On one special evening, towards the middle of April, it happened at once that this distance became the object of remark, and that it ceased to exist, almost at the same moment. Diana, in her usual seat opposite the great picture, had been left alone for the moment by the ebbing of the little crowd, most of her guests having strayed towards the next room, in which music was going on. Stranded in the same way, and quite alone, stood Pandolfini. He was in front of the portrait, holding up a book to the light, which fell full upon his face: and it was a remarkable face--no longer with the beauty of youth, but with that beauty of expression which comes with years. His dark hair, cut short _à l’anglais_, showed touches of white at the temples; his face was long, the oval but slightly sunken of the cheeks, the forehead white in comparison with the rest--and the eyes blue. Blue eyes in an Italian face are not like blue eyes anywhere else. There is a pathos and sweetness in the very colour, something of simplicity, poetry, almost childhood in the midst of the dark fervour and force of the rest. Mr. and Mrs. Hunstanton, standing together, as it happened, near the door which led into the music-room, remarked, at the same moment, these two left almost altogether alone. “Can’t they find anything to say to each other, I wonder?” said Mrs. Hunstanton, almost under her breath. “I thought these two would have been friends,” said her husband. “Why shouldn’t they be friends? they ought to have taken to each other. Somebody must have prejudiced her against him. I have told her half-a-dozen times what a nice fellow he was; but she has never taken any notice. I am surprised at Diana--to take up such a prejudice----” “Why do you suppose she has a prejudice?” Mrs. Hunstanton thought she knew why Diana did not care for their Italian friend. “We must bring them together. I am determined to bring them together. Here is the very opportunity, and I’ll do it at once. Music! what do I care for the music? Music is the greatest interruption--but only one must not say so---- Look here, Di----” “Tom, for heaven’s sake let them alone! They are beginning to talk of their own accord. Don’t meddle, I tell you!” cried his wife, grasping him by the arm, and giving him an impatient shake. Mr. Hunstanton was obedient for once in his life, and stopped when he was told. “Well, I am glad they are taking a little notice of each other,” he said; “not that they will ever get any further. A nice soft little creature like Sophy is the right person for such a fellow as Pandolfini.” “I think you are all out of your senses about Sophy,” said Mrs. Hunstanton, indignant. “Well, well, let us see what is going on,” said he, with all his usual energy, “in the next room.”