"It’s light brown," she explained, "not pitch black like mine," and then she rested her head lightly on my shoulder. "And I love your name—it’s so nice—_Randolph_!" "Let me lead you," I murmured, as though I were the helpless one. "_Ecco!_" I suddenly heard the voice of Visconti laughing behind me, and Gina’s hand clutched my shoulder convulsively. I confess that at my heart was a clutch of sheer blue funk. "She has just turned her ankle!" I exclaimed mechanically. "It’s all right, papa," put in Gina’s cheerful voice. "It’s these old slippers. I’ll go and change them." And to my amazement she straightened up, flashed a radiant smile at both of us, and walked to the door with only the slightest of limps. "Sure you can walk alone?" I managed to stammer. "Oh, yes!" Gina waved her hand at the door. "I’ll be down soon." The father laughed loudly and put his hand upon my shoulder. "Come, _caro mio_, let us have a little smoke." I followed him dazedly. "Wonderful girl, Gina!" he exclaimed. "High spirits, eh?" "Er—yes, indeed—very high." I felt as though I had emerged from a severe physical struggle. "I can see—oh, even an old man like me can see," he chuckled jovially, as he held his cigar box toward me in the smoking room, "that you young people like each other—eh? Oh, sit down, sit down, _amico mio_. It is all right—all right. I must get used to the idea of the bambino, being grown up," and forcing me down into a leather chair, he continued to tap my shoulder by way of emphasizing his words. "I have been young—yes! I understand—and trust me, my boy, you cannot do better. Gina—Gina is one treasure for a man. Ah—yes! No love like the Italian woman’s love. She will make you the best—" "But wait—for God’s sake, Mr. Visconti, wait," I cried in agony, leaping from my chair. "I can’t—I mustn’t even pretend to think of such a thing. Gina is far too—" "Say no more!" he interrupted vehemently, tapping me with the back of his hand on the chest. "You are a fine, gooda young man!" "Thanks!" I gasped, "but you don’t understand. I am in no position to marry any woman at this time. I’m—" "Hold on!" he flung me back into the chair with an exuberant force that would have made me laugh if my vitals had not been chilled by terror. "Is it that I do not know? Do I not know how your capital did go—pouf! like that? But all that I have—Gina has it. She will have enough," and he nodded his head with pregnant emphasis, "enough, my friend. And Gina’s husband—he will be my son!" He struck his large chest a mighty blow and threw back his head with triumphant finality. I attempted no more to rise. It was useless. "Signor Visconti," I began huskily, "you do not understand me. I cannot marry anybody, ever. I have four children to bring up—educate—to be responsible for. The youngest of them is eight. I—you honor me greatly by your kindness—but marriage is not for me."