"What should I regret? I won't let you depreciate yourself--make yourself out not good enough for the best. Oh, I know how it happened! But now you shall never think of it again. No; I will not let you. That is the only way you could make me regret anything." "I am going to stay," said Colville. "But on my own terms. I will be bound to you, but you shall not be bound to me." "You doubt me! I would rather have you go! No; stay. And let me prove to you how wrong you are. I mustn't ask more than that. Only give me the chance to show you how different I am from what you think--how different you are, too." "Yes. But you must be free." "Well." "What are they doing so long there?" asked Mrs. Amsden of Effie, putting her glasses to her eyes. "I can't see." "They are just holding hands," said the child, with an easy satisfaction in the explanation, which perhaps the old lady did not share. "He always holds my hand when he is with me." "Does he, indeed?" exclaimed Mrs. Amsden, with a cackle. She added, "That's very polite of him, isn't it? You must be a great favourite with Mr. Colville. You will miss him when he's gone." "Yes. He's very nice." Colville and Imogene returned, coming slowly across the loose, neglected grass toward the old woman's seat. She rose as they came up. "You don't seem to have succeeded so well in getting flowers for Miss Graham as for the other ladies. But perhaps you didn't find her favourite over there. What is your favourite flower, Miss Graham? Don't say you have none! I didn't know that I preferred scarlet anemones. Were there no forget-me-nots over there in the grass?" "There was no occasion for them," answered Colville. "You always did make such pretty speeches!" said the old lady. "And they have such an orphic character, too; you can interpret them in so many different ways. Should you mind saying just what you meant by that one?" "Yes, very much," replied Colville. The old lady laughed with cheerful resignation. She would as lief report that reply of his as another. Even more than a man whom she could entangle in his speech she liked a man who could slip through the toils with unfailing ease. Her talk with such a man was the last consolation which remained to her from a life of harmless coquetries. "I will refer it to Mrs. Bowen," she said. "She is a very wise woman, and she used to know you a great while ago." "If you like, I will do it for you, Mrs. Amsden. I'm going to see her." "To renew your adieux? Well, why not? Parting is such sweet sorrow! And if I were a young man I would go to say good-bye to Mrs. Bowen as often as she would let me. Now tell me honestly, Mr. Colville, did you ever see such an exquisite, perfect _creature_?" "Oh, that's asking a good deal." "What?" "To tell you a thing honestly. How did you come here, Mrs. Amsden?" "In Mrs. Bowen's carriage. I sent it round from the Pitti entrance to the Porta Romana. It's waiting there now, I suppose."