"He's only just back from the Continent," his host explained, "and I asked him to run down from town to-day, thinking a little English sport would be pleasant after the idleness of a summer in Italy." "A summer in Italy!" Malvano exclaimed in surprise. "He was rather ill-advised to go there during the hot weather. Every one strives to get away during summer. Where has he been?" "In Florence, and afterwards at Leghorn, I believe. He's been away all this year." "He has no profession?" "None," Mabie answered. "His father died and left him comfortably off. For a couple of years he led a rather wild life in Brussels and Paris, sowed the usual wild oats, and afterwards took to travelling. On the average, he's in England about a couple of months in the year. He says he only comes home to buy his clothes, as he can't find a decent tailor on the Continent." "I well understand that," Malvano laughed. "Is he making a long stay at home this time?" "I believe so. He told me this morning that he was tired of travelling, and had come back to remain." Malvano smiled a trifle sarcastically. It was evident that his host did not know the true story of his nephew's fascination, or he would have mentioned it, and perhaps sought the Doctor's opinion. Therefore, after tome further ingenious questions regarding his nephew's past and his present address dropped the subject. An hour later he found himself alone with Armytage. They had passed through Clack's Copse, and, after some splendid sport, had gained the road which cuts through the wood from Stanford Dingley to Ashampstead, where they were waiting for the remainder of the party, who, from the repeated shots, were in the vicinity finding plenty of birds. "Your uncle tells me you know Italy well," Malvano observed. "I don't know it well," Armytage replied, looking the picture of good health and good humour as he stood astride in his well-worn breeches and gaiters, and his gun across his arm. "I've been in Tuscany once or twice at Florence, Pisa, Viareggio, Lucca, Leghorn, and Monte Catini. I'm very fond of it. The country is lovely, the garden of Italy, and the people are extremely interesting, and of such diverse types. Nowhere in the world, perhaps, is there such pride among the lower classes as in Tuscany." "And nowhere in the world are the people more ready to charge the travelling Englishman excessively--if they can," added Malvano, laughing. "I'm Italian born, you know, but I never hesitate to condemn the shortcomings of my fellow-countrymen. The honest Italian is the most devoted friend in the world; the dishonest one is the brother of the very devil himself. You asked me at lunch whether I knew any one named Fanetti--was Fanetti the name?--in Florence," said the Doctor, after a pause, watching the younger man's face narrowly. "At the time I didn't recollect. Since lunch, I have remembered being called professionally to a family of that name on one occasion."