Madame Floriani slowly raised herself from a reclining posture. She looked at the young incumbent blushing and trembling on the ground before her; and gently drew away the hand he was holding between his own. And his own were so red! She was going to speak seriously; but--I am grieved to say it of Rosa who ought to have known better--the young man’s apple-face and awkward attitude were so ludicrous--the remembrance of all his absurd attempts at solemnity and asceticism came up so vividly in contrast with the ridicule and humiliation of his present position--it was such an unlooked-for offer, and was made so clumsily, that her gravity gave way, and she burst into a fit of laughter. It was very wrong, and there was no excuse to be made for her; but the situation was very ridiculous--though she should not have laughed for all that. Mr. Bentley started up, seized his hat and very tight umbrella--it was a glorious day in July, but Mr. Bentley patronised umbrellas--and rushed from the house; turning round at the door to say, angrily, “Your place shall know me no more, madame!” And so war was finally declared, and Miss Augusta Grandville was satisfied. I doubt if she would have been as content if she had known the full particulars of the casus belli. Mr. Bentley said it was the hardened and impenetrable nature of Madame Floriani--how that he had sought to convert her, and she had answered him only with mockery--and Madame Floriani said nothing. She only laughed; and drew a certain sketch, which she showed to the Winter girls under the strictest vows of secresy. Which, to their honour be it said, they religiously kept. Though, when Helen Winter met Mr. Bentley the day after she had seen that drawing, she turned so red in trying to look grave, that Laura pinched her arm, and said, “Helen! don’t be silly,” below her breath.