“Of course, dearest Marchesa,” he replied.

“Donna Beatrice has taught me that there is no other way of accomplishing the feat.  And certainly no other way could give you so little trouble.”

“What is the excursion to be, and where?” asked Beatrice pretending a sudden interest.

“Crab-hunting along the shore, with torches.  It is extremely amusing, I am told.”

“After horrid red things that run sidewise and are full of legs!” The Marchesa was disgusted.

“They are green when they run about, mamma,” observed Beatrice.  “I believe it is the cooking that makes them red.  It will be delightful,” she added, turning to San Miniato.  “Does one walk?”

“Walk!” exclaimed the Marchesa, a new horror rising before her mental vision.

“We go in boats,” said San Miniato.  “In the sail boat first and then in a little one to find the crabs.  I suppose, Marchesa carissima, that Donna Beatrice may come with me in the skiff, under your eye, if she is accompanied by your maid?”

“Of course, my dear San Miniato!  Do you expect me to get into your little boat and hunt for reptiles?  Or do you expect that Beatrice will renounce the amusement of getting wet and covered with seaweed and thoroughly unpresentable?”

“And you, Donna Beatrice?  Do you still wish to come?”

“Yes.  I just said so.”

“But that was at least a minute ago,” answered San Miniato.

“Ah—­you think me very changeable?  You are mistaken.  I will go with you to find crabs to-night.  Is that categorical?  Must you consult my mother to know what I mean?”

“It will not be necessary this time,” replied the Count, quite unmoved.  “I think we understand each other.”

“I think so,” said Beatrice with a hard smile.

The Marchesa was not much pleased by the tone the conversation was taking.  But if Beatrice said disagreeable things, she said them in a pleasant voice and with a moderately civil expression of face, which constituted a concession, after all, considering how she had behaved ever since the night at Tragara, scarcely vouchsafing San Miniato a glance, answering him by monosyllables and hardly ever addressing him at all.

“My dear children,” said the elder lady, affecting a tone she had not assumed before, “I really hope that you mean to understand each other, and will.”

“Oh yes, mamma!” assented Beatrice with alacrity.  “With you to help us I am sure we shall come to a very remarkable understanding—­very remarkable indeed!”

“With originality on your side, and constancy on mine, we may accomplish much,” said San Miniato, very blandly.

Beatrice laughed again.

“Translate originality as original sin and constancy as the art of acting constantly!” she retorted.

“Why?” enquired San Miniato without losing his temper.  He thought the question would be hard to answer.