"Methuselah? Sin? The hills?" suggested John, Annunziata having paused
to think.

"No," said Annunziata, repudiating the suggestion with force. "No one is
so old as Methuselah. She is as old as--well, my uncle."

"I see," said John. "Yes, it's all highly mysterious."

"Mysterious?" said Annunziata.

"I should think so," asseverated he. "Cryptic, enigmatic, esoteric to
the last degree. To begin with, how does the Signora Brandi, being an
Austrian, come by so characteristically un-Austrian a name? Is that
mysterious? And in the next place, why does an Austrian Signora Brandi
so far forget what is due to her nationality as to live, not in Austria,
but in Lombardy? And--as if that were not enough--at Castel Sant'
Alessina? And--as if that were not more than enough--in the pavilion
beyond the clock? Come, come! Mysterious!"

"You are living in Lombardy, you are living at Castel Sant' Alessina,
yourself," said Annunziata.

"I hardly think so," said John. "You can scarcely with precision call
this living--this is rather what purists call sojourning. But even were
it otherwise, there's all the difference in the world between my case
and the Signora Brandi's. I am middle-aged and foolish, but she is as
old as your uncle. Don't you see the mysterious significance of that
coincidence? And I haven't a young woman visiting me. _Who is the young
woman?_ Is that a mystery? My sweet child, we tread among mysteries. We
are at the centre of a coil of mysteries. _Who is the young woman?_ And