My father arched his eyebrows, and looked at me incredulously. "Company, nonsense! You haven't asked your friends to luncheon, have you?" I shook my head. "Haven't asked them, but I shouldn't wonder if they weren't here all the same. They are going to San Martino, and it occurs to me that by the time they reach here they may be glad of a rest. It's going to be a warmish day." Marie had come out to take away the remains of our breakfast, and I appealed to her. She shrugged her massive shoulders discouragingly, and held up her hands. We were not often home for lunch, and she had provided nothing. We looked at one another helplessly, my father and I, and then simultaneously broke into a short laugh. "Let us hope your friends will have had a good breakfast, Hugh," my father said. "But, Marie," he added, "surely there were chickens?" "Ah, surely, there were chickens, so many that they were becoming a nuisance! Pietro should kill some at once, that they might be cooked and cold by luncheon time." "And omelettes, Marie; you can make omelettes?" I suggested. She was half indignant at the idea of there being any doubt about it! Omelettes there could be, surely! Were not her omelettes equal to any one's? And if the signers were expecting visitors, they need have no fear! They might make their minds quite at rest. Lunch there should be, fit for any one. We both breathed more freely, and decided that Marie was a treasure. Then I lounged off into the garden on a very womanish errand--namely, to gather some flowers to decorate the table with, and finally, having seen all things in a state of preparation, I mounted Jacko and rode off towards Palermo, leaving my father vastly amused at the orders I had given. Just outside the city I met them in a heavy native carriage, and, turning round, I rode by their side. Frank and Mr. Leigh were also on mules, but Lady Olive, in a cream-coloured costume, and with a bunch of hyacinths, which I had given her the night before, in her bosom, was sitting in the carriage by her father's side. She welcomed me with the most becoming blush, and, as I touched her hand, I could not help thinking how fresh, and cool, and English-like she appeared. Perhaps my eyes told her something of my admiration, for she turned hers quickly away, and seemed eager to commence a conversation. "Mr. Arbuthnot, how strange you look on that animal after the Black Prince! Aren't you afraid of your feet touching the ground?" "Jacko is not to be despised," I assured her. "I'm afraid the Black Prince's knees would suffer in this country. Ever ridden one of these animals before?" I asked Mr. Leigh, who was by my side. He smiled at the question. "In very many countries," he answered. "I've crossed the Pyrenees, and cantered into Jerusalem on one. They're sure-footed beasts." I looked at him with interest. Evidently he had been a traveller, and he was doubtless the man whom my father desired to meet.