Mr. Revington and Irene came out upon the balcony and took seats near them. The girl looked at Mr. Kenmore with a bright, careless smile. "We have been talking about you, Mr. Kenmore," she said. "We are exceedingly anxious to know how you escaped from the wreck in which you were reported as lost." She spoke and looked as if he were an utter stranger. He answered with indifference equal to her own: "I am gratified by your solicitude, Miss Berlin. I can very easily gratify your curiosity. I was rescued by one of the small boats that was lowered from the steamer that sunk us." "Thank you for your concise explanation," she replied, gaily. "I see you are not disposed to weave any romance around it." "It was too terribly real to be associated with the thought of romance," he replied, repressing a slight shudder. "And yet our daily life is often more romantic than fiction," observed Mr. Revington, sentimentally. No one dissented from the proposition. Mr. Kenmore rose and prepared to take leave. But when he had bowed formally to Irene and her lover, and returned to the drawing-room, the hospitable host and hostess quite took him by storm. "Return to Florence that night? They would not hear of such a thing! They could not think of losing such a pleasant addition to their party. Mr. Kenmore must promise to be their guest a week at least." The end of it all was that Mr. Kenmore gracefully accepted their cordial invitation, and promised to send to Florence for his luggage on the morrow. Very soon afterwards the party separated for the night. Mr. Kenmore went to his room, but he was in no mood for retiring. He threw himself down into a chair at the window and lighted a cigar. "Decidedly I have made a fine beginning," he said to himself. "I have found out more than I expected to do when I came to Mr. Stuart's villa. Perhaps I had been wise to have remained in America. I am come too late." He was restless and ill at ease. The four walls of his room, spacious and elegant as it was, seemed to confine and stifle him. A fancy seized him to go out into the night air. It would cool his throbbing brow perhaps and he could think more clearly. A narrow balcony ran across the front of his window, and a flight of steps led from it to the garden below. He stepped safely through his open window and went down the stairs just as all the clocks in the house simultaneously chimed eleven. CHAPTER XXXV. "You have kept me waiting, Julius." Mrs. Stuart spoke impatiently. She had been waiting some time at the end of the myrtle avenue among its deepest shadows and her temper was not sweetened by the delay. "I beg your pardon," Mr. Revington replied, "I was smoking a cigar with your husband and could not come any sooner." He paused a moment, and then added in a rather complaining tone: "I could not imagine what you wanted of me, anyhow." "Could you not?" she inquired, with a smothered sneer. "Well, sit down here on this quiet seat and I will tell you."