"As for D. R., my barometer is 'set fair,' but it is likely to be

a stormier time than I expected. Last night I decked myself in my

best bib and tucker, and, in defiance of all precedent, went down

to his apartment. But the strange thing was that, whereas I had

gone to find out all about him, I hadn't been ten minutes in his

company before he told all about me--about my father, at all

events, and his life in London. I believe he knew me in that

connection and expected to appeal to my filial feelings. Did too,

so strong is the force of nature, and then and thereafter, and all

night long, I was like somebody who had been shaken in an

earthquake and wanted to cry out and confess. It was not until I

remembered what my father had been--or rather hadn't--and that he

was no more to me than a name, representing exposure to the

cruellest fate a girl ever passed through, that I recovered from

the shock of D. R.'s dynamite.

"He has promised to sit to me for his bust, and is to come this

morning!--Affectionately, ROMA.

"P. S.--My gentleman has good features, fine eyes, and a wonderful

voice, and though I truly believe he trembles at the sight of a

woman and has never been in love in his life, he has an

astonishing way of getting at one. But I could laugh to think how

little execution his fusillade will make in this direction."

"Honourable Rossi!" said Felice's sepulchral voice behind her, and at

that moment David Rossi stepped into the studio.

II

In spite of her protestations, Roma was nervous and confused. Putting

David Rossi to sit in the arm-chair on the platform for sitters, she

rattled on about everything--her clay, her tools, her sponge, and the

water they had forgotten to change for her. He must not mind if she

stared at him--that wasn't nice, but it was necessary--and he must

promise not to look at her work while it was unfinished--children and

fools, you know--the proverb was musty.

And while she talked she told herself that Thomas was the apostle he

must stand for. These anarchists were all doubters, and the chief of

doubters was the figure that would represent them.

David Rossi did not speak much at first, and he did not join in Roma's

nervous laughter. Sometimes he looked at her with a steadfast gaze,

which would have been disconcerting if it had not been so simple and

childlike. At length he looked out of the window to where the city lay

basking in the sunshine, and birds were swirling in the clear blue sky,

and began to talk of serious subjects.




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