“One of my sisters lives in Florence, and Mrs. Milray says you think of going there, too.” “Mrs. Landa thought it would be a good place to spend the winter. Is it a pleasant place?” “Oh, delightful! Do you know much about Italy?” “Not very much, I don't believe.” “Well, my sister has lived a good while in Florence. I should like to give you a letter to her.” “Oh, thank you!” said Clementina. Milray smiled at her spare acknowledgment, but inquired gravely: “What do you expect to do in Florence?” “Why, I presume, whateva Mrs. Landa wants to do.” “Do you think Mrs. Lander will want to go into society?” This question had not occurred to Clementina. “I don't believe she will,” she said, thoughtfully. “Shall you?” Clementina laughed, “Why, do you think,” she ventured, “that society would want me to?” “Yes, I think it would, if you're as charming as you've tried to make me believe. Oh, I don't mean, to your own knowledge; but some people have ways of being charming without knowing it. If Mrs. Lander isn't going into society, and there should be a way found for you to go, don't refuse, will you?” “I shall wait and see if I'm asked, fust.” “Yes, that will be best,” said Milray. “But I shall give you a letter to my sister. She and I used to be famous cronies, and we went to a great many parties together when we were young people. We thought the world was a fine thing, then. But it changes.” He fell into a muse, and they were both sitting quite silent when Mrs. Milray came round the corner of the music room in the course of her twentieth or thirtieth compass of the deck, and introduced her lord to her husband and to Clementina. He promptly ignored Milray, and devoted himself to the girl, leaning over her with his hand against the bulkhead behind her and talking down upon her.