You will remember that Nora had gone out, meaning to drive Mrs. Grier and Karl to Hurlingham. Karl, of course, was then asleep in the Pall Mall Hotel, so the two ladies went together, and a fine fencing-match they indulged in, without a doubt. But they, at least, used words which they understood, even if they tried to cloak their meaning, while I used a language which I did not understand in striving to wrest from several voluble Italians the whereabouts of the Castello Rondo and the Signora Hutchinson. One brigandish person reeled off fourteen likely places, so I quitted the terminus in wrath, found the English-speaking proprietor of a hotel, and luckily ascertained from him that the lady and mansion I was in search of would surely be in the neighborhood of Bellagio. I believed him, and took a steamer for a two hours’ journey on the lake. When I saw the superb panorama opening up in front, when the Villa d’Este spread its wondrous array of terraces, temples, waterfalls, gardens, and fountains before my astonished eyes, I forgave the guide-book man. Some day I mean to ramble along those enchanted shores--some day, ere the world grows dim--if only to visit that sixty-foot monument erected at Laglio by Joseph Frank to his own memory and in grateful acknowledgment of his own worth. His was a noble idea. If the rich and distinguished people we know would but adopt it, and justly appraise themselves at their own valuation, the face of the earth would soon be covered with costly memorials. The lake is shaped somewhat on the lines of the Three Legs of the Isle of Man, with Bellagio perched on a dividing promontory. I reached the landing-stage at exactly 6.45 P.M., Greenwich time. At no great distance, I noticed the round towers of a castellated building nestling among the trees of a rock-guarded point. _Pace_ Shakespeare, there is a good deal in a name. An intelligent-looking vetturino seized me, but, ere I yielded, I pointed to the building which caught my eye. “Castello Rondo?” I cried. “Si, signor.” He smiled. “Signora Hutchinson?” “Per certo, signor.” He grinned all over his face. No doubt you have noticed the stupid habit of foreigners (when you do not know their language) in not replying “Yes” or “No” to your questions. Anyhow, the words had a reassuring sound. I gave him the name of the hotel, and he appeared to regard my advent as a license to kill all who dared to cross his path. I think I heard every bad word in the Italian tongue before the vehicle deposited me, with a series of wild bounds up hill and down dale, at the hotel portico. The coachman swore at his horse, at pedestrians, chickens, dogs, and other charioteers, and interlarded his scurrility with appeals to the saints.