A surprising number of people came out of that doorway before Winnie; but in the end Lady Rosaline's forecast was justified. Winnie did come out, and she came out alone. She wore her hat, carried a parasol, and walked with a quick step, as though she were bound on an expedition. Lady Rosaline rose from her chair, and intercepted her. "I thought it was you last night, at table d'hôte, and now I'm sure! How do you do, Mrs. Maxon? You remember me--Rosaline Deering?" She held out her hand. "I'm so glad to see you." Winnie shook hands. "Yes, I remember you, Lady Rosaline, and I'm glad to see you--if you're glad to see me, I mean, you know." She smiled. "Well, you needn't have shaken hands with me if you hadn't wanted to, need you? Isn't it lovely here?" "It is, indeed. Mrs. Ladd--you remember her too, of course?--and I have been here together for nearly a month, and hope to be here another fortnight. Are you staying long?" "We hoped to, but my friend isn't very well--she's staying in bed this morning--and I'm afraid she's set her mind on getting home. So we might be off really at any moment." Clearly Lady Rosaline had no time to lose. "Are you going for a walk?" she said. "Oh, I'm just going to saunter through the town and look about me." "May I come with you?" "Of course! It'll be very kind." There was just the faintest note of surprise in Winnie's voice. Her acquaintance with her husband's friend, Rosaline Deering, had been very slight; it had never reached the pitch of cordiality on which it seemed now, rather paradoxically, to be establishing itself. Off they went together--certainly a strange sight for Cyril Maxon, had his eyes beheld it! But even eager Lady Rosaline could not plunge into her questions at once, and Winnie, full of the new delight of Italy, was intent on the sights of the little town, and on the beauty of the lake and the hills. It was not till they had come back and sat down on a seat facing the water that the talk came anywhere near the point. Yet the walk had not been wasted; they had got on well together, the cordiality was firmly established--and Lady Rosaline had enjoyed an opportunity of observing more closely what manner of woman Cyril Maxon's wife was. The old impression of the timid air and deprecatory manner needed drastic revision to bring it up to date; these were not words that anybody would use to describe the present Winnie Maxon. Still Lady Rosaline found it hard to begin, hard to make any reference, however guarded, to the past. In fact it was Winnie herself who in the end gave the lead. Lady Rosaline was thankful; she had begun to be afraid that a nervous desperation would drive her into some impossibly crude question, such as "Do you think I should be a fool if I married your husband?" "I suppose you see Cyril sometimes, Lady Rosaline? Is he all right?"