Practically. A message was dispatched from Florence that she was to again receive her future husband. He had almost forced himself upon her one night after a particularly bloody raid of a thatched cottage. The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gently backwards and forwards. He was wary of her, which meant that perhaps they had found one or many of the bodies that she thought she had hidden so well. Nothing but the constraint of social usage now linked him to her. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed. Move. In this attempt he was, however, foiled by the agility of the carpenter, who managed to retreat to the door, against which he placed his back, kicking the boards vigorously with his heel. She propped a pillow against his padded headboard and sat herself into a stiff upright position, legs expertly crossed. Pipes were lighted; and Mr. Wood, severely, "and go to bed.
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