"Why, you dunder-headed, go-to-meeting
Methodist! Don't you know a Catholic priest
when you see one?"

"A priest? By Jove, so he is! Yes, I forgot;
vow of chastity, and all that sort of thing. Well
then, we'll be charitable and suppose the boy's his
nephew."

"What idiotic people!" Arthur whispered,
looking up with dancing eyes. "Still, it is kind of
them to think me like you; I wish I were really
your nephew----Padre, what is the matter?
How white you are!"

Montanelli was standing up, pressing one hand
to his forehead. "I am a little giddy," he said in
a curiously faint, dull tone. "Perhaps I was too
much in the sun this morning. I will go and lie
down, carino; it's nothing but the heat."

. . . . .

After a fortnight beside the Lake of Lucerne
Arthur and Montanelli returned to Italy by the
St. Gothard Pass. They had been fortunate as
to weather and had made several very pleasant excursions;
but the first charm was gone out of their
enjoyment. Montanelli was continually haunted
by an uneasy thought of the "more definite talk"