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There was an air
of contentment and well-being about the place; something joyful,
opulent, almost dramatic.
"I like it," he concluded.
And he wondered how long it would be before he met his cousin, Mrs.
Meadows, on whose account he had undertaken to break the journey to
England.
Don Francesco, the smiling priest, soon outstripped both of them, in
spite of a ten minutes' conversation on the quay with the pretty
peasant girl of the steamer. He had engaged the fastest driver on the
island, and was now tearing frantically up the road, determined to be
the first to apprise the Duchess of the lunatic's arrival.



CHAPTER II


The Duchess of San Martino, a kind-hearted and imposing lady of mature
age who, under favourable atmospheric conditions (in winter-time, for
instance, when the powder was not so likely to run down her face),
might have passed, so far as profile was concerned, for a faded French
beauty of bygone centuries--the Duchess was no exception to the rule.
It was an old rule.


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