'Isn't it clever? It is by one of your compatriots, an American artist in Rome. Isn't it wonderful too, the way in which it shows you, not the Pope--but the Papacy--not the man but the Church?' Miss Foster said nothing. Her puzzled eyes travelled from the drawing to Mrs. Burgoyne's face. Then she caught sight of another photograph on the table. 'And that also?'--she said--For again it was the face of Leo XIII.--feminine, priestly, indomitable--that looked out upon her from among the books. 'Oh, my dear, come away,' said Miss Manisty impatiently. 'In my days the Scarlet Lady _was_ the Scarlet Lady, and we didn't flirt with her as all the world does now. Shrewd old gentleman! I should have thought one picture of him was enough.' * * * * * As they entered the old painted salon, Mrs. Burgoyne went to one of the tall windows opening to the floor and set it wide. Instantly the Campagna was in the room--the great moonlit plain, a thousand feet below, with the sea at its further edge, and the boundless sweep of starry sky above it. From the little balcony, one might, it seemed, have walked straight into Orion. The note of a nightingale bubbled up from the olives; and the scent of a bean-field in flower flooded the salon. Miss Foster sprang to her feet and followed Mrs. Burgoyne. She hung over the balcony while her companion pointed here and there, to the line of the Appian Way,--to those faint streaks in the darkness that marked the distant city--to the dim blue of the Etrurian mountains.-- Presently, however, she drew herself erect, and Mrs. Burgoyne fancied that she shivered. 'Ah! this is a hill-air,' she said, and she took from her arm a light evening cloak, and threw it round Miss Foster. 'Oh, I am not cold!--It wasn't that!' 'What was it?' said Mrs. Burgoyne pleasantly. 'That you feel Italy too much for you? Ah! you must get used to that.' Lucy Foster drew a long breath--a breath of emotion. She was grateful for being understood. But she could not express herself. Mrs. Burgoyne looked at her curiously. 'Did you read a good deal about it before you came?' 'Well, I read some--we have a good town library--and Uncle Ben gave me two or three books--but of course it wasn't like Boston. Ours is a little place.' 'And you were pleased to come?' The girl hesitated. 'Yes'--she said simply. 'I wanted to come.--But I didn't want to leave my uncle. He is getting quite an old man.' 'And you have lived with him a long time?' 'Since I was a little thing. Mother and I came to live with him after Father died. Then Mother died, five years ago.' 'And you have been alone--and very good friends?' Mrs. Burgoyne smiled kindly. She had a manner of questioning that seemed to Miss Foster the height of courtesy. But the girl did not find it easy to answer. 'I have no one else--' she said at last, and then stopped abruptly.