LITMIR.BIZ

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was already out. As a rule the Signora preferred to have her coffee in her room, as if she were in town. For some time no one spoke.

      "Had we not better send Ercole to find Marcello?" the Contessa asked at last.

      "I had to send Ercole to Porto d'Anzio this morning," Corbario answered. "I took the opportunity, because I knew there would be no quail with this wind."

      "Marcello will come in when he is hungry," said Aurora, rather sharply, because she really felt sorry.

      But Marcello did not come in.

      Soon after eight o'clock his mother appeared on the verandah. Folco dropped his newspaper and hastened to make her comfortable in her favourite chair. Though she was not strong, she was not an invalid, but she was one of those women whom it seems natural to help, to whom men bring cushions, and with whom other women are always ready to sympathise. If one of Fra Angelico's saints should walk into a modern drawing-room all the men would fall over each other in the scramble to make her comfortable, and all the women would offer her tea and ask her if she felt the draught.

      The Signora looked about, expecting to see her son.

      "Marcello has not come in," said Folco, understanding. "He seems to have gone for a long walk."

      "I hope he has put on his thick boots," answered the Signora, in a thoughtful tone. "It is very wet."

      She asked why Folco was not with him shooting, and was told that there were no birds in such weather. She had never understood the winds, nor the points of the compass, nor why one should see the new moon in the west instead of in the east. Very few women do, but those who live much with men generally end by picking up a few useful expressions, a little phrase-book of jargon terms with which men are quite satisfied. They find out that a fox has no tail, a wild boar no teeth, a boat no prow, and a yacht no staircase; and this knowledge is better than none.

      The Signora accepted the fact that there were no birds that morning, and began to talk to Maddalena. Aurora got a book and pretended to read, but she was really listening for Marcello's footsteps, and wondering whether he would smile at her, or would still be cross when he came in. Corbario finished his paper and went off to look at the weather from the other side of the house, and the two women talked in broken sentences as old friends do, with long intervals of silence.

      The wind had moderated a good deal, but as the sun rose higher the glare in the sky grew more yellow, the air was much warmer, and the trees and shrubs and long grass began to steam as if they had been half boiled. All manner of tiny flies and gnats chased each other in the lurid light.

      "It feels as if there were going to be an earthquake," said Maddalena, throwing back the lace from her grey hair as if even its light weight oppressed her.

      "Yes."

      The women sat in silence, uneasy, their lips a little parted. Not that an earthquake would have disturbed them much, for slight ones are common enough in Italy, and could do no harm at all to a wooden cottage; it was a mere physical breathlessness that they felt, as the gale suddenly dropped and the heavy air became quite still on the sheltered side of the cottage.

      Aurora threw aside her book impatiently and rose from her chair.

      "I am going to look for Marcello," she said, and she went off without turning her head.

      On the other side of the cottage, as she went round, she found Folco sitting on the steps of the verandah, his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on his folded hands, apparently in deep thought. He had a cigar between his teeth, but it had gone out.

      "I am going to look for Marcello," said Aurora, as she passed close beside him.

      He said nothing, and hardly moved his head. Aurora turned and looked at him as she stepped upon the path.

      "What is the matter?" she asked, as she saw his face. "Is anything wrong?"

      Corbario looked up quickly, as if he had been in a reverie.

      "Anything the matter? No. Where did you say you were going?"

      "To find Marcello. He has not come in yet."

      "He has gone for a walk, I suppose. He often walks alone on off days. He will be back before luncheon, and you are not going to town till the afternoon."

      "Will you come with me?" Aurora asked, for she was in a good humour with Folco.

      He rose at once.

      "I'll go with you for a stroll," he said, "but I don't think it is of any use to look for Marcello near the house."

      "It can do no harm."

      "And it will do us good to walk a bit."

      They went down the path and through the trees towards the break in the bank.

      "The sand was very wet this morning, even inside the bank," Aurora said. "I daresay we shall find his footsteps and be able to guess which way he went."

      "Very likely," Folco answered.

      He pushed back his tweed cap a little and passed his handkerchief across his smooth brow. Aurora noticed the action, because he did not usually get warm so easily.

      "Are you hot?" she asked carelessly.

      "A little," he answered. "The air is so heavy this morning."

      "Perhaps you are not quite well," said Aurora. "You are a little pale."

      Apparently something in her youthfully patronising tone came as near irritating him as anything ever could.

      "What does it matter, whether I am hot or not?" he asked, almost impatiently, and again he passed his handkerchief over his forehead.

      "I did not mean to annoy you," Aurora answered with uncommon meekness.

      They came near the break in the bank, and she looked at the sand on each side of her. She thought it seemed smoother than usual, and that there were not so many little depressions in it, where there had been footsteps on previous days, half obliterated by wind and rain.

      "I cannot see where you and I passed an hour ago," she said, in some surprise.

      "The wind draws through the gap with tremendous strength," Folco explained. "Just before the gale moderated there was a heavy squall with rain."

      "Was there? I did not notice that—but I was on the lee side of the house. The wind must have smoothed the sand, just like a flat-iron!"

      "Yes." Corbario answered indifferently and gazed out to sea.

      Aurora left his side and looked about, going to a little distance from the gap, first on one side and then on the other.

      "It is as if the wind had done it on purpose!" she cried impatiently. "It is as smooth as if it had all been swept with a gardener's broom."

      Corbario turned, lighted his extinguished cigar, and watched her, as she moved about, stooping now and then to examine the sand.

      "I don't believe it is of any use to look here," he said. "Besides, he will be back in time for luncheon."

      "I suppose so," answered Aurora. "Why do you look at me in that way?" she asked, standing upright and meeting his eyes suddenly.

      He laughed softly and took his cigar from his mouth.

      "I was watching you. You are very graceful when you move."

      She did not like his expression.

      "I wish you would think less about me and more about finding Marcello," she said rather sharply.

      "You talk as if he were lost. I tell you he will surely come back before long."

      "I hope so."

      But Marcello did not come back, and after Aurora had returned to the cottage and was seated in her chair again, with her book, she grew restless, and went over in her memory what had passed in the morning. It was not possible that Marcello should

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