"I live in the past," I said. "I go into the galleries, into the old
palaces and the churches. Today I spent an hour in Michael Angelo's
chapel at San Loreozo."
"Ah yes, that's the past," said the Countess. "Those things are very
old."
"Twenty-seven years old," I answered.
"Twenty-seven? _Altro_!"
"I mean my own past," I said. "I went to a great many of those places
with your mother."
"Ah, the pictures are beautiful," murmured the Countess, glancing at
Stanmer.
"Have you lately looked at any of them?" I asked. "Have you gone to the
galleries with _him_?"
She hesitated a moment, smiling. "It seems to me that your question is a
little impertinent. But I think you are like that."
"A little impertinent? Never. As I say, your mother did me the honour,
more than once, to accompany me to the Uffizzi."
"My mother must have been very kind to you."
"So it seemed to me at the time."
"At the time only?"
"Well, if you prefer, so it seems to me now."
"Eh," said the Countess, "she made sacrifices."
"To what, cara Signora? She was perfectly free. Your lamented father
was dead--and she had not yet contracted her second marriage."
"If she was intending to marry again, it was all the more reason she
should have been careful.
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