calculations in realism. Then she said that she had been in the
Piazza since eight o'clock collecting material. A good deal of it
was unsuitable, but of course one always had to adapt. The two
men had quarrelled over a five-franc note. For the five-franc
note she should substitute a young lady, which would raise the
tone of the tragedy, and at the same time furnish an excellent
plot.

"What is the heroine's name?" asked Miss Bartlett.

"Leonora," said Miss Lavish; her own name was Eleanor.

"I do hope she's nice."

That desideratum would not be omitted.

"And what is the plot?"

Love, murder, abduction, revenge, was the plot. But it all came
while the fountain plashed to the satyrs in the morning sun.

"I hope you will excuse me for boring on like this," Miss Lavish
concluded. "It is so tempting to talk to really sympathetic
people. Of course, this is the barest outline. There will be a
deal of local colouring, descriptions of Florence and the
neighbourhood, and I shall also introduce some humorous
characters. And let me give you all fair warning: I intend to be
unmerciful to the British tourist."

"Oh, you wicked woman," cried Miss Bartlett. "I am sure you are