passed out of sight. She saw the grassy slopes, the stone pines, the
white walls, the classic stadium of the Villa Borghese, with the hot
June sun stabbing the open spaces, and the deep shadows under the
ilexes; and in front of the picture, the crowd of jostling horses, with
their riders, bearing the historic names of Rome--Colonnas, Orsinis,
Gaetanis, Odescalchis, and the rest. A young and splendid brood, all
arrogant life and gaiety, as high-mettled as their English and Irish
horses. And in front a tall, long-limbed cavalry officer in the Queen's
household, bowing to Constance Bledlow, as he comes back, breathless and
radiant from the race he has just won, his hand tight upon the reins,
his athlete's body swaying to each motion of his horse, his black eyes
laughing into hers. Why, she had imagined herself in love with him for a
whole week!

Then, suddenly, she perceived that in her absence of mind she was
running straight into a trio of undergraduates who were hurriedly
stepping off the path to avoid her. They looked at her, and she at them.
They seemed to her all undersized, plain and sallow. They carried books,
and two wore glasses. "Those are what _he_ used to call 'smugs'!" she
thought contemptuously, her imagination still full of the laughing
Italian youths on their glistening horses. And, she began to make
disparaging remarks about English young men to Annette. If this
intermittent stream of youths represented them, the English _gioventù_
was not much to boast of.

Next a furniture shop appeared, with wide windows, and a tempting array
of wares, and in they went. Constance had soon bought a wardrobe and a
cheval-glass for herself, an armchair, a carpet, and a smaller wardrobe
for Annette, and seeing a few trifles, like a French screen, a small
sofa, and an inlaid writing-table in her path, she threw them in. Then