"And so--he may outstrip you?" And the Marchese's eyes glittered with sudden anger--"He may claim YOUR discovery as his own?" Morgana smiled. She was ascending the steps of the loggia, and she paused a moment in the full glare of the Sicilian sunshine, her wonderful gold hair shining in it with the hue of a daffodil. "I think not!" she said--"Though of course it depends on the use he makes of it. He--like all men--wishes to destroy; I, like all women, wish to create!" One or two of the workmen who were busy polishing the rose-marble pilasters of the loggia, here saluted her--she returned their salutations with an enchanting smile. "How delightful it all is!" she said--"I feel the real use of dollars at last! This beautiful 'palazzo,' in one of the loveliest places in the world--all the delicious flowers running down in garlands to the very shore of the sea-and liberty to enjoy life as one wishes to enjoy it, without hindrance or argument--without even the hindrance and argument of--love!" She laughed, and gave a mirthful upward glance at the Marchese's somewhat sullen countenance. "Come and have luncheon with me! You are the major-domo for the present--you have engaged the servants and you know the run of the house--you must show me everything and tell me everything! I have quite a nice chaperone--such a dear old English lady 'of title' as they say in the 'Morning Post'--so it's all quite right and proper--only she doesn't know a word of Italian and very little French. But that's quite British you know!" She passed, smiling, into the house, and he followed. CHAPTER VII