Corona had assuredly little reason to complain of her lot during the past twenty years, but unruffled and perfect as it had seemed to her she began to see that there were sources of sorrow and satisfaction before her which had not yet poured their bitter or sweet streams into the stately river of her mature life.  The new interest which Orsino had created for her became more and more absorbing, and she watched it and tended it, and longed to see it grow to greater proportions.  The situation was strange in one way at least.  Orsino was working and his mother was helping him to work in the hope of a financial success which neither of them wanted or cared for.  Possibly the certainty that failure could entail no serious consequences made the game a more amusing if a less exciting one to play.

“If I lose,” said Orsino to her, “I can only lose the few thousands I invested.  If I win, I will give you a string of pearls as a keepsake.”

“If you lose, dear boy,” answered Corona, “it must be because you had not enough to begin with.  I will give you as much as you need, and we will try again.”

They laughed happily together.  Whatever chanced, things must turn out well.  Orsino worked very hard, and Corona was very rich in her own right and could afford to help to any extent she thought necessary.  She could, indeed, have taken the part of the bank and advanced him all the money he needed, but it seemed useless to interfere with the existing arrangements.

In Lent the house had reached an important point in its existence.  Andrea Contini had completed the Gothic roof and the turret which appeared to him in the first vision of his dream, but to which the defunct baker had made objections on the score of expense.  The masons were almost all gone and another set of workmen were busy with finer tools moulding cornices and laying on the snow-white stucco.  Within, the joiners and carpenters kept up a ceaseless hammering.

One day Andrea Contini walked into the office after a tour of inspection, with a whole cigar, unlighted and intact, between his teeth.  Orsino was well aware from this circumstance that something unusually fortunate had happened or was about to happen, and he rose from his books, as soon as he recognised the fair-weather signal.

“We can sell the house whenever we like,” said the architect, his bright brown eyes sparkling with satisfaction.

“Already!” exclaimed Orsino who, though equally delighted at the prospect of such speedy success, regretted in his heart the damp walls and the constant stir of work which he had learned to like so well.

“Already—­yes.  One needs luck like ours!  The count has sent a man up in a cab to say that an acquaintance of his will come and look at the building to-day between twelve and one with a view to buying.  The sooner we look out for some fresh undertaking, the better.  What do you say, Don Orsino?”

“It is all your doing, Contini.  Without you I should still be standing outside and watching the mattings flapping in the wind, as I did on that never-to-be-forgotten first day.”