Owing to these late hours and the amount of talking, perhaps, that he had got through, Percival slept late next morning, and it was not until eleven o'clock that he started, regardless of the heat, for the Villa Venturi. He had not very far to go, and it was with a light heart that he strode along holding a great, white umbrella above his head, glancing keenly at the view of sea and land which made the glory of the place, turning up his nose fastidiously at the smells of the village, and wondering in his heart what induced his relations to stay so long out of London. He rang the bell at the gateway with great decision, and told the servant to inform Mr. Heron that "an English gentleman" wished to speak to him. He was ushered into a little ante-room, requested to wait there until Mr. Heron was found, and left alone. But he was not content to wait very patiently. He was sure that he heard voices in the next room. Being quite without the scruples which had made Stretton, not long before, refuse to push open a door one single inch in order to see what was not meant to meet his eyes, he calmly advanced to an archway screened by long and heavy curtains, parted them with his fingers, and looked in. It was an innocent scene, and a pretty scene enough, on which his eyes rested, and yet it was one that gave Percival little pleasure. The room was not very light, and such sunshine as entered it fell through the coloured panes of a stained-glass window high in the wall. At an old oak table, black and polished with age, sat two persons--a master and a pupil. They had one book between them, and the pupil was reading from it. Papers, dictionaries, and copybooks strewed the table; it was evident that other pupils had been there before, but that they had abandoned the scene. Percival set his teeth, and the brightness went out of his eyes. If only the pupil had not been Elizabeth! It was not that she showed any other feeling than that of interest in the book that she was reading. Her eyes were fixed upon the printed page; her lips opened only to pronounce slowly and carefully the unfamiliar syllables before her. The tutor was quiet, grave, reserved; but Percival noticed, quickly and jealously, that he once or twice raised his eyes as if to observe the expression of Elizabeth's fair face; and, free from all offence as that glance certainly was, it made a wild and unreasoning fury rise up in the lover's heart. He looked, he heard an interchange of quiet question and answer, he saw a smile on her face, a curiously wistful look on his; then came a scraping sound, as the chairs were pushed back over the marble floor, and master and pupil rose. The lesson was over. Percival dropped the curtain. He was so pale when Elizabeth came to him in the little ante-room that she was startled.