"She is a girl, and she is happy," said old Bertuccia, who on week-days sits in the Borgo Ognissanti, near the church, selling her flowers and vegetables. A brown old man who was standing by chuckled. "_Altro_! But where is _he_?" he said, and they all laughed. Miss Cartwright was at home alone, she had not been well enough to go to church, and a hot, nervous flush was on her cheeks when she arose to receive three strangers. But Bice's face, its beauty, its happiness, won her heart at once. Jack, who, in spite of his condemnation, had been greatly touched by the pathetic little story, had asked her to be kind to the girl, and though this radiant beauty was different from her expectations, it was charming in itself. When Jack came in, after taking the others to the hotel, he found them on the best of terms. Even Miss Preston thawed at intervals, especially when Mrs Masters showed a docile inclination to adopt her favourite prescription for a chill. Cartouche welcomed them with patronising dignity. There was a striped awning running out from the window, and under this they sat and chatted. It seemed to Bice like a little haven of rest and kindness, for, perhaps unfortunately, Ibbetson took, particular care that she should be looked after and amused. Presently they went for luncheon into the cool little dining-room. Miss Cartwright asked her nephew a question in a low voice, and Bice heard him say that they were all coming by-and-by. Who were they, she wondered; little knowing, poor child, what the knowledge would cost her. Then there were other questions. Miss Cartwright was interested about the old villa and their solitary life; Miss Preston was alarming Mrs Masters by searching demands for statistics of the farm expenses, of the vintage. "Beatrice is my manager," said her mother apologetically. "I was never a woman of business, or able to understand accounts. Fortunately she has taken to that sort of thing from the time she was a child. But we shall soon be going to Rome, for we have let the villa for a few months, and shall spend that time with a relation of the Capponis." "You are going to Rome?" said Ibbetson to Bice, with interest. "Then we shall meet, for I too am to be there this winter." He hesitated whether he would or would not say "after my marriage," but he did not add the words, and the girl looked up brightly. "Oh, I am glad!" she said in a shy, quick voice. How swiftly the moments flew! Every now and then a thought of Oliver and of Clive forced its way up into her mind, but she crushed it down again before it had time to shape itself--for this one half-day she would be free, she would be happy. Kitty, who had seen her the night before, looked with wonder at her smiles.