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We dined early, and after dinner, according to a promise made in the morning, Sophonisba ascended with me into the Serbelloni Gardens, and walked round the terraces on that beautiful hill which commands the view of the three lakes. When we started I confess that I would sooner have gone alone, for I was sick of the Greenes in my very soul. We had had a terrible day. The landlord had been sent for so often, that he refused to show himself again. The landlady–though Italians of that class are always courteous–had been so driven that she snapped her fingers in Mrs. Greene’s face. The three girls would not show themselves. The waiters kept out of the way as much as possible; and the Boots, in confidence, abused them to me behind their back. “Monsieur,” said the Boots, “do you think there ever was such a box?”

“Perhaps not,” said I; and yet I knew that I had seen it.

I would, therefore, have preferred to walk without Sophonisba; but that now was impossible. So I determined that I would utilise the occasion by telling her of my present purpose. I had resolved to start on the following day, and it was now necessary to make my friends understand that it was not in my power to extend to them any further pecuniary assistance.

Sophonisba, when we were on the hill, seemed to have forgotten the box, and to be willing that I should forget it also. But this was impossible. When, therefore, she told me how sweet it was to escape from that terrible woman, and leaned on my arm with all the freedom of old acquaintance, I was obliged to cut short the pleasure of the moment.

“I hope your father has written that letter,” said I.

“He means to write it from Milan. We know you want to get on, so we purpose to leave here the day after to-morrow.”

“Oh!” said I thinking of the bill immediately, and remembering that Mrs. Greene had insisted on having champagne for dinner.

“And if anything more is to be done about the nasty box, it may be done there,” continued Sophonisba.

“But I must go to-morrow,” said I, “at 5 a.m.”

“Nonsense,” said Sophonisba. “Go to-morrow, when I,–I mean we,–are going on the next day!”

“And I might as well explain,” said I, gently dropping the hand that was on my arm, “that I find,–I find it will be impossible for me–to- -to–“

“To what?”

“To advance Mr. Greene any more money just at present.” Then Sophonisba’s arm dropped all at once, and she exclaimed, “Oh, Mr. Robinson!”

After all, there was a certain hard good sense about Miss Greene which would have protected her from my evil thoughts had I known all the truth. I found out afterwards that she was a considerable heiress, and, in spite of the opinion expressed by the present Mrs. Robinson when Miss Walker, I do not for a moment think she would have accepted me had I offered to her.

“You are quite right not to embarrass yourself,” she said, when I explained to her my immediate circumstances; “but why did you make papa an offer which you cannot perform? He must remain here now till he hears from England. Had you explained it all at first, the ten napoleons would have carried us to Milan.” This was all true, and yet I thought it hard upon me.

It was evident to me now, that Sophonisba was prepared to join her step-mother in thinking that I had ill-treated them, and I had not much doubt that I should find Mr. Greene to be of the same opinion. There was very little more said between us during the walk, and when we reached the hotel at seven or half-past seven o’clock, I merely remarked that I would go in and wish her father and mother good-bye. “I suppose you will drink tea with us,” said Sophonisba, and to this I assented.