The day had been a tiring one, for Estelle Hagerup had obliged the girls to spend it with her, sight-seeing, and the Uffizi and Pitti galleries stretched in endless dreary miles of painted canvas and chilly statuary in Ragna's tired head. Dinner was over and the motley collection of old maids, mothers with bevies of plain daughters and travelling clergymen had settled themselves for the evening in the tawdry drawing-room. Fru Bjork had taken out her knitting, Estelle was setting down in her diary the doings of the day. Astrid was deep in a book, only Ragna sat idle, her hands lightly clasped in her lap, her head resting against the back of the chair, the eyes half closed, the lips slightly parted. Ferrati nudged Valentini's arm as they entered the _salotto_. "That is she, in that armchair in the corner." "She is like a Botticelli," Valentini answered as they moved towards Fru Bjork, who rose to greet them. She was pleased by Valentini and delighted to see Ferrati again. Valentini drew up a chair by Ragna, on being presented, and asked her in a brusque way, what were her impressions of Italy. She felt slightly uneasy under the bold scrutiny of his eyes, but the abruptness of his manner pleased her--it was a contrast to that of Mirko! Ferrati, seeing that they both seemed interested in each other, congratulated himself on his brilliant idea. When the men took their departure they left the most favourable impression with all the party, and the drawing lessons had been definitely arranged. They took place in Egidio's study, the girls going together, otherwise unaccompanied, as it never entered Fru Bjork's innocent mind that a chaperone might be advisable. The lessons were supplemented by visits to the galleries, and these visits opened a new world to Ragna's wondering eyes. She awoke to colour and form as with Mirko she had become aware of the life of antiquity, its fulness and beauty. Here she learned the wonders of applied imagination, of purity of vision and power in execution. Valentini led her especially to appreciate the earlier artists, Ghirlandajo, Botticelli, Pollaiuolo, Francia, Filippo and Filippino Lippi, and many were the pleasant pilgrimages taken to the various churches and galleries to see this or that example of the Master under study. The tentative charm of the Primitives had pleased Ragna, but it was the pagan spirit of Botticelli that really appealed to her, the charm of his Graces dancing their round on the flower starred grass under over-arching boughs, the nymph-like grace and free forward swing of the Flora, the wonderful sinuous outline of the Venus, light as the shell on which she stands,--all of these things, as apart from life, as truly unmoral as the flowers themselves, soothed her with the suggestion of the futility of a conventional moral standard. She found the angels of the Beato Angelico irritating; in their own way they seemed as apart from morality, as flowerlike as the