pines and branching oleander, stood the house to which the garden
belonged,--a "restored" palace of ancient days, built of rose-marble
on the classic lines of Greek architecture. Its "restoration" was
not quite finished; numbers of busy workmen were employed on the
facade and surrounded loggia; and now and again she turned to watch
them with a touch of invisible impatience in her movement. A slight
smile sweetened her mouth as she presently perceived one figure
approaching her,--a lithe, dark, handsome man, who, when he drew
near enough, lifted his hat with a profoundly marked reverence, and,
as she extended her hand, raised it to his lips.

"A thousand welcomes, Madama!" he said, speaking in English with a
scarcely noticeable foreign accent--"Last night I heard you had
arrived, but could hardly believe the good fortune! You must have
travelled quickly?"

"Never quickly enough for my mind!" she answered--"The whole world
moves too slowly for me!"

"You must carry that complaint to the buon Dio!" he said, gaily--
"Perhaps He will condescend to spin this rolling planet a little
faster! But in my mind, time flies far too rapidly! I have worked--
we all have worked--to get this place finished for you, yet much
remains to be done--"

She interrupted him.

"The interior is quite perfect"--she said--"You have carried out my
instructions more thoroughly than I imagined could be possible. It
is now an abode for fairies to live in,--for poets to dream in--"