in 'The Consolations of Boethius'--last of the Latin authors
properly so called--and smoke a cigar. I shall not see Giuseppe. I
have promised. It is understood that I am an invalid; but he will
certainly be hurt that I deny myself to him. The man has a heart as
well as a head."

He rose and went to a little bookshelf of his favourite authors.
Then he buried himself in Boethius, and Mark, looking out of the
window, saw the life of the lake and the glory of the summer sky
reflected. Beyond the shining water Bellagio's towers and cypresses
were massed under a little mountain. From time to time there sounded
the beat of paddle wheels, as the white steamers came and went.

* * * * *

Doria returned for a while during the afternoon, and Jenny told him
that her uncle was better but still thought it wise to keep his
room. Her husband appeared to have recovered his good temper. He
drank wine, ate fruit and addressed most of his conversation to
Brendon, who spoke with him in the dining-room for a while.

"When you and Mr. Ganns are weary of hunting this red shadow, I hope
you will come and see me at Turin," he said. "And perhaps you will
also be able to convince Jenny that my suggestions are reasonable.
What is money for? She has twenty thousand pounds upon her hands and
I, her husband, offer such an investment as falls to the chance of
few capitalists. You shall come and see what my friends and I are
doing at Turin. Then you will make her think better of my sense!"

"A new motor car, you told me?" asked Mark.