knew -- some Italian song, but Betty felt an ache
at her heart. Who was this that could sing
like that? Betty had seen the countess in several
different moods or phases -- that of the
capable traveler, the efficient mother when Lucia
came home after her slight injury upon the
hike, the pleasant, well-poised, gracious hostess
-- now here was something else.

The song was finished. When Betty heard
the voices in conversation again, she closed the
door and went back to where her books were,
looking over her lesson till Lucia came back.
Lucia was smiling and said that it was “all
over.”

“I'm not going to be silly and cry again,
Betty, but I shall probably want to talk to you
about this some more. Here are some of my
father's letters. I keep them in my desk, you
see. See how fat they are? He tells me about
the hunts and the going through that queer
country and everything that he thinks would
interest me and help me to learn about it.
Sometimes he puts in little things that I know he
thinks my mother may read.”

Betty took in her hands a letter that Lucia
handed her. It was, of course, written in Italian
and very “fat,” as Lucia said. “I don't think
that you were silly to cry, Lucia. I don't see

[[101]]

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