“He thinks he has already made a great many.  He comes of a very great family—­a race of princes who for six hundred years have married none but the daughters of princes.  But he is seriously in love, and he would marry her to-morrow.”

“And she will not have him?”

“Ah, she is very proud, too!” The Cavaliere was silent a moment, as if he were measuring the propriety of frankness.  He seemed to have formed a high opinion of Rowland’s discretion, for he presently continued:  “It would be a great match, for she brings him neither a name nor a fortune—­nothing but her beauty.  But the signorina will receive no favors; I know her well!  She would rather have her beauty blasted than seem to care about the marriage, and if she ever accepts the prince it will be only after he has implored her on his knees!”

“But she does care about it,” said Rowland, “and to bring him to his knees she is working upon his jealousy by pretending to be interested in my friend Hudson.  If you said more, you would say that, eh?”

The Cavaliere’s shrewdness exchanged a glance with Rowland’s.  “By no means.  Miss Light is a singular girl; she has many romantic ideas.  She would be quite capable of interesting herself seriously in an interesting young man, like your friend, and doing her utmost to discourage a splendid suitor, like the prince.  She would act sincerely and she would go very far.  But it would be unfortunate for the young man,” he added, after a pause, “for at the last she would retreat!”

“A singular girl, indeed!”

“She would accept the more brilliant parti.  I can answer for it.”

“And what would be her motive?”

“She would be forced.  There would be circumstances....  I can’t tell you more.”

“But this implies that the rejected suitor would also come back.  He might grow tired of waiting.”

“Oh, this one is good!  Look at him now.”  Rowland looked, and saw that the prince had left his place by Mrs. Light and was marching restlessly to and fro between the villa and the parapet of the terrace.  Every now and then he looked at his watch.  “In this country, you know,” said the Cavaliere, “a young lady never goes walking alone with a handsome young man.  It seems to him very strange.”

“It must seem to him monstrous, and if he overlooks it he must be very much in love.”

“Oh, he will overlook it.  He is far gone.”

“Who is this exemplary lover, then; what is he?”

“A Neapolitan; one of the oldest houses in Italy.  He is a prince in your English sense of the word, for he has a princely fortune.  He is very young; he is only just of age; he saw the signorina last winter in Naples.  He fell in love with her from the first, but his family interfered, and an old uncle, an ecclesiastic, Monsignor B——­, hurried up to Naples, seized him, and locked him up.  Meantime he has passed his majority, and he can dispose of himself.