‘Mia cara, after you were married--the day you were married--he left Casa Dietrich, never to return. He was very unhappy--so unhappy that it makes me so only to think of it. He quite disappeared for a time. Even I lost him; and we are great friends, as you know. Then almost by accident I found him again, in a sad condition mentally and morally, though he had become a little better off as this world’s things go. Almost by force I brought him to England with me. I was leaving Rome when I found him. He was to pay me a long visit--that was all we said. But my home has been his ever since that day. He has never quite recovered from that grief--your marriage, I mean; but I think, except for that, he is almost contented. I think he is happier than he would be anywhere else.’ ‘It was very kind of you,’ said Fulvia, in an abrupt, cool tone. She began to beat with her parasol on the skirt of her dress--the only sign she had given of nervous discomposure. ‘Is he very sad? Do you know, I think it will be better to drop talking of all that time. It is quite over and done with. I am glad he is not in poverty. It would be very delightful to be near you, and yet----’ ‘Don’t decide upon anything. Think about it.’ ‘I cannot say that I will not, though I don’t know whether I am wise to consider it. My husband always had a sort of vexed admiration for you, because you had an assured position and were hardly civil to him. He might like to go somewhere where we knew someone who was “in society”’ (with another little cool laugh). ‘But, listen! You will come and see me, won’t you? I am busy to-day--I have a lot of things to do; but to-morrow come and have lunch with me if you can. After lunch I will take you to see my husband. If I should find an opportunity between now and then, I will tell him I have seen you, and what you say about this place. What is it called? But you can tell him all that yourself. It will be something to talk about--the greatest boon in the world to me.’ ‘I will come. You must give me your address,’ said Minna. She hated the idea of seeing Marchmont, but she could not refuse Fulvia’s request, and she felt a kind of delighted joy in the fact that Fulvia wished to see her again--turned to her with confidence, as an old friend in whose goodwill she trusted. ‘Yes. And now, I am sorry to say, I shall have to go. I suppose the carriage will be waiting. Can I take you anywhere? What are you doing?’ ‘Loafing about,’ said Minna, laughing; ‘and to some purpose, since I have met you. No, thank you; go your own way. I must join my friends at lunch.’ They rose and moved slowly away. ‘Stop!’ exclaimed Minna suddenly. ‘Did Hans bring you here to see that thing of mine?’ ‘Exactly.’ ‘And did he not mention his own picture, hanging here in the corner?’ ‘No!’ said Fulvia quickly, turning back again. ‘Where is it--and which?’