up, burning with a red revolutionary flame, that was fed by his secret
knowledge about Olga Bracely. Why should Lucia rule everyone with her
rod of iron? Why, and again why?

Suddenly he heard his name called in the familiar alto, and there was
Lucia in her Shakespeare's garden.

"Georgino! Georgino mio!" she cried. "Gino!"

Out of mere habit Georgie got down from his stile, and tripped up the
road towards her. The manly seething of his soul's insurrection rebuked
him, but unfortunately his legs and his voice surrendered. Habit was
strong....

"Amica!" he answered. "Buon Giorno." ("And why do I say it in Italian?"
he vainly asked himself.)

"Geordie, come and have ickle talk," she said. "Me want 'oo wise man to
advise ickle Lucia."

"What 'oo want?" asked Georgie, now quite quelled for the moment.

"Lots-things. Here's pwetty flower for button-holie. Now tell me about
black man. Him no snakes have? Why Mrs Quantock say she thinks he no
come to poo' Lucia's party-garden?"

"Oh, did she?" asked Georgie relapsing into the vernacular.

"Yes, oh, and by the way there's a parcel come which I think must be
the Mozart trio. Will you come over tomorrow morning and read it with