Up at the castle, in her rose-and-white boudoir, Beatrice was

writing a letter to a friend in England.

"Villa Floriano," she wrote, among other words, "has been let

to an Englishman--a youngish, presentable-looking creature, in

a dinner jacket, with a tongue in his head, and an indulgent

eye for Nature--named Peter Marchdale. Do you happen by any

chance to know who he is, or anything about him?"




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