This letter reminded Mrs. Vervain that they had not seen Mr. Ferris for three days, and she sent to ask him to dinner. But he returned an excuse, and he was not to be had to breakfast the next morning for the asking. He was in open rebellion. Mrs. Vervain had herself rowed to the consular landing, and sent up her gondolier with another invitation to dinner. The painter appeared on the balcony in the linen blouse which he wore at his work, and looked down with a frown on the smiling face of Mrs. Vervain for a moment without speaking. Then, “I’ll come,” he said gloomily. “Come with me, then,” returned Mrs. Vervain, “I shall have to keep you waiting.” “I don’t mind that. You’ll be ready in five minutes.” Florida met the painter with such gentleness that he felt his resentment to have been a stupid caprice, for which there was no ground in the world. He tried to recall his fading sense of outrage, but he found nothing in his mind but penitence. The sort of distraught humility with which she behaved gave her a novel fascination. The dinner was good, as Mrs. Vervain’s dinners always were, and there was a compliment to the painter in the presence of a favorite dish. When he saw this, “Well, Mrs. Vervain, what is it?” he asked. “You needn’t pretend that you’re treating me so well for nothing. You want something.” “We want nothing but that you should not neglect your friends. We have been utterly deserted for three or four days. Don Ippolito has not been here, either; but _he_ has some excuse; he has to get ready for Corpus Christi. He’s going to be in the procession.” “Is he to appear with his flying machine, or his portable dining-table, or his automatic camera?” “For shame!” cried Mrs. Vervain, beaming reproach. Florida’s face clouded, and Ferris made haste to say that he did not know these inventions were sacred, and that he had no wish to blaspheme them. “You know well enough what I meant,” answered Mrs. Vervain. “And now, we want you to get us a window to look out on the procession.” “Oh, _that’s_ what you want, is it? I thought you merely wanted me not to neglect my friends.” “Well, do you call that neglecting them?” “Mrs. Vervain, Mrs. Vervain! What a mind you have! Is there anything else you want? Me to go with you, for example?” “We don’t insist. You can take us to the window and leave us, if you like.” “This clemency is indeed unexpected,” replied Ferris. “I’m really quite unworthy of it.” He was going on with the badinage customary between Mrs. Vervain and himself, when Florida protested,-- “Mother, I think we abuse Mr. Ferris’s kindness.” “I know it, my dear--I know it,” cheerfully assented Mrs. Vervain. “It’s perfectly shocking. But what are we to do? We must abuse _somebody’s_ kindness.” “We had better stay at home. I’d much rather not go,” said the girl, tremulously.