That he should so quickly assimilate the atmosphere, that he should at once become nothing but kindness, showed surely what a real affinity he had with good and beautiful things.  He belonged quite naturally in this place of heavenly calm.  He was—­extraordinary how she had misjudged him—­by nature a child of light.  Fancy not minding the dreadful fibs she had gone in for before leaving home; fancy passing even those over without comment.  Wonderful.  Yet not wonderful, for wasn’t he in heaven?  In heaven nobody minded any of those done-with things, one didn’t even trouble to forgive and forget, one was much too happy.  She pressed his arm tight in her gratitude and appreciation; and though he did not withdraw his, neither did he respond to her pressure.  Mr. Wilkins was of a cool habit, and rarely had any real wish to press.

Meanwhile, Costanza, perceiving that she had lost the Wilkinses’ ear had gone back to Mrs. Fisher, who at least understood Italian, besides being clearly in the servants’ eyes the one of the party marked down by age and appearance to pay the bills; and to her, while Mrs. Fisher put the final touches to her toilette, for she was preparing, by means of putting on a hat and veil and feather boa and gloves, to go for her first stroll in the lower garden—­positively her first since her arrival—­she explained that unless she was given money to pay the last week’s bills the shops of Castagneto would refuse credit for the current week’s food.  Not even credit would they give, affirmed Costanza, who had been spending a great deal and was anxious to pay all her relations what was owed them and also to find out how her mistresses took it, for that day’s meals.  Soon it would be the hour of colazione, and how could there be colazione without meat, without fish, without eggs, without—­

Mrs. Fisher took the bills out of her hand and looked at the total; and she was so much astonished by its size, so much horrified by the extravagance to which it testified, that she sat down at her writing-table to go into the thing thoroughly.

Costanza had a very bad half-hour.  She had not supposed it was in the English to be so mercenary.  And then la Vecchia, as she was called in the kitchen, knew so much Italian, and with a doggedness that filled Costanza with shame on her behalf, for such conduct was the last one expected from the noble English, she went through item after item, requiring and persisting till she got them, explanations.

There were no explanations, except that Costanza had had one glorious week of doing exactly as she chose, of splendid unbridled licence, and that this was the result.

Costanza, having no explanations, wept.  It was miserable to think she would have to cook from now on under watchfulness, under suspicion; and what would her relations say when they found the orders the received were whittled down?  They would say she had no influence; they would despise her.