her ideas was diverted. "Sh-h! There comes Prospero," she cried,
starting up. "I can see the top of his white hat above the rhododendron
bushes. He has driven his friend to Cortello, and come home. I must run
away, or he will see that I've been crying. Don't tell him," she begged,
putting her finger on her lips; and she set off running, towards the
presbytery, just as John stepped forth from behind the long hedge of
rhododendrons.




IV


John stepped forth from behind the rhododendrons, with a kind of
devil-may-care, loose, aimless gait, the brim of his Panama pulled
brigandishly down over one ear, his hands in the pockets of his coat,
his head bent, his brow creased, his eyes sombre, every line and fibre
of his person advertising him the prey of morose disgust. But when he
saw Maria Dolores, he hastily straightened up, unpocketed his hands,
took off his hat (giving it a flap that set the brim at a less truculent
angle), and smiled. And when, the instant after, he caught sight of the
flying form of Annunziata, his smile turned into a glance of wonder.

"What is the matter with Annunziata? Why is she running with all her
legs like that?" he asked.

Maria Dolores had the tiniest catch of laughter. "She is running away
from you," she answered.