But Beatrice did sometimes write "that sort of thing," after all. During the next February, in Rome, after a long silence, Margaret received a letter from her which brought the tidings of her engagement. He was an Englishman. He had a country-seat in Devonshire. He owned a yacht. Beatrice seemed very happy. "We shall not be married until next winter," she wrote. "I would not consent, of course, to anything earlier. I have consistently endeavored to do what was right from the beginning, and shall not waver now. But by next January there can be no criticism, and I suppose that will be the time. How I wish you were here to advise me about a hundred things! Besides, I want you to know him; you will be sure to like him. He is"--and so forth, and so forth. "She is following out her destiny," thought the reader in Rome. In March Miss Harrison found the Eternal City too warm, and moved northward as far as Florence. Madame Ferri was delighted to see them again; she came five times during the first three days to say so. "You will find _so_ many whom you knew last year here again as well as yourselves," she said, enthusiastically. "We shall have some of our _charming_ old reunions. Let me see--I think I can tell you." And she ran over a list of names, among them that of "Mr. Morgan." "What, not the grandson of Adam?" said Miss Harrison. "He is not _quite_ so old as that, is he?" said Madame Ferri, laughing. "It is the one who dined with you several times last year, I believe--Mr. Trafford Morgan. I shall have great pleasure in telling him this very day that you are here." "Do you know whether he is to remain long?" said Miss Stowe, who had not before spoken. "I am sorry to say he is not; Mr. Morgan is always an addition, I think--don't you? But he told me only yesterday that he was going this week to--to Tarascon, I think he said." "Trieste and Tarascon--he selects the most extraordinary places!" said Miss Harrison. "The next time it will be Tartarus." Madame Ferri was overcome with mirth. "_Dear_ Miss Harrison, you are _too_ droll! _Isn't_ she, dear Miss Stowe?" "He probably chooses his names at random," said Miss Stowe, with indifference. The next day, at the Pitti, she met him. She was alone, and returned his salutation coldly. He was with some ladies who were standing near, looking at the "Madonna of the Chair." He merely asked how Miss Harrison was, and said he should give himself the pleasure of coming to see her very soon; then he bowed and returned to his friends. Not long afterwards she saw them all leave the gallery together. Half an hour later she was standing in front of one of Titian's portraits, when a voice close beside her said, "Ah! the young man in black. You are not admiring it?"