“So do I,” replied her husband, “and I cannot have my darling knocked up by fatigue! We will be lazy to-morrow, Hally, and lie on two sofas and read our books all day! I have been thinking for the last few days that we have been going a little too fast! Let me see, child!--how long have we been married?” “Six weeks to-morrow,” she answered glibly. “Bless my soul! we are quite an old married couple, a species of Darby and Joan! And have you been happy, Hally?” The tears of excitement rushed into her dark eyes. “_Happy!_ That is no word for what I have been, Tony; I have been in Heaven--in Heaven all the while!” “And so have I,” rejoined her husband. “I met some nuns whilst I was out this morning,” continued Hally, “the sisters of the Annunciation, and they stopped and spoke to me, and were so pleased to hear that I had been brought up in a convent. ‘And have you no vocation, my child?’ asked one of them. ‘Yes! Sister,’ I replied, ‘I have--a big, strong, handsome vocation called my husband.’ They looked quite shocked, poor dears, at first, but I gave them a subscription for their orphan schools--one hundred francs--and they were so pleased. They said if I was sick whilst in Florence, I must send for one of them, and she would come and nurse me! I gave it as a thanksgiving, Tony--a thanksgiving offering because I am so very happy. I am not a good woman like Margaret Pullen, I know that, but I love you--_I love you!_” “Who said that you were not a good woman?” asked Pennell, as he drew her fondly to his side, and kissed away the tears that hung on her dark lashes. “Oh! I know I am not. Besides, you once said that Margaret Pullen was the best woman you had ever known.” “I think she is very sweet and unselfish,” replied Pennell musingly, “she felt the loss of her infant terribly, Doctor Phillips told me, but the way in which she struggled to subdue her grief, in order not to distress others, was wonderful! Poor Margaret! how she mourns little Ethel to this day.” “Don’t! _don’t!_” cried Harriet in a stifled voice, “I cannot bear to think of it!” “My darling, it had nothing to do with you! I have told you so a thousand times!” “Yes! yes! I know you have--but I loved the little darling! It is dreadful to me to think that she is mouldering in the grave!” “Come, child, you will be hysterical if you indulge in any more reminiscences! Suppose we go for a stroll through the Ghetto or some other antiquated part of Florence. Or shall we take a drive into the country? I am at your commands, Madam!” “A drive, darling, then--a drive!” whispered his wife, as she left him to get ready for the excursion. It was three hours before they returned to their rooms in the old palazzo. Harriet was dull and somewhat silent, and Anthony confessed to a headache.