"I do. I should delight to see them," I answered with enthusiasm; therefore he led me across the low old-fashioned hall with its great oak beams and open fireplace into a long gallery where the floor was polished, and along one side was hung a choice collection of masters of the Bolognese, Tuscan and Venetian schools. At a glance I saw that they were of considerable value, and as I walked along slowly examining them I half feared lest I might come face to face with the daughter of the house. Mine was a bold adventure, and surely it was fortunate for me that old Miss Catherine had a headache. Through room after room he conducted me with all the pride of a collector showing his treasures. Indeed, I was amazed to find such a perfect museum of Italian art hidden away in that picturesque old Manor House. "Yes," he said presently, as we entered the long old-fashioned drawing-room upholstered in antique rose-pattern chintz, "I've collected in Italy for a good many years. One can pick up bargains, even now, in the less frequented towns, say Ravenna, Verona, Bologna or Rimini; while in Leghorn there are still lots of genuine Sheraton and Chippendale which was imported from England by the English merchants of that time. I once made a splendid find of seventeenth-century English silver--two porringers and some spoons--in the Ghetto in Leghorn." I was at the moment looking at a circular Madonna on panel, evidently of the Bolognese school of the cinquecento, hanging at the end of the long pleasant old room when, in glancing round, my eye fell upon two small tables where stood photographs in frames. In an instant I bent over one and recognised it as that of the girl who had come to me so mysteriously at Shepherd's Bush. "That is my daughter," he remarked. "Curious," I said, feigning to reflect. "I think I've met her somewhere abroad. Perhaps it was in Italy. Could it have been in Leghorn?" "You know Leghorn?" "I've been there many times. I know the Camerons, the Davises, the Matthews, and most of the English colony there." "Then you may possibly have met her there," he said. "We have a small flat on the sea-front, and my daughter often plays tennis." "Of course!" I exclaimed, as though the mention of tennis brought back to me full recollection of the incident. "It was at tennis that I saw her--last season when I was at the Palace Hotel. I remember now, quite well. Our Mediterranean fleet were lying there at the time, and there were lots of festivities, as there are every summer. Is your daughter now in England?" "Oh, yes. She's up in London, but returns to-morrow." "And are you going back to Italy soon?" I inquired. "I hardly know. My movements are never very certain. I'm quite a creature of circumstances, and nowadays drift about with the wind of chance," he laughed. "But this is a lovely old place," I remarked. "If I had it I should certainly not prefer a flat in a sun-baked Italian town, like Leghorn."