"I was a fool to say that I wanted work," he said to himself, "and perhaps a greater fool to blurt out the fact that I had no respectable references so easily. However, I've done for myself in that quarter. The British dragon, Mrs. Grundy, would never admit a man as tutor to her boys under these mysterious circumstances. All the better, perhaps. I should be looked upon with suspicion, as a man 'under a cloud.' And I should not like that, especially in the case of that beautiful Miss Heron, whose clear eyes seem to rebuke any want of candour or courage by their calm fearlessness of gaze. Well, I shall not meet her under false pretences now, at any rate." And then he gave vent to a short, impatient sigh, and resumed the seat that he had vacated for Mr. Heron's benefit. He tried to read; but found, to his disgust, that he could not fix his mind on the printed page. He kept wondering what report Mr. Heron was giving to his wife and family of the interview that he had had with the English tutor "without references." "Perhaps they think that I was civil to the father because I hoped to get something out of them," said Stretton to himself, frowning anxiously at the line of blue sea in the distance. "Perhaps they are accusing me of being a rank impostor. What if they do? What else have I been all my life? What a fool I am!" In despair he flung aside his book, went up to his bed-room, and began to pack the modest knapsack which contained all his worldly wealth. In half-an-hour--when he had had that five minutes' decisive conversation with Mr. Heron--he would be on his way to Naples. He had all but finished his packing when the landlord shuffled upstairs to speak to him. There was a messenger from the Villa Venturi. There was also a note. Stretton opened it and read:-- "Dear Mr. Stretton,--Will you do me the favour to come up to the villa as soon as you receive this note? I am sorry to trouble you, but I think I can explain my motive when we meet. "Yours truly, "Alfred Heron." Stretton crumpled the note up in his hand, and let it drop to the floor. He glanced at his knapsack. Had he packed it too soon or not? He followed the servant, whom he found in waiting for him--a stolid, impenetrable-looking Englishman, who led the way to an entrance into the garden of the villa--an entrance which Stretton did not know. "Is your master in the garden? Does he wish me to come this way?" he asked, rather sharply. The stolid servant bowed his head.