These thoughts were no more than the steam which ascended from the bubbling liquor of his mind, and he did no more than just watch, for this idle moment as he waited for Nino’s return, the familiar wreath. And here was Nino’s step on the stairs, and it was time to put these general principles into practical shape. He had come to Capri, no doubt, primarily, for a month of that basking amphibious life, which always put him into harmony with himself, but there were other projects as well which now, in strict accordance with these principles, presented themselves for execution, projects no less dedicatory than diverting. “Nino, we’re going to have two visitors here,” he said, “and we must arrange about them. Mr. Cecil is coming from Naples to-morrow for two nights and next week there comes the pretty lady, who’ll bring a maid. Let’s go round and inspect.” The villa was deficient in accommodation for more than a very small number of persons, for Colin, during this last year, intending it to be no more than his own Hermitage, had thrown rooms together, and had converted a spare bedroom into a bathroom. Downstairs, therefore, nowadays there was only the kitchen, and the long vaulted dining-room, originally two rooms. Upstairs there was a large studio running the length of the house, the bathroom, Nino’s bedroom, with Colin’s next door, and, _en suite_, the sitting-room with the balcony where Colin had been having tea, and a slip of a room beyond, opening out of the sitting-room. This latter would do for Pamela’s maid, but where was Pamela to go? Nino’s stepmother and sister always went home in the evening after dinner, returning again early next morning. “I’m afraid you’ll have to turn out, Nino,” said Colin, “while pretty lady is here, and go home in the evening with your dear gridiron. Then you can make love to her on the way.” “Grazie,” said Nino. “Or scrag her in the dark,” said Colin. “No, you mustn’t do that, or how should we get breakfast next day? But what room can pretty lady have except yours? I’d sooner have you in the house, though.” The fell prospect of walking home every evening and coming back every morning with his stepmother sharpened Nino’s wits. “The signor does not really want that sitting-room next his bedroom as well as the studio,” said he. “Could not that be the signora’s bedroom while she is here? Then she will have her maid next door.” “Good boy,” said Colin. “We’ll do that. There’ll be the maid at the end of the passage, then pretty lady’s bedroom, then me, then you. And you won’t be able to flirt with the maid without passing through the signora’s room. Very good for your morals, Nino.” Nino laughed. “If it is the maid the signora brought to Stanier, she is like a broomstick,” he said. “Then don’t fly away on the broomstick,” said Colin. “Well, that’s settled. But when you’re married, Nino, I shan’t turn out of my sitting-room for your wife....” * * * * *