“Not too much, I hope.”

“And the poor young man!  You maintain that there is nothing but disappointment in store for the infatuated youth who loses his heart to her!”

The Cavaliere hesitated.  “He had better,” he said in a moment, “go and pursue his studies in Florence.  There are very fine antiques in the Uffizi!”

Rowland presently joined Mrs. Light, to whom her restless protege had not yet returned.  “That ’s right,” she said; “sit down here; I have something serious to say to you.  I am going to talk to you as a friend.  I want your assistance.  In fact, I demand it; it ’s your duty to render it.  Look at that unhappy young man.”

“Yes,” said Rowland, “he seems unhappy.”

“He is just come of age, he bears one of the greatest names in Italy and owns one of the greatest properties, and he is pining away with love for my daughter.”

“So the Cavaliere tells me.”

“The Cavaliere should n’t gossip,” said Mrs. Light dryly.  “Such information should come from me.  The prince is pining, as I say; he ’s consumed, he ’s devoured.  It ’s a real Italian passion; I know what that means!” And the lady gave a speaking glance, which seemed to coquet for a moment with retrospect.  “Meanwhile, if you please, my daughter is hiding in the woods with your dear friend Mr. Hudson.  I could cry with rage.”

“If things are so bad as that,” said Rowland, “it seems to me that you ought to find nothing easier than to dispatch the Cavaliere to bring the guilty couple back.”

“Never in the world!  My hands are tied.  Do you know what Christina would do?  She would tell the Cavaliere to go about his business—­Heaven forgive her!—­and send me word that, if she had a mind to, she would walk in the woods till midnight.  Fancy the Cavaliere coming back and delivering such a message as that before the prince!  Think of a girl wantonly making light of such a chance as hers!  He would marry her to-morrow, at six o’clock in the morning!”

“It is certainly very sad,” said Rowland.

“That costs you little to say.  If you had left your precious young meddler to vegetate in his native village you would have saved me a world of distress!”

“Nay, you marched into the jaws of danger,” said Rowland.  “You came and disinterred poor Hudson in his own secluded studio.”

“In an evil hour!  I wish to Heaven you would talk with him.”

“I have done my best.”

“I wish, then, you would take him away.  You have plenty of money.  Do me a favor.  Take him to travel.  Go to the East—­go to Timbuctoo.  Then, when Christina is Princess Casamassima,” Mrs. Light added in a moment, “he may come back if he chooses.”

“Does she really care for him?” Rowland asked, abruptly.