"_Passato l'pericolo gabbato l'santo_," said Kate, gaily and archly; judging from his air and manner, that this scrap of poor Winter's lore would be understood. "_La Signorina parla l'Italiano_," he exclaimed, joyously. "So little that I dare not venture to begin a conversation in it," she replied, as she did not consider it impossible to speak to a stranger without a formal introduction. "Yet you pronounce it correctly," said the wild looking man. "You think so?" "Yes, and although it is not my native tongue, I love it, as if it were." "So did the friend from whom I learned what little I know of it, and the proverb I have just said; yet no; not quite so well as his own tongue, for _he_ was English." "Your emphasis would imply that you think I am not, nor am I." "Mr. Winter used to say----" "Winter!" he interrupted, "is he the painter who has buried himself so strangely in some monastic tomb, some old city, "_en Province_?"" "The same." "Then you are the young lady Langley spoke of?" "Yes." "_Maraviglia!_" "Why are you surprised?" asked Kate, smiling. He only repeated, "_maraviglia!_" "Miss Dent, will you kindly play us something," said Mrs. Storey, sailing up, bouquet in hand. "With pleasure, Mrs. Storey, but really you must send for my music, for Mr. Jones has been making me laugh so, I could not remember a note if I was to die for it; it is in the cloak room." While Miss Dent was making numerous preparations for the proposed exhibition, Langley for the first time, left Vernon, and came over to Kate, who, feeling pleased to speak to her only acquaintance, at least of any standing, received him with a brilliant smile, making room for him beside her on the sofa, with her usual unpremeditated grace. "I see my friend Galliard has made your acquaintance, Miss Vernon, without my assistance." "Ah, out of evil cometh good, thanks to Mademoiselle!" said the man he called Galliard, gaily. "Tore her dress, she pardoned the penitent, and permitted him to speak, _voilà tout_." A warning hus-sh-sh silenced him, and taking a large pinch of snuff, he assumed a critical air as Miss Dent struck a powerful blow on an unfortunate chord, and started off at a brisk gallop up the keys; her execution was really remarkable, and the music she performed full of physical difficulties; there were interminable shakes, and thundering chords; crossing of the hands and rushing from one extreme of the keys to the other; at last the performance, amid a crash of chords, came to a sudden end, upon which the talkers, startled at hearing their own voices, all at once, so loud, stopped too, and clapped their hands. Miss Dent rose with a triumphant air, gathered together her gloves, fan and bouquet, and stood at the end of the "instrument," as Mrs. Storey called it, laughing and talking noisily, with the numerous beaux who surrounded her. "Now, Miss Vernon, may I call upon you?" said the lady of the house, approaching.