"Glad to see you, Mr. Macjean," said Errington bluffly, "and now let me introduce both you gentlemen to my wife, Lady Errington. Alizon, this is my cousin Eustace and Mr. Macjean." Lady Errington bowed with a charming smile, and the whole party, sitting down, proceeded to make themselves comfortable. CHAPTER IV. THE ART OF CONVERSATION. "It's difficult to hold a conversation With three or five, odd numbers are a bore, For some one's sure to be _sans_ occupation, So talk should always be 'twixt two or four. One can't gain any secret information, If there should be a single person more: But four's a pleasant number without doubt, Because there's not a chance to be the 'odd man out.'" It was certainly a very pleasant little party which was seated on the terrace of the Villa Tagni, talking social nonsense under the clear glow of the sunset sky. Behind the solemn hills the sun had disappeared, leaving the sky filled with soft rosy tints, against which the serrated outline of tall peaks stood clear and distinct. Slender clouds of liquid gold floated in the roseate western sky which resembled in its pale flushing the delicate tints of a rose-heart, softening off by degrees into a cold blue, which in its turn gave place towards the darkening east to faint shadows and throbbing stars glimmering in the aerial gloom of coming night. But the four people on the terrace took no notice of the wonderful gradations of colour, but chatted gaily over the cakes and tea provided by the hospitality of Villa Tagni. All the gentlemen, tired of the thin wines of Italy, had taken tea, and Otterburn was especially enthusiastic as he drained his cup with keen relish. "I'm a perfect old woman for tea here," he said, handing back his cup for a second supply. "A don't know why, as I never bothered much about it at home." "That's because you can't get a decent cup here," observed Eustace drily, "man always longs for the impossible." "I long for a decent dinner," retorted Otterburn with a hollow groan. "I'm not a particularly greedy sort of chap--don't laugh, please, Lady Errington, I assure you I'm not--but these Italians haven't the slightest idea how to cook." "Well you see their ideas of cooking differ from yours, Mr. Macjean," said Alizon, smilingly handing him back his cup. "Yes, that's true enough. I daresay they give a fellow the best they can, but look at their victuals; bread that's all full of holes, some yellow mess they call polenta, skinny chickens and sour wine, you can't make a square meal of such stuff." "Some people could," said Errington, who was listening to the boy's remarks with an amused smile, "but I agree with you about the roast beef of old England." "Or the wholesome parritch of Scotland," observed Eustace satirically. "As a North Briton you surely forget that, Master." "No, I don't," retorted Macjean. "I got too much of that when I was young." "Being so aged now."