"I can't believe it's right staying away from the country so long." People often say such things in Europe. "No, I don't either, if you've got anything to do there." "You can always make something to do there." "Oh yes." Some young young men, breaking from a street near by, began to sing. "We shouldn't have that sort of thing at home." "No," said Mrs. Bowen pensively. "I heard just such singing before I fell asleep the night after that party at Madame Uccelli's, and it filled me with fury." "Why should it do that?" "I don't know. It seemed like voices from our youth--Lina." She had no resentment of his use of her name in the tone with which she asked: "Did you hate that so much?" "No; the loss of it." They both fetched a deep breath. "The Uccellis have a villa near the baths of Lucca," said Mrs. Bowen. "They have asked me to go." "Do you think of going?" inquired Colville. "I've always fancied it must be pleasant there." "No; I declined. Sometimes I think I will just stay on in Florence." "I dare say you'd find it perfectly comfortable. There's nothing like having the range of one's own house in summer." He looked out of the window on the blue-black sky. "'And deepening through their silent spheres, Heaven over heaven rose the night,'" he quoted. "It's wonderful! Do you remember how I used to read _Mariana in the South_ to you and poor Jenny? How it must have bored her! What an ass I was!" "Yes," said Mrs. Bowen breathlessly, in sympathy with his reminiscence rather than in agreement with his self-denunciation. Colville broke into a laugh, and then she began to laugh to; but not quite willingly as it seemed. Effie started from her sleep. "What--what is it?" she asked, stretching and shivering as half-wakened children do. "Bed-time," said her mother promptly, taking her hand to lead her away. "Say good-night to Mr. Colville." The child turned and kissed him. "Good night," she murmured. "Good night, you sleepy little soul!" It seemed to Colville that he must be a pretty good man, after all, if this little thing loved him so. "Do you always kiss Mr. Colville good-night?" asked her mother when she began to undo her hair for her in her room. "Sometimes. Don't you think it's nice?" "Oh yes; nice enough." Colville sat by the window a long time thinking Mrs. Bowen might come back; but she did not return. Mr. Waters came to see him the next afternoon at his hotel. "Are you pretty comfortable here?" he asked. "Well, it's a change," said Colville. "I miss the little one awfully." "She's a winning child," admitted the old man. "That combination of conventionality and _naivete_ is very captivating. I notice it in the mother." "Yes, the mother has it too. Have you seen them to-day?" "Yes; Mrs. Bowen was sorry to be out when you came." "I had the misfortune to miss them. I had a great mind to go again to-night."