiscriminately upon visitors.”