“That is very true; that is a very clever remark. There is not always sun here. San Remo was beginning to be known when I was there; but I never heard of Bordighera as a place where people went to stay. Some Italian wrote a book about it, I have heard--to push it, no doubt. Could you recommend it as a winter-place, Miss Waring? I suppose it is very dull, nothing going on?” “Oh, nothing at all,” cried Frances eagerly. “All the tourists complain that there is nothing to do.” “I thought so,” he said; “a regular little Italian dead-alive place.” Then he added after a moment’s pause: “But of course there are inducements which might make one put up with that, if the air happened to suit one. Are there villas to be had, can you tell me? They say, as a matter of fact, that you get more advantage of the air when you are in a dull place.” “There are hotels,” said Frances more and more disappointed, though the beginning of this speech had given her a little hope. “Good hotels?” he said with interest. “Sometimes they are really better than a place of one’s own, where the drainage is often bad, and the exposure not all that could be desired. And then you get any amusement that may be going. Perhaps you will tell me the names of one or two? for if this east wind continues, my doctors may send me off even now.” Frances looked into his limpid eyes and expressive countenance with dismay. He must look, she felt sure, as if he were making the most touching confidences to her. His soft pathetic voice gave a _faux air_ of something sentimental to those questions, which even she could not persuade herself meant nothing. Was it to show that he was bent upon following Constance wherever she might go? That must be the true meaning, she supposed. He must be endeavouring by this mock-anxiety to find out how much she knew of his real motives, and whether he might trust to her or not. But Frances resented a little the unnecessary precaution. “I don’t know anything about the hotels,” she said. “I have never thought of the air. It is my home--that is all.” “You look so well, that I am the more convinced it would be a good place for me,” said the young man. “You look in such thorough good health, if you will allow me to say so. Some ladies don’t like to be told that; but I think it the most delightful thing in existence. Tell me, had you any trouble with drainage, when you went to settle there? And is the water good? and how long does the season last? I am afraid I am teasing you with my questions; but all these details are so important--and one is so pleased to hear of a new place.” “We live up in the old town,” said Frances with a sudden flash of malice. “I don’t know what drainage is, and neither does any one else there. We have our fountain in the court--our own well. And I don’t think there is any season. We go up among the mountains, when it gets too hot.”