Marietta was Italian. So, Italian--wise, she answered, "We are
all as God makes us."

"For years I have thought her the most beautiful woman in
Europe," Peter averred.

Marietta opened her eyes wide.

"For years? The Signorino knows her? The Signorino has seen
her before?"

A phrase came back to him from a novel he had been reading that
afternoon in the train. He adapted it to the occasion.

"I rather think she is my long-lost brother."

"Brother--?" faltered Marietta.

"Well, certainly not sister," said Peter, with determination.
"You have my permission to take away the coffee things."




IV


Up at the castle, in her rose-and-white boudoir, Beatrice was
writing a letter to a friend in England.