of the little church at Siena and found her daughter posturing to an
unknown painter.

But Mrs. Vivian, turning her benignant head about, gave but a
superficial reply.

"Oh, I have had my share of everything, good and bad. I don't complain
of anything." And she gave a little deprecating laugh.

Gordon Wright shook hands with Bernard again; he seemed really very glad
to see him. Longueville, remembering that Gordon had written to him
that he had been "making love," began to seek in his countenance for the
ravages of passion. For the moment, however, they were not apparent; the
excellent, honest fellow looked placid and contented. Gordon Wright had
a clear gray eye, short, straight, flaxen hair, and a healthy diffusion
of color. His features were thick and rather irregular; but his
countenance--in addition to the merit of its expression--derived a
certain grace from a powerful yellow moustache, to which its wearer
occasionally gave a martial twist. Gordon Wright was not tall, but he
was strong, and in his whole person there was something well-planted and
sturdy. He almost always dressed in light-colored garments, and he wore
round his neck an eternal blue cravat. When he was agitated he grew very
red. While he questioned Longueville about his journey and his health,
his whereabouts and his intentions, the latter, among his own replies,
endeavored to read in Wright's eyes some account of his present
situation. Was that pretty girl at his side the ambiguous object of his
adoration, and, in that case, what was the function of the elder lady,
and what had become of her argumentative daughter? Perhaps this was
another, a younger daughter, though, indeed, she bore no resemblance to
either of Longueville's friends. Gordon Wright, in spite of Bernard's