afternoon light, and so homewards. Of course the Italian and Mr. Mann
still followed them; Norman on the other side of the street, the Italian
in a slyer, less conspicuous manner, by taking side streets, or the next
parallel pavement, and appearing only at every corner in the distance.
He appeared, however, close at hand, as Mae and Eric turned into
their lodgings. His eyes met Mae's. She blushed involuntarily as she
recognized him, and at once, in that moment, there was an invisible
half-acquaintance established between the two. If they should ever meet
again, they would remember each other.

Mae crept off to the kitchen that evening, to beg for another of
Lisetta's stories, and quite forgot her walk, the officer, and Norman
Mann while she listened to the


STORY OF TALILA.

Talila was a young girl, destined to be a nun. She was a naughty little
girl and would make wry faces at the thought, and wish she could be a
man, a soldier or sailor, instead of being a woman and a nun; and as she
grew older she would dance all the time, and didn't say her prayers very
much, and was so bad that the priest sent for her to see him. He told
her how wicked she was, and that, too, when she was to be the bride of
the church; but she said the church had many, many brides, and she would
rather be the bride of Giovanni; and that she loved red-cheeked babies
better than beads, and songs were nicer than prayers. Should she sing
him such a pretty, gay one she knew? And the priest could hardly keep
from laughing at the bright-eyed, naughty, naughty Talila. But he said:
"If Giovanni does not want to marry you, will you then become the bride
of the church?" And Talila laughed aloud and tossed her head. "Giovanni