“Well, at any rate,” said Mrs. Vervain, “I’m glad that _Americans_ don’t shed tears, as a general _rule_. Now, Florida: you’d think she was the man all through this business, she’s so perfectly heroic about it; that is, outwardly: for I can see--women can, in each other, Mr. Ferris--just where she’s on the point of breaking down, all the while. Has she ever spoken to you about Don Ippolito? She does think so highly of your opinion, Mr. Ferris.” “She does me too much honor,” said Ferris, with ghastly irony. “Oh, I don’t think so,” returned Mrs. Vervain. “She told me this morning that she’d made Don Ippolito promise to speak to you about it; but he didn’t mention having done so, and--I hated, don’t you know, to ask him.... In fact, Florida had told me beforehand that I mustn’t. She said he must be left entirely to himself in that matter, and”--Mrs. Vervain looked suggestively at Ferris. “He spoke to me about it,” said Ferris. “Then why in the world did you let me run on? I suppose you advised him against it.” “I certainly did.” “Well, there’s where I think woman’s intuition is better than man’s reason.” The painter silently bowed his head. “Yes, I’m quite woman’s rights in that respect,” said Mrs. Vervain. “Oh, without doubt,” answered Ferris, aimlessly. “I’m perfectly delighted,” she went on, “at the idea of Don Ippolito’s giving up the priesthood, and I’ve told him he must get married to some good American girl. You ought to have seen how the poor fellow blushed! But really, you know, there are lots of nice girls that would _jump_ at him--so handsome and sad-looking, and a genius.” Ferris could only stare helplessly at Mrs. Vervain, who continued:-- “Yes, I think he’s a genius, and I’m determined that he shall have a chance. I suppose we’ve got a job on our hands; but I’m not sorry. I’ll introduce him into society, and if he needs money he shall have it. What does God give us money for, Mr. Ferris, but to help our fellow-creatures?” So miserable, as he was, from head to foot, that it seemed impossible he could endure more, Ferris could not forbear laughing at this burst of piety. “What are you laughing at?” asked Mrs. Vervain, who had cheerfully joined him. “Something I’ve been saying. Well, you won’t have me to laugh at much longer. I do wonder whom you’ll have next.” Ferris’s merriment died away in something like a groan, and when Mrs. Vervain again spoke, it was in a tone of sudden querulousness. “I _wish_ Florida would come! She went to bolt the land-gate after Don Ippolito,--I wanted her to,--but she ought to have been back long ago. It’s odd you didn’t meet them, coming in. She must be in the garden somewhere; I suppose she’s sorry to be leaving it. But I need her. Would you be so very kind, Mr. Ferris, as to go and ask her to come to me?”