"I fear I have startled you," said a decidedly human voice, speaking in English, with a peculiar accent, while the speaker looked straight at me with a pair of dark eyes that were certainly like those of the Bronzino. "Oh, no; it was my own fault for being so stupid," I answered rather breathlessly, shaken out of my self-possession. "I am Andrea Brogi," he said, with a little bow; "and I believe I have the pleasure of addressing Miss Clarke?" "I am Miss Meredith, your sister's governess," I answered, feeling perhaps a little hurt that the substitution of one English teacher for another had not been thought a matter of sufficient importance for mention in the frequent letters which the family had been in the habit of sending to America. Andrea, with great simplicity, went on to explain his presence in the gallery. "I am some hours before my time, you see. I had miscalculated the trains between this and Livorno. Now don't you think this a nice reception, Miss Meredith?" he went on, with a smile and a sadder change of tone. "No one to meet me at the depot, no one to meet me at home! Father and brother at the club, mother and sister amusing themselves in the town." His remark scarcely seemed to admit of a reply; it was not my place to assure him of his welcome, and I got out of the situation with a smile. He looked at me again, this time more attentively. "But I fear you were really frightened just now. You are pale still and trembling. Did you think I was a ghost?" "I thought--I thought you were the Bronzino come down from its frame," I answered, astonished at my own daring. The complete absence of self-consciousness in my companion, the delight, moreover, of being addressed in fluent English, gave me courage. As I spoke, I moved over half-unconsciously to the picture in question. Andrea, smiling gently, followed me, and planting himself before the canvas contemplated it with a genuine naive interest that was irresistible. I stood by, uncertain whether to go or stay, furtively regarding him. "Was there ever such a creature," I thought; "with your handsome serious face, your gentle dignified air for all the world like Romeo's; with your sweet Italian voice and your ridiculous American accent--and the general suggestion about you of an old bottle with new wine poured in--only in this case by no means to the detriment of the bottle?" At this point the unconscious object of my meditation broke in upon it. "Why, yes," said Andrea, calmly, "I had never noticed it before, but I really am uncommonly like the fellow." As he spoke, he fixed his eyes, frank as a child's, upon my face. As for me, I could not forbear smiling; whereupon Andrea, struck with the humour of the thing, broke into a radiant and responsive smile. I thought I had never seen any one so funny or so charming. At this point a bell rang through the house. "That must be my mother," he said, growing suddenly alert. "Miss Meredith, you will excuse me."