"She is splendid, really! And I'm a very _difficile_ fellow, you know; but such hair, such eyes, one doesn't see every day in those sun-dried Mitchells or those little pink Bovilliers. Well, yesterday, after that confounded luncheon (how I hate all those complimentary affairs!--one can't enjoy the truffles for talking to the ladies, nor enjoy the ladies for discussing the truffles), I went for a ride with Conran out to Villa Neponte. I left him there, and went down to see the overland steamers come in. While I was waiting, I got into talk, somehow or other, with a very agreeable, gentleman-like fellow, who asked me if I'd only just come to Malta, and all that sort of thing--you know the introductory style of action--till we got quite good friends, and he told me he was living outside this wretched little hole at the Casa di Fiori, and said--wasn't it civil of him?--said he should be very happy to see me if I'd call any time. He gave me his card--Lord Adolphus Fitzhervey--and a man with him called him 'Dolph.' As good luck had it, my weed went out just while we were talking, and Fitzhervey was monstrously pleasant, searched all over him for a fusee, couldn't find one, and asked me to go up with him to the Casa di Fiori and get a light. Of course I did, and he and I and Guatamara had some sherbet and a smoke together, and then he introduced me to the Marchioness St. Julian, his sister--by Jove! such a magnificent woman, Simon, _you_ never saw one like her, I'll wager. She was uncommonly agreeable, too, and _such_ a smile, my boy! She seemed to like me wonderfully--not rare that, though, you'll say--and asked me to go and take coffee there to-night after mess, and bring one of my chums with me; and as I like to show you life, young one, and your taste wants improving after Aunt Minerva, you may come, if you like. Hallo! there's Conran. I say, don't tell _him_. I don't want any poaching on my manor."