"A reason? What reason? Tell me now," said Daphne, turning her eyes upon him with a look of wonder. "Not now. The Madonna will speak for me." "You are talking in riddles. I shall visit the cathedral this very day, and discover your meaning for myself." "You do me too much honour. You will receive a surprise--a pleasant one, let me trust." Daphne's curiosity was raised to the highest point and she cried: "You hear, papa? We must visit the cathedral this very morning, and solve Mr. Vasari's enigma." "Very well," replied her father, rising. "I think I have solved it already, and, as I begin to feel hungry qualms 'neath the fourth button of my waistcoat, suppose you run indoors and see what progress is being made with breakfast. Angelo, you will join us, of course?" Of course he would! Our breakfast-room was a small prettily furnished apartment, whose latticed windows commanded a fine view of the mountains. The fresh morning air had imparted a keen edge to my appetite, and nothing but the sense of Angelo's rivalry prevented me from doing full justice to the substantial fare that old Dame Ursula, the housekeeper, had spread before us. The look of admiration in the artist's dark eyes, his tender, respectful homage, spoke of a feeling for Daphne far stronger than friendship. He completely ignored me, and, for my part, I did not address any remark to him during the course of the breakfast. Intuitively we felt that we were rivals, between whom interchange of ideas was impossible. When, in reply to some question of my uncle's, I held forth at great length on German theology, he listened without saying a word. When he grew eloquent over the Old Masters and their works, I treated his tinsel verbiage with freezing silence. He exerted all his arts to please Daphne, and the colour of her cheek and the sparkle of her eye showed that if such attentions did not inspire the sweet sentiments he desired, they were, on the other hand, not at all distasteful to her. On the seat of one of the latticed windows lay a brown paper parcel, partly opened, containing the files of the _Standard_ to which my uncle had alluded. Angelo cast frequent glances in this direction. I supposed he was burning to read to Daphne the eulogium on his picture, but as she seemed to have forgotten it, his vanity was not gratified. After breakfast was over Daphne repeated her wish to visit the cathedral without delay, and ran off to change her dress for the journey. My uncle withdrew for a similar purpose, leaving me to entertain the artist. The entertainment I offered him was certainly not marked by variety, for it consisted simply of an unbroken silence--a silence that did not seem to disconcert him in the least. He occupied himself with the files of the _Standard_, turning them over with deft fingers, as if selecting a certain one from among the number.