Gerald's eyes traveled across the way to see who might be the recipient of the lady's most sweet salute, and hurriedly uncovered to an officer of the Italian army who, holding his hand to his cap, stood at attention till the two had passed. Was the man pale or was it that one had never before noticed, meeting him indoors and at evening, how strongly the black of his mustache and brows contrasted with his skin? The suspicion that had for a moment troubled Gerald in church returned as a stronger infection. Had Brenda expected this? Did they concert such meetings? He might have said to himself that a tryst which consisted in crossing glances from opposite sides of the street was very innocent. In a moment he did see that as the villas _fuori la porta_ must be reached through the _porta_, a lover whose lady lived on Vial dei Colli might without previous arrangement hope for a glimpse of her by walking in its neighborhood. As we have seen him doing more than once this afternoon, Gerald here tried to get his clue from Brenda herself, her face, her atmosphere. Yet he knew, as has already been said, that it was Brenda Foss's way to keep these as much as she could from telling anything to the world. This wariness notwithstanding a tinge of unaccustomed rose had spread through the clear white of her cheek; her eyes had in them noticeably more life. Emotion or mere self-consciousness? On one point only he was satisfied: Brenda had done nothing that involved deceit. Into the very structure of her face, which had almost nothing left of the American look, was built a certain Puritan truthfulness. She could conceal if she must, but hated to shuffle, to prevaricate. She concealed exactly because of that. "Go on with the Sienese masters, Gerald," she bade him, collectedly. "I am listening, and learning a lot." As they passed under the great arch of the Roman Gate, Gerald was saying modestly: "I don't know anything about them, really. I've just been impressed by a thing or two. This Lorenzetti, for instance--" And so on up the _viale_ to the house. In the drawing-room they found Mrs. Foss and Leslie, who, just home from town, tired and thirsty, had had tea brought to them, and were strengthening themselves before even taking off their hats. Their welcome to Gerald was mingled with reproaches of the sort that flatters more than it hurts. "It's perfect ages since we saw you. We thought you had forgotten us. What have you been doing this long, long time?" "It is you, who are never at home, my dear friends," Gerald took his turn. "I was here a fortnight or so ago. Didn't Lily tell you? Of course she told you, and you have forgotten, so it's I, properly, who should be calling names." "Have you been quite well, Gerald?" Mrs. Foss asked in her maternal voice, after a more careful look at him. "Certainly." "I am glad you have come. I have been on the point more than once of sending for you, but the days fly so! We have been busy, too."