“But he may want to see me alone, and what can I do?”

“Really now, Minnie, you must remember that you are in a serious position.  There is that wretched Captain Kirby.”

“I know,” said Minnie, with a sigh.

“And that dreadful American.  By-the-way, darling, you have never told me his name.  It isn’t of any consequence, but I should like to know the American’s name.”

“It’s—­Rufus K. Gunn.”

“Rufus K. Gunn; what a funny name! and what in the world is ‘K’ for?”

“Oh, nothing.  He says it is the fashion in his country to have some letter of the alphabet between one’s names, and he chose ‘K,’ because it was so awfully uncommon.  Isn’t it funny, Kitty darling?”

“Oh dear!” sighed her sister; “and then there is that pertinacious Count Girasole.  Think what trouble we had in getting quietly rid of him.  I’m afraid all the time that he will not stay at Florence, as he said, for he seems to have no fixed abode.  First he was going to Rome, and then Venice, and at last he committed himself to a statement that he had to remain at Florence, and so enabled us to get rid of him.  But I know he’ll come upon us again somewhere, and then we’ll have all the trouble over again.  Oh dear!  Well, Minnie darling, do you know the name of this last one?”

“Oh yes.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a funny name,” said Minnie; “a very funny name.”

“Tell it to me.”

“It’s Scone Dacres; and isn’t that a funny name?”

Mrs. Willoughby started at the mention of that name.  Then she turned away her head, and did not say a word for a long time.

“Kitty!”

No answer.

“Kitty darling, what’s the matter?”

Mrs. Willoughby turned her head once more.  Her face was quite calm, and her voice had its usual tone, as she asked,

“Say that name again.”

“Scone Dacres,” said Minnie.

“Scone Dacres!” repeated Mrs. Willoughby; “and what sort of a man is he?”

“Big—­very big—­awfully big!” said Minnie.  “Great, big head and broad shoulders.  Great, big arms, that carried me as if I were a feather; big beard too; and it tickled me so when he—­he pretended that he was my father; and very sad.  And, oh!  I know I should be so awfully fond of him.  And, oh!  Kitty darling, what do you think?”

“What, dearest?”

“Why, I’m—­I’m afraid—­I’m really beginning to—­to—­like him—­just a little tiny bit, you know.”

“Scone Dacres!” repeated Mrs. Willoughby, who didn’t seem to have heard this last effusion.  “Scone Dacres!  Well, darling, don’t trouble yourself; he sha’n’t trouble you.”

“But I want him to,” said Minnie.

“Oh, nonsense, child!”

[Illustration:  “HALLO, OLD MAN, WHAT’S UP NOW?”]

CHAPTER X.

A FEARFUL DISCOVERY.