“How fine this air is after our long, dusty ride!” exclaimed Margery, tossing back her curls to catch the breeze.

“I did not expect to find Bologna so curiously beautiful,” said Bettina, after she had seen that Barbara was comfortable in the big chair Malcom had wheeled out for her—­for she was still languid from her recent illness, and tired easily.

“Please tell us something about it, uncle,” said Malcom.  “I am afraid I have not looked it up very thoroughly.”

So Mr. Sumner told them many interesting things about the old city,—­and how it had figured largely in Italian history from the Punic wars soon after Christ, down to the middle of the present century, when it finally became a part of United Italy.

“What about the university?” queried Malcom again.

“It has had a grand reputation for about fourteen centuries, and thus is among the most ancient existing seats of learning in Christendom.  During the Middle Ages students came to it from all parts of northern Europe.”

Bettina laughed.  “I read a curious thing about it in my guide-book,” said she.  “That it has had several women professors; and one who was very beautiful always sat behind a curtain while she delivered her lectures.  This was in the fourteenth century, I believe.”

“A wise precaution,” exclaimed Malcom, with a quizzical look.  “Even I sometimes forget what a pretty woman is saying, because my thoughts are wandering from the subject to her face.  And the men of those times could not have had the constant experience we of this century in America have.”

“Don’t be silly,” smiled Bettina; and Mrs. Douglas, slipping her hand through Malcom’s arm, asked:  “Do you see those towers?”

“Yes; and uncle, I remember you spoke of the leaning towers of Bologna when we were at Pisa; what about them?”

“I think I simply said that since I had seen these towers, I have believed that the one at Pisa had been intentionally built in the way it now stands.  My reason is that in all probability one of these was purposely so built.”

“Which was erected first?”

“This, about two hundred and fifty years.”

“Let us go and see them at once!” exclaimed Malcom.  “There is time to give a good long look at the city before dinner.”

“That is a good plan,” said his mother, “and we will not go to the picture-gallery until to-morrow morning.  Then Barbara will be fresh, and can enjoy it with the rest of us.”

Mr. Sumner turned solicitously toward Barbara, with a movement as if to go to her, but her hastily averted eyes checked him, and with an inward sigh, he went to order carriages for the proposed drive.  He had grown to believe during the past week or two that Barbara had divined his love for her, and that the knowledge was very painful.

“I must have thoughtlessly disclosed it,” said he to himself.  “It has become so much a part of my every thought.  The best thing I can do now is to convince her that it shall never cause her the slightest annoyance; that it shall not change the frankly affectionate relations that have heretofore existed between us.  She is so young she will forget it as she grows stronger, or perhaps I can make her feel that she has mistaken me.  Then she will be my little friend again.”