She cleared her throat, and said: "My friends, I have a gratifying announcement to make. We are about to have an accession to our pleasant circle." "Who is it?" asked the widow, eagerly. Mrs. Gray turned upon her a look of silent reproof. "It is a gentleman of high family. Count Antonio Penelli, of Italy." There was a buzz of excitement. We had never before had a titled fellow boarder, and democratic as we were we were pleased to learn that we should sit at the same board with a nobleman. Probably no one was more pleasantly excited than Mrs. Wyman. Every male boarder she looked upon as her constituent, if I may use this word, and she always directed her earliest efforts to captivate any new masculine arrival. "What does he look like, Mrs. Gray?" she asked, breathless. "He looks like an Italian," answered the landlady, in a practical tone. "He has dark hair and a dark complexion. He has also a black moustache, but no side whiskers." "Is he good looking?" "You will have to decide for yourselves when you see him." "When shall we see him?" "He is to be here to-night at supper." "The day will seem very long," murmured the widow. "You seem to regard him already as your special property." This of course came from the lips of the Disagreeable Woman. "I presume you are as anxious to see him as I am," snapped Mrs. Wyman. "I once knew an Italian Count," said Miss Blagden reflectively. "Did you? How nice!" "I do not know about that. He turned out to be a barber." "Horrible! Then he was not a count." "I think he was, but he was poor and chose to earn a living in the only way open to him. I respected him the more on that account." Mrs. Wyman was evidently shocked. It seemed to dissipate the halo of romance which she had woven around the coming boarder. "Count Penelli did not appear to be in any business?" she asked, anxiously, of the landlady. "He said he was a tourist, and wished to spend a few months in America." The widow brightened up. This seemed to indicate that he was a man of means. Prof. Poppendorf did not seem to share in the interest felt in the Count. "I do not like Italians," he said. "They are light, frivolous; they are not solid like the Germans." "The Professor is solid enough," said Mrs. Wyman, with a titter. This could not be gainsaid, for the learned German certainly tipped the scales at over two hundred pounds. There was a strong suspicion that he imbibed copious potations of the liquid so dear to his countrymen, though he never drank it at table. "The poor man is jealous," continued Mrs. Wyman, making the remark in a low tone for my private hearing. "He thinks we won't notice him after the Count comes."