in the least. Teresa had not seen him for five years, and she found him absolutely unchanged. His slim figure was as graceful as ever, his handsome face unmarked by a line of temper or dissipation or thought. He was as careful of his looks as any professional beauty, and apart from this interest and the problem of enjoying himself to the utmost, Teresa had not discovered that he had an idea in the world. His coming filled the house with commotion.
It was a thoroughly Italian establishment—the servants informal, loquacious, and always in evidence; the children generally sharing the hours, food, and conversation of their elders. Meals were long and elaborate, and all the household business was conducted with what appeared to Teresa an incredible amount of noise and bustle. Each day Nina seemed to accomplish the task of bringing something like order out of a chaos of rebellious wills. Meals were on time, the children had their lessons, their piano-practise was regulated so as not to disturb Ernesto's morning and afternoon siesta, the quarrels of the nurse and the governess were settled with a firm hand.
But the question of Edith had first to be discussed, and the reluctant Ernesto was called into council by his wife. It appeared that Egisto had gone off to Sicily to look after some property there, sending his children to the care of the
