her cheeks that very afternoon, as they climbed along a steep stony track, on one side shaded by hawthorn bushes, on the other falling away into fields, a valley, and a little stream. "One might be in England," Ibbetson said, standing still to look round. "Is it so like?" asked Bice eagerly. "Kitty never told me that it was. I shall come here often." "You have a great fancy for England, and yet you might be content with your own country," said Jack smiling. "England is my country," she said, and it was then the red began to deepen in her cheeks. "But you are a Capponi?" She stopped and faced him, her eyes flashing, her whole figure quivering. "Who told you so?" she cried angrily. "It was that old Andrea, I am certain. I will not have it. I am not Capponi any longer. I am English, and English only." She kept away from him for some time after this outburst, though he tried more than once to make his peace. It was only after he had pointedly called her by her mother's name that she relented and became friendly again. The _podere_ lay some way up the hill which they were climbing. At last they reached it; a picturesque building well baked by the sun, with a low tower, tiled, a round arch or two, and deep eaves. Outside stood beautiful great oxen with wide-spreading horns, and two or three children were watching and ran eagerly to fetch the contadino. When he had come out and had spoken a few words to his padrone, young Moroni, the latter led the way to a door in the wall, within which was a kind of rough garden, full of fig-trees laden with fruit. One or two brown-faced boys came running with tables and chairs. "Ah! but this is truly idyllic, my Giovanni," said the young countess, sinking into a chair. "If I must confess the truth, I could not have walked another ten steps."