II
It was the next morning that an eccentric old lady in dowdy black, accompanied by a child and nurse, left the Hotel des Palmes and wandered idly and unconcernedly about the streets of Palermo.
For a time this erratic trio followed a tinkling herd of milk-goats leisurely out towards the suburbs. Then, apparently tiring of this, they made a purchase from a native pedlar of sponges. A keen observer might have noticed that notwithstanding the silver-mounted ear-trumpet, several quietly spoken words passed between the sponge-seller and the old lady in black.
Taking up their course again, the idle-minded trio stopped before a house of the pink-stucco villa type. There they peered through the glass front of a cabinet filled with miniatures, showed open admiration for the work which they were inspecting, and after some debate entered the house itself.
There they encountered a quiet-mannered and violet-eyed young woman who announced herself as "Miss Keating," the owner of the studio. It was to this young lady, whose knowledge of German was manifestly limited, that the nurse politely and patiently explained that the old lady in black—who, she confessed, was erratic but wealthy—had decided to have a painting on ivory of her grandchild.
51
