Vittoria listened to a bubbling of meaningless chatter, until Captain Gambier had joined Mrs. Sedley; and at him, for she had known him likewise, she could not forbear looking up.  He was speaking to Mrs. Sedley, but caught the look, and bent his head for a clearer view of the features under the broad straw hat.  Mrs. Sedley commanded him imperiously to say on.

“Have you no letter from Wilfrid?  Has the mountain tired you?  Has Wilfrid failed to send his sister one word?  Surely Mr. Pericles will have made known our exact route to him?  And his uncle, General Pierson, could—­I am certain he did—­exert his influence to procure him leave for a single week to meet the dearest member of his family.”

Captain Gambier gathered his wits to give serviceable response to the kindled lady, and letting his eyes fall from time to time on the broad straw hat, made answer—­

“Lieutenant Pierson, or, in other words, Wilfrid Pole—­”

The lady stamped her foot and flushed.

“You know, Augustus, I detest that name.”

“Pardon me a thousandfold.  I had forgotten.”

“What has happened to you?”

Captain Gambier accused the heat.

“I found a letter from Wilfrid at the hotel.  He is apparently kept on constant service between Milan, and Verona, and Venice.  His quarters are at Verona.  He informs me that he is to be married in the Spring; that is, if all continues quiet; married in the Spring.  He seems to fancy that there may be disturbances; not of a serious kind, of course.  He will meet you in Milan.  He has never been permitted to remain at Milan longer than a couple of days at a stretch.  Pericles has told him that she is in Florence.  Pericles has told me that Miss Belloni has removed to Florence.”

“Say it a third time,” the lady indulgently remarked.

“I do not believe that she has gone.”

“I dare say not.”

“She has changed her name, you know.”

“Oh, dear, yes; she has done something fantastic, naturally!  For my part, I should have thought her own good enough.”

“Emilia Alessandra Belloni is good enough, certainly,” said Captain Gambier.

The shading straw rim had shaken once during the colloquy.  It was now a fixed defence.

“What is her new name?” Mrs. Sedley inquired.

“That I cannot tell.  Wilfrid merely mentions that he has not seen her.”

“I,” said Mrs. Sedley, “when I reach Milan, shall not trust to Mr. Pericles, but shall write to the Conservatorio; for if she is going to be a great cantatrice, really, it will be agreeable to renew acquaintance with her.  Nor will it do any mischief to Wilfrid, now that he is engaged.  Are you very deeply attached to straw hats?  They are sweet in a landscape.”

Mrs. Sedley threw him a challenge from her blue eyes; but his reply to it was that of an unskilled youth, who reads a lady by the letters of her speech:—­“One minute.  I will be with you instantly.  I want to have a look down on the lake.  I suppose this is one of the most splendid views in Italy.  Half a minute!”