Colin was always charming to those who were in a position to serve him, and Mr. Cecil found a most cordial welcome when he arrived next day. He was a convivial little cad (so Colin would have described him), gratified that Lord Yardley should have asked him to spend a week-end at his villa, and delighted to get out of that frying-pan of a town for a couple of days. In person he was a round red bachelor, with a taste for wine and obscenity. Colin supplied the one, and Mr. Cecil had as his contribution a considerable fund of local lore not quite suitable for children. Usually dinner was served under the pergola in the garden, but to-night the weather was uneasy with hot puffs of scirocco, and instead they ate indoors. In this heat it was impossible to shut the windows, but the Venetian shutters were closed and little blasts of hot moist air, entering through the slats, hovered and fluttered bat-like about the room. “Yes, yes,” said Mr. Cecil, mopping his flushed forehead after the relation of one of these curious episodes, “a bad piece of work. But picturesque, undeniably picturesque. My belief is that the girl was possessed. That sounds a queer thing to say in the twentieth century, when physiologists have proved that every disorder of mind or body alike is due to some microbe, but what microbe covers the facts, eh? Shew me the microbe, that’s all, and let it produce that effect again on a guinea-pig.” Colin pushed the decanter towards his guest. “Awfully curious,” he said. “And it would be even more curious to see a guinea-pig behave like that girl. Lord! Wouldn’t it look funny? Besides, aren’t there diseases and disorders of the spirit, as well as those of the mind and body?” “Of course there are. What makes one fellow a saint and another a devil? Is that a microbe?” Colin laughed. “The microbe that makes a man a saint is a devilish rare beast,” he said. “I never saw a case of sanctified possession, did you? But possession, yes. The devil was in the girl: give the devil his due. Anyhow, they believe in him in Italy, don’t they? Evil eye, all that sort of thing.” Colin spoke in the lightest possible manner, flicking the ash off the end of his cigar. “Yes, and it goes much deeper than that,” said Mr. Cecil. “How interesting! You mean they take the devil really seriously, as a force to be reckoned with, to be fought, or sided with?” “Quite, quite,” said Mr. Cecil. “Fought, of course, in general: the Church has a very strong hold.” “And, by exception, sided with,” said Colin. “The direct worship of Satan really goes on still, doesn’t it, in--in holes and corners?” Mr. Cecil evidently did not like the subject more than Nino. By now the puffing wind had increased into a roar, which rattled the shutters, and screamed round the corners of the house. “One does hear of such things,” he said.