"We have only been to the Vatican as yet," Stella answered
timidly--she was still much perturbed at the whole incident, but
now that she had begun she determined she might as well be hung
for a sheep as a lamb, and she was conscious that there was a
strong attraction in the mild blue eyes of the stranger. His
manner had a complete repose and absence of self-consciousness,
which usually is only to be found in the people of race--in any
nation.

"You were taken to the Sistine Chapel, of course," he went on,
"and to the loggia and Bramant's staircase? You saw some statues,
too, perhaps?"

"My uncle and aunt do not care much for sculpture," Miss Rawson
said, now regaining her composure, "but I like it--even better
than pictures."

The stranger kept his steady eyes fixed upon her face all the
time.

"I have a nymph in my house at home," he returned. "She came
originally from Rome; she is not Greek and she is very like you,
the same droop of head--I remarked it immediately--I am
superstitious--I suppose you would call what I mean by that word--
and I knew directly that some day you, too, would mean things to
me. That is why I spoke--do you feel it, too?"

Stella Rawson quivered. The incredible situation paralyzed her.
She--the Aunt Caroline's niece, and engaged to Eustace Medlicott,
the Bishop's junior chaplain, to be listening to a grotesque-