“Are you cross, Florian?” she asked gently, “Has something worried you to-day?”

“Oh, I am often worried!” he replied;—­and had he spoken the exact truth he would have confessed that he was always seriously put out when he was not the centre of attraction and the cynosure of women’s eyes—­“But what does it matter!  Do not think at all about me, cara mia!  Tell me of yourself.  How goes the picture?”

“It is nearly finished now,” she replied, her beautiful violet eyes dilating and brightening with the fervour that inspired her whenever she thought of her work, “I rise very early, and begin to paint with the first gleam of daylight.  I think I shall have it ready sooner than I expected.  The Queen has promised to come and see it here before it is exhibited to the public.”

“Margherita di Savoja is very amiable!” said Florian, with a tinge of envy he could not wholly conceal, “She is always useful as a patron.”

A quick flush of pride rose to Angela’s cheeks.

“I do not need any patronage, Florian,” she said simply yet with a little coldness, “You know that I should resent it were it offered to me.  If my work is not good in itself, no ‘royal’ approval can make it so.  Queen Margherita visits me as a friend—­not as a patron.”

“There now!  I have vexed you!” And Florian took her hand and kissed it.  “Forgive me, sweetest!—­Look at me—­give me a smile!—­Ah!  That is kind!” and he conveyed an expression of warm tenderness into his eyes as Angela turned her charming face upon him, softened and radiant with the quick affection which always moved her at his voice and caress.  “I spoke foolishly!  Of course my Angela could not be patronised—­she is too independent and gifted.  I am very glad the Queen is coming!”

“The Queen is coming?” echoed Gherardi, who just then advanced.  “Here?  To see Donna Sovrani’s picture?  Ah, that will be an excellent advertisement!  But it would have been far better, my dear young lady, had you arranged with me, or with some other one of my confreres, to have the picture sent to the Vatican for the inspection of His Holiness.  The Popes, as you know, have from time immemorial been the best patrons of art!”

“My picture would not please the Pope,” said Angela quietly, “It would more probably win his denunciation than his patronage.”

Gherardi smiled.  The idea of a woman—­a mere woman imagining that anything which she could do was powerful enough to bring down Papal denunciation!  The strange conceit of these feminine geniuses!  He could almost have laughed aloud.  But he merely looked her over blandly and forbearingly.

“I am sorry,” he said, “very sorry you should consider such a thing as possible of your work.  But no doubt you speak on impulse.  Your distinguished uncle, the Cardinal Bonpre, would be sadly distressed if your picture should contain anything of a nature to bring you any condemnation from the Vatican,—­and your father . . .”