"You certainly are the most delightful little piece of common-sense I ever met," said Margaret, laughing, and kissing her. "I wish you would give me a share of it! But come--it is late; we must go." As they went down the slope together towards the village where their carriage was waiting, they looked not unlike the two seventeen-year-old school-girls of eight years before; Beatrice was smiling, and Margaret's darker face was lighted by the old animation which had always charmed her lovely but unanimated friend. It may here be remarked that the greatest intellectual excitements which Beatrice Lee had known had been when Margaret Stowe had let loose her imagination, and carried her friend up with her, as on strong wings, to those regions of fancy which she never attained alone; Beatrice had enjoyed it, wondered over it, and then had remained passive until the next time. "Ah well--poor Sicily person!" said Margaret, as they took their places in the carriage. "I know just what you will do with him. You will write down his name in a memorandum-book, so as not to forget it; you will safely burn his poor letter, as you have safely burned so many others; and you will go gently on to Brittany without even taking the ashes!" "Keep it for me!" said Mrs. Lovell, suddenly, drawing the letter from her pocket and placing it in Margaret's hand. "Yes," she repeated, enjoying her idea and dwelling upon it, delighted to find that she possessed a little fancy of her own, after all, "keep it for me, and read it over once in a while. It is quite well written, and will do you good, because it is not one of your theories, but a fact. There is nothing disloyal in my giving it to you, because I always tell you everything, and this Sicily person has no claim for exemption in that regard. He has gone back to America, and you will not meet him. No--positively, I will not take it. You must keep it for me." "Very well," said Margaret, amused by this little unexpected flight. "But as I may go back to America also, I want to be quite sure where I stand. Did you happen to mention to this Sicily person my name, or anything about me?" "No," replied Mrs. Lovell, promptly. "We did not talk on such subjects, you know." "And he had no idea that you were to stop in Florence?" "No; he supposed I was to take the steamer at Naples for Marseilles. You need not be so scrupulous; everything is quite safe." "And when shall I return the epistle?" "When I ask for it," said Mrs. Lovell, laughing. The next morning she went northward to Venice. * * * * *