"I call this perfectly delicious," Lady Olive declared, sinking into her bamboo chair at the bottom end of the table. "Mr. Arbuthnot, your house is an enchanted one! I was just thinking how nice a bunch of grapes would be, and--behold!" There were certainly plenty of grapes, and, with a snowy white cloth and the flowers which were intermingled with the fruit, and strewn all over it, the table looked very well for a bachelor abode. My father made a dignified but courteous host, and several times I found myself admiring his easy, natural manners, whilst Lady Olive, opposite to him, looked charming and bright, and kept us all talking and amused. After lunch was over my father and Mr. Leigh again became absorbed in a _tête-à-tête_, and, as Lord Parkhurst showed decided symptoms of indulging in a siesta, Lady Olive and I, with her brother Frank and the younger sister following, strolled down the steps into the neglected and luxuriantly overgrown but picturesque old garden. I am afraid we talked a good many soft nothings that afternoon, Lady Olive and I, my share in which I have often bitterly repented. But then, how many excuses there were! Lady Olive had openly professed herself to be a flirt, and as such I always regarded her, light-hearted, gay, and with winning manners, but a thorough-paced coquette. Her tender looks, and the soft light which so often shone in her dark eyes, had never been dangerous to me, for I had never believed in their sincerity. They had been very pleasant to respond to, and the occasional pressure of her small white fingers had been pleasant enough to feel. But I had always responded to these with a half-laughing acquiescence, feeling that I was playing my part in a game dangerous to neither of us. Experience has taught me that danger is an element never absent from such mocking interchanges of assumed affection, and that flirting, even in the most innocent manner, and even with one who calls herself a flirt, is better left alone. CHAPTER XXXVI MR. BURTON LEIGH Soon after four o'clock Lord Parkhurst suddenly woke up, and remembered that the convent of San Martino was still unvisited. We were recalled from the garden, and after a hasty afternoon tea--_à l'Anglaise_--the mules were brought round, and we prepared to make a start. At the last moment Mr. Leigh, whose conversation with my father had never flagged, begged to be left behind and called for on our return, a proposition to which Lord Parkhurst at once good-humouredly assented. "I'm sure we have to thank you heartily for your hospitality, Mr. Arbuthnot," his lordship remarked, as he bade my father farewell. "We came to call on you for a few minutes, and have quartered ourselves upon you for the day. I do hope you'll return our visit. I've taken the Palazzo Pericilo, in Palermo, for a month. Your son'll soon be able to show you where it is, I hope," he added, turning to me.