"I beg your pardon," said he. "I am Colonel James Hathaway, an American, and this is my granddaughter, Mary Louise Burrows¹. Our carriage met with an accident on the main road below and we wandered in here while waiting for repairs and chanced to meet your daughter. You are Mr. Jones, I believe?"

 

He nodded, still standing² in his place and regarding his visitors with unconcealed suspicion. Under his arm he held several books.

 

"Who informed you that I was living here?" he demanded.

 

"I was wholly unaware³ of the fact," said the Colonel, stiffly. "I did not know you were in Italy. I did not know such an important person existed, strange to say, although I can remember that an artist named Jason Jones once married Antoinette Seaver, the daughter of my old friend Captain Robert Seaver."

 

"Oh, you remember that, do you?"

 

"This is the first time I have had the distinguished⁴ honor of meeting you, sir, and I trust it will be the last time."

 

"That's all right," said Jason Jones, more cordially. "I can't see that it's any of my affair, either way."

 

"We have been making the acquaintance of Tony Seaver's daughter, Miss Alora Jones, in your absence. But we will not intrude⁵ farther, Mr. Jones. Come, Mary Louise."

 

"Oh, don't go!" pleaded Alora, catching⁶ Mary Louise's arm. And just then Leona entered with the tea and biscuits.

 

"Sit down, man," said Jason Jones in a less aggressive tone. "I've no objection to your coming here, under the circumstances, and you are our first visitors in three years. That's often enough, but now that you are here, make yourself at home. What's happening over in America? Have you been there lately?"

 

He laid his books on a table and sat down. But after that one speech, which he perhaps considered conciliatory, he remained

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