broad Campagna was settling a prismatic robe of mist, changing from rose to violet.  Earth seemed to be writing, in colored notes, with tenderest modulations, her farewell hymn to the departing God of Light.  And the visible music soon took voice in the vibration of vesper-bells, in the midst of which they entered Rome.  Flora, who was sobered by the solemn sounds and the darkening landscape, scarcely spoke, except to remind Mrs. Delano of the tambourine as they drove through the crowded Corso; and when they entered their lodgings in Via delle Quattro Fontane, she passed to her room without any of her usual skipping and singing.  When they met again at supper her friend said:  “Why so serious?  Is my little one tired?”

“I have been thinking, Mamita, that something is going to happen to me,” she replied; “for always when I am very merry something happens.”

“I should think something would happen very often then,” rejoined Mrs. Delano with a smile, to which she responded with her ready little laugh.  “Several visitors called while we were gone,” said Mrs. Delano.  “Our rich Boston friend, Mr. Green, has left his card.  He follows us very diligently.”  She looked at Flora as she spoke; but though the light from a tall lamp fell directly on her face, she saw no emotion, either of pleasure or embarrassment.

She merely looked up with a smile, as she remarked:  “He always seems to be going round very leisurely in search of something to entertain him.  I wonder whether he has found it yet.”

Though she was really tired with the exertions of the day, the sight of the new tambourine, after supper, proved too tempting; and she was soon practising the saltarello again, with an agility almost equal to that of the nimble Contadina from whom she had learned it.  She was whirling round more and more swiftly, as if fatigue were a thing impossible to her, when Mr. Green was announced; and a very stylishly dressed gentleman, with glossy shirt-bosom and diamond studs, entered the room.  She had had scarcely time to seat herself, and her face was still flushed with exercise, while her dimples were revealed by a sort of shy smile at the consciousness of having been so nearly caught in her rompish play by such an exquisite.  The glowing cheek and the dimpling smile were a new revelation to Mr. Green; for he had never interested her sufficiently to call out the vivacity which rendered her so charming.

Mrs. Delano noticed his glance of admiration, and the thought occurred, as it had often done before, what an embarrassing dilemma she would be in, if he should propose marriage to her protegee.

“I called this morning,” said he, “and found you had gone to Albano.  I was tempted to follow, but thought it likely I should miss you.  It is a charming drive.”

“Everything is charming here, I think,” rejoined Flora.

“Ah, it is the first time you have seen Rome,” said he.  “I envy you the freshness of your sensations.  This is the third time I have been here, and of course it palls a little upon me.”