And yet on that day it was difficult to think that anything was wanting, so tender were the lights, so soft the shadows, into and out of which-- with here and there a rosy or a golden glow as a stronger gleam struck the marbles--rose the Duomo and the Shepherd's bell-tower. Phillis lingered there a little, lingered looking at the gates of the Baptistery, at Giotto's sculptures, at the little oratory of the Bigallo on the other side. "There is so much, and it is all so close together!" she said, drawing a deep breath. But, indeed, the wonder of Florence lies in her perpetual youth. She is old, and yet no touch of age seems to have passed over her. All around are the memories of past ages, but they are alive and present, and time scarcely seems to separate you from them. It would not surprise you to see Giotto standing under his tower, to meet Dante turning towards his house, Savonarola passing to the preaching, Romola--as real as any-- hurrying back to old Bardi. Our past grows mouldy, whereas here it keeps life, and colour, and reality. Is it that we are always trying to escape from it? The Uffizi was rather empty. There were plenty of copyists, most of all, as usual, round the great Fra Angelico, with its praising angels, in the passage, but otherwise strangers were few. Jack, who had a craze for Botticelli, would not let Phillis rest until he had taken her to the Judith in the room next the Tribune. She comes towards you more lightly than Judith would have done after the deed, but the strong purpose, the self-forgetfulness of the face, are wonderful; and as the yellow morning light catches the grey blue of her dress, she looks far beyond you, and beyond what you are ever likely to see. Presently from her lips will come the cry of deliverance, "Open, open now the gates!" and all Bethulia will press round to see and hear. Jack, who had learnt Botticelli from Ruskin, was full of enthusiasm, and dragged Phillis off to the Calumny, the Fortitude. He made her sit down in a corner where she could see the last-named well, and then a thought struck him. "Your face isn't unlike Sandro's favourite type, Phillis," he said, looking at her critically. She coloured slightly as she smiled. "Except for the far-away look, this Fortitude hardly seems to me to be one of that type." "You have that far-away look occasionally: you sometimes meet me with it. What are you thinking about?--our future?" "Of the future, perhaps." "Ours, then." Phillis was silent. The Fortitude seemed to gaze at her with sympathetic eyes. Jack went on gravely and a little awkwardly. "It is time we settled something, don't you think so?" "Yes," she said in a very low voice.