"You ought to have come sooner," she said gaily. "That red mask has been here again. He looked as if he wanted to make love to _me_ this time. But he didn't. If you'd been here you might have asked him where Mrs. Bowen was." Colville sat down. He had done what he could to mend the matter, and the time had come for philosophical submission. It was now his duty to keep up Miss Graham's spirits. They were both Americans, and from the national standpoint he was simply the young girl's middle-aged bachelor friend. There was nothing in the situation for him to beat his breast about. "Well, all that we can do is to wait for them," he said. "Oh yes," she answered easily. "They'll be sure to come back in the course of time." They waited a half-hour, talking somewhat at random, and still the others did not come. But the red mask came again. He approached Colville, and said politely-- "_La signora e partita._" "The lady gone?" repeated Colville, taking this to be part of the red mask's joke. "_La bambina pareva poco lene._" "The little one not well?" echoed Colville again, rising. "Are you joking?" The mask made a deep murmur of polite deprecation. "I am not capable of such a thing in a serious affair. Perhaps you know me?" he said, taking off his mask, and in further sign of good faith he gave the name of a painter sufficiently famous in Florence. "I beg your pardon, and thank you," said Colville. He had no need to speak to Imogene--, her hand was already trembling on his arm. They drove home in silence through the white moonlight of the streets, filled everywhere with the gay voices and figures of the Carnival. Mrs. Bowen met them at the door of her apartment, and received them with a manner that justly distributed the responsibility and penalty for their escapade. Colville felt that a meaner spirit would have wreaked its displeasure upon the girl alone. She made short, quiet answers to all his eager inquiries. Most probably it was some childish indisposition; Effie had been faint. No, he need not go for the doctor. Mr. Waters had called the doctor, who had just gone away. There was nothing else that he could do for her. She dropped her eyes, and in everything but words dismissed him. She would not even remain with him till he could decently get himself out of the house. She left Imogene to receive his adieux, feigning that she heard Effie calling. "I'm--I'm very sorry," faltered the girl, "that we didn't go back to her at once." "Yes; I was to blame," answered the humiliated hero of her Carnival dream. The clinging regret with which she kept his hand at parting scarcely consoled him for what had happened. "I will come round in the morning," he said. "I must know how Effie is." "Yes; come." X