For the next quarter of an hour any one passing the drawing-room door might have heard the sound of a duet (_parlando_) being delivered in the musical Italian tongue within that room. As a matter of fact some impassioned phrases made themselves heard all over the house. Then there was heard a quick opening of the door; a few words of bitter but highly musical upbraiding, sounded in a man's, though not a very manly, voice, and before the butler had time to get to the hall-door the hall-door was opened, and Agnes saw the figure of Signor Rodani on the drive. He was hurrying away with a considerable degree of impetuosity, and he held a brilliant coloured handkerchief to his eyes. “He is gone,” said Clare, when Agnes returned to the room in the course of the next half-hour. “I saw him on the drive,” said Agnes. She noticed that Clare kept her head carefully averted for some time; but when she happened to glance round, Agnes saw that she had been weeping. The handkerchief of Signor Rodani was not the only one that had been requisitioned for the purpose of removing the traces of tears. She was pleased to observe that little tint of red beneath the girl's lashes: it told her that she was not so hard-hearted as she had tried to make Agnes believe. “He is gone, so that nothing further need be said about him, except that, if he gets within observing distance of the Maestro Marini within the next week or so--I suppose it will take a few weeks to bring him to himself again--he may make the good maestro aware of some of the shortcomings in the working of his system,” said Agnes. “I wonder it never occurred to us to go up to London to hear the paper read at the Geographical Society to-night,” said Clare; and Agnes was startled at the suddenness with which she flung aside Signor Rodani as a topic and began to talk of Mr. Westwood. “We could scarcely go without an invitation, and Mr. Westwood certainly never offered to procure tickets for us,” said Agnes. When they had nearly finished their dinner that night, the French clock on the bracket chimed the half hour. Clare dropped the spoon with which she was eating her jelly. “Half-past eight; he will be beginning to read his paper now,” she said. “How I wish I were at the Albert Hall! I can hear the people cheering him--I suppose they will cheer him, Agnes?” “If you can hear them cheering, my dear, you may take it for granted they are cheering him,” said Agnes, smiling across the table at her. Clare laughed. “Oh yes, they will cheer,” she said.