impressed him and that he was thanking her for it. Indeed, he no
longer alarmed her at all; she regarded him as a kind thing, but
quite silly. Her feelings were as inflated spiritually as they
had been an hour ago esthetically, before she lost Baedeker. The
dear George, now striding towards them over the tombstones,
seemed both pitiable and absurd. He approached, his face in the
shadow. He said:

"Miss Bartlett."

"Oh, good gracious me!" said Lucy, suddenly collapsing and again
seeing the whole of life in a new perspective. "Where? Where?"

"In the nave."

"I see. Those gossiping little Miss Alans must have--" She
checked herself.

"Poor girl!" exploded Mr. Emerson. "Poor girl!"

She could not let this pass, for it was just what she was feeling
herself.

"Poor girl? I fail to understand the point of that remark. I
think myself a very fortunate girl, I assure you. I'm thoroughly
happy, and having a splendid time. Pray don't waste time mourning
over me. There's enough sorrow in the world, isn't there, without
trying to invent it. Good-bye. Thank you both so much for all
your kindness. Ah, yes! there does come my cousin. A delightful
morning! Santa Croce is a wonderful church."