distraction he found in the foreigner's companionship. Thus, with
pleasure to all parties, and strong hopes to the two female conspirators,
the intimacy between the Casino and Hall rapidly thickened; but still not
a word resembling a distinct proposal did Dr. Riccabocca breathe. And
still, if such an idea obtruded itself on his mind, it was chased
therefrom with so determined a Diavolo that perhaps, if not the end of
the world, at least the end of Miss Jemima's tenure in it, might have
approached and seen her still Miss Jemima, but for a certain letter with
a foreign postmark that reached the doctor one Tuesday morning.




CHAPTER XVIII.

The servant saw that something had gone wrong, and, under pretence of
syringing the orange-trees, he lingered near his master, and peered
through the sunny leaves upon Riccabocca's melancholy brows.

The doctor sighed heavily. Nor did he, as was his wont after some such
sigh, mechanically take up that dear comforter the pipe. But though the
tobacco-pouch lay by his side on the balustrade, and the pipe stood
against the wall between his knees, childlike lifting up its lips to the
customary caress, he heeded neither the one nor the other, but laid the
letter silently on his lap, and fixed his eyes upon the ground.

"It must be bad news indeed!" thought Jackeymo, and desisted from his
work. Approaching his master, he took up the pipe and the tobacco-pouch,
and filled the bowl slowly, glancing all the while towards that dark
musing face on which, when abandoned by the expression of intellectual