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. . . Then
he remembered the bishop walking at his side. He felt he ought to say
something more to this dry Colonial whom he could not help contrasting,
greatly to his disadvantage, with the Count.
"Hasn't it been hot to-day?"
"Stifling," replied Mr. Heard. "The warmest day we have had, so far.
Not a breath of wind."
"Not a breath. . . ."
The conversation flagged once more. They did not hit it off, somehow;
they seemed to drift further apart every time they met. Each was
preoccupied with his own thoughts. The bishop was more taciturn than
usual; the interview with his cousin had not been quite a success.
Denis, after a while, made another effort. He spoke of some of Count
Caloveglia's antiquities and, one thing leading to another, told Mr.
Heard the story of a friend of his in Florence who had excavated some
wonderful early Italian pots, fragments o them, out of an old garden
well. They were all lustred, he said.
"That must have been a very pleasant surprise," observed the bishop,
who had small use for lustred ware and lunatics who collected it.


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