"It is no desecration. The highest heights of art, as well as of life, belong to love," he said, as they went out into the cool, low hall, paved with the gravestones of the Medici. "Don't you always think of them lying down below?" she said. "Giovanni in his armor, and Leonore of Toledo in her golden hair?" "Since when have you become so historical? They were a wicked race." "And since when have you become so virtuous?" she answered. "They were at least successful." Time passed. It has a way of passing rapidly in Florence; although each day is long and slow and full and delightful, a month flies. Again the season was waning. It was now believed that Mr. Morgan had been successful, although nothing definite was known. It was remarked how unusually well Miss Stowe looked: her eyes were so bright and she had so much color that she really looked brilliant. Madame Ferri repeated this to Miss Harrison. "Margaret was always brilliant," said her aunt. "Oh, extremely!" said Madame Ferri. "Only people never found it out," added Miss Harrison. She herself maintained a calm and uninquiring demeanor. Sometimes she was with her niece and her niece's supposed suitor, and sometimes not. She continued to receive him with the same affability which she had bestowed upon him from the first, and occasionally she invited him to dinner and to drive. She made no comment upon the frequency of his visits, or the length of his conversations upon the little balcony in the evening, where the plash of the fountain came faintly up from below. In truth she had no cause for solicitude; nothing could be more tranquil than the tone of the two talkers. Nothing more was said about Mrs. Lovell; conversation had sunk back into the old impersonal channel. "You are very even," Morgan said one evening. "You do not seem to have any moods. I noticed it last year." "One is even," she replied, "when one is--" "Indifferent," he suggested. She did not contradict him. Two things she refused to do: she would not sing, and she would not go to the Boboli Garden. "As I am especially fond of those tall, ceremonious old hedges and serene statues, you cut me off from a real pleasure," said Morgan. It was on the evening of the 16th of May; they were sitting by the open window; Miss Harrison was not present. "You can go there after we have gone," she said, smiling. "We leave to-morrow." "You leave to-morrow!" he repeated. Then, after an instant, "It is immensely kind to tell me beforehand," he said, ironically. "I should have thought you would have left it until after your departure!" She made no reply, but fanned herself slowly with the beautiful gray fan. "I suppose you consider that the month is more than ended, and that you are free?" "You have had all you asked for, Mr. Morgan." "And therefore I have now only to thank you for your generosity, and let you go." "I think so."