compliment. A quick light flashed and fled in her cheek as she talked,
and the fringes of her serious, asking eyes swept slowly up and down as
she bent them upon him a moment before she broke abruptly, not
coquettishly, away from him, and moved towards her mother, while Ferris
walked off to the other end of the terrace, with a laugh. Mrs. Vervain
and the priest were trying each other in French, and not making great
advance; he explained to Florida in Italian, and she answered him
hesitatingly; whereupon he praised her Italian in set phrase.

"Thank you," said the girl sincerely, "I have tried to learn. I hope,"
she added as before, "you can make me see how little I know." The
deprecating wave of the hand with which Don Ippolito appealed to her
from herself, seemed arrested midway by his perception of some novel
quality in her. He said gravely that he should try to be of use, and
then the two stood silent.

"Come, Mr. Ferris," called out Mrs. Vervain, "breakfast is ready, and I
want you to take me in."

"Too much honor," said the painter, coming forward and offering his
arm, and Mrs. Vervain led the way indoors.

"I suppose I ought to have taken Don Ippolito's arm," she confided in
under-tone, "but the fact is, our French is so unlike that we don't
understand each other very well."

"Oh," returned Ferris, "I've known Italians and Americans whom
Frenchmen themselves couldn't understand."

"You see it's an American breakfast," said Mrs. Vervain with a critical