"No, not ill. He is in some trouble in England. I don't quite know what it is myself," she went on, looking frankly at him, "and I dare say that makes it worse. But it is nothing new, and I cannot think why it should come to me so strongly just now. Do you ever feel as if things seized you with a rush and without any reason?" Jack thought of his walk by the Arno the night before. This girl with her changing moods, her frank appeals, interested him. He felt a strong desire to help her--a desire which was perhaps made more vigorous by the consciousness of her wonderful beauty. He answered the first part of her speech. "You must have so many friends that it seems ridiculous to suppose that I can do anything about your brother. But can I?" A sudden gladness lit her eyes. "Could you?" she said, eagerly answering his question by another. "I daresay you could. You are very much mistaken if you suppose we have many friends; I don't know that we have any at all." It was said slowly and as if she were considering, and for that very reason it almost startled Jack. The words were strange, coming from such lips. "That is impossible," he said decidedly. "But about your brother?" "It is a long story, you see. I couldn't tell you now." "No, I understand, of course you couldn't. Come back to the other's," he went on kindly. "You can talk the matter over with your mother and your sister,"--Bice shook her head with an amused smile--"and tell me when you like. Then we will see what can be done." The swift changes in her face and manner were certainly interesting. The cloud had passed; she was smiling, radiant, flashing out with odd unexpected speeches, playing with Cartouche, helping Giovanni to pick up the figs, helping everybody. Two or three boys ran up the tree like squirrels, and in a few minutes had brought great baskets full. All the Moroni party ate them Italian fashion, as a sandwich between raw ham and bread; the contessa teased Bice. "She knows there is nothing more delicious; it is only the Anglo-mania which prevents her doing as we do. I can forgive Kitty--but you, Bice!" Ibbetson thought that young Moroni looked annoyed. "Why should the signorina have Anglo-mania?" he said hotly. "At any rate the signore has just said there are no such figs in England." "Ah, why, why, why?" cried out the girl gaily. "Do not let us ask questions or find fault. Do you know, Giovanni, that it is absolutely delicious here in your old farm garden. I did not think it had been half so pleasant." "Yet you have been here before," said the young man, flushing with delight. "Was it it like this? Then I must have forgotten. There is nothing so nice at our _podere_." "Have you a farm?" Ibbetson asked Kitty. "Yes," she said, with a little shy stiffness in her manner. "It is in another direction." "And who manages it?"