"Oh, don't!" I cried. "Don't condone them--you mustn't!" But my words fell short in a cloud of dust, and even Dicky, wrapped in his tragedy, failed to receive an impression from them. "How," he demanded passionately, "do you account for it?" "Account for what?" I shuffled. "The size of her head--the frost--the whole bally conversation!" propounded Dicky, with tears in his eyes. I have really a great deal of feeling, and I did not rebuke these terms. Besides, I could see only one way out of it, and I was occupied with the best terms in which to present it to Dicky. So I said I didn't know, and reflected. "She isn't the same girl!" he groaned. "Men are always talking in the funny columns of the newspapers," I remarked absently, "about how much better they can throw a stone and sharpen a pencil than we can." Mr. Dod looked injured. "Oh, well," he said, "if you prefer to talk about something else----" "But they can't see into a sentimental situation any further than into a board fence," I continued serenely. "My dear Dick, Isabel thinks you're engaged. So does her mamma. So does Mr. Mafferton." "Who to?" exclaimed Mr. Dod, in ungrammatical amazement. "I looked at him reproachfully. Don't be such an owl!" I said. Light streamed in upon Dicky's mind. "To you!" he exclaimed. "Great Scott!" "Preposterous, isn't it?" I said. "I should ejaculate! Well, no, I mean--I shouldn't ejaculate, but--oh, you know what I mean----" "I do," I said. "Don't apologise." "What in my aunt's wardrobe do they think that for?" "You left their party and joined ours rather abruptly at Pompeii," I said. "Had to!" "Isabel didn't know you had to. If she tried to find out, I fancy she was told little girls shouldn't ask questions. It was Lot's wife who really came between you, but Isabel wouldn't have been jealous of Lot's wife." "I suppose not," said Dicky doubtfully. "Do you remember meeting the Misses Bingham in the Ufizzi? and telling them you were going to be----" "That's so." "You didn't give them enough details. And they told me they were going to Vallombrosa. And when Miss Cora said good-bye to me she told me you were a dear or something." "Why didn't you say I wasn't?" "Dicky, if you are going to assume that it was my fault----" "Only one decent hotel--hardly anybody in it--foregathered with old lady Portheris--told every mortal thing they knew! Oh," groaned Dicky. "Why was an old maid ever born!" "She never was," I couldn't help saying, but I might as well not have said it. Dicky was rapidly formulating his plan of action. "I'll tell her straight out, after dinner," he concluded, "and her mother, too, if I get a chance." "Do you know what will happen?" I asked. "You never know what will happen," replied Dicky, blushing. "Mrs. and Miss Portheris and Mr. Mafferton will leave the Hotel Colomba for parts unknown, by the earliest train to-morrow morning." "But Mrs. Portheris declares that we're to be a happy family for the rest of the trip."