“You are very wise for your age, my dear child!” answered the Duchessa, in the motherly tone that irritated Veronica.

The old gentleman nodded gravely, being quite too much preoccupied and surprised to judge at all of his hostess’s wisdom, but delighted with the effect which the change of air seemed already to have produced upon Gianluca.

They went away together, leaving the invalid with Taquisara and his own servant.  Veronica led them to her favourite room, then showed them their own, and went back to wait for them, while Elettra brought the tea, just as she had done of old in the Palazzo Macomer.  Veronica watched her while she was arranging the tea-table.  Elettra, who rarely spoke unbidden, ventured to make a remark.

“Their Excellencies will be surprised at being waited on by women,” she said; for though she hated all men-servants, she had pride for the great old house her fathers had served.

“They will be surprised at so many things that they will not notice it,” answered her mistress, thoughtfully.

Elettra glanced at her quickly, but said nothing and went away, leaving her alone.  She sat quite still, and did not move until the old couple came back, ten minutes later.  She moved chairs forward for them to sit in, and poured out a cup of tea for each.  Meanwhile they all three made little idle observations about the weather and the place.

The Duchessa, holding her cup in her hand, looked at the door from time to time, as though expecting some one to come in.  At last she could contain her curiosity no longer.

“And where is your companion, my dear?” she asked suddenly.

“In the imagination of society, Duchessa,” answered Veronica.  “I have none.  I live alone.”

The Duchessa almost dropped her cup.

“Alone?” she cried, in amazement.  “You live alone?  In such a place as this!” She could not believe her ears.

“Yes,” said Veronica, smiling.  “Does it seem so very terrible to you?  I live alone—­and I am waited on only by women.  I daresay that surprises you, too.”

“Alone?” The Duca had got his breath, and sat open-mouthed, holding his tea-cup low between his knees, in both hands.  “Alone!  At your age!  A young girl!  But the world—­society?  What will it think?”

“Unless it thinks as I do, I do not care to know,” answered Veronica, indifferently.  “Let me give you some bread and butter, Duca.”

“Bread and butter?  No—­no thank you—­no—­I—­I am very much astonished!  I am stupefied!  It is the most extraordinary thing I ever heard of!”

“Of course everybody thinks that you have an elderly companion—­” chimed in the Duchessa.

“One of your Spanish relations,” said the Duca, with anxious eyes.  “Surely, she was here—­”

“And is away just now,” suggested his wife.  “That accounts for—­”

“Not at all,” said Veronica, almost laughing.  “She never existed.  I came here alone, I live here alone, and I mean to live here alone as long as I please.  The world may say what it pleases.  I shall be three-and-twenty years of age on my next birthday.  Ask Don Teodoro whether I am not able to take care of myself—­and of Muro, too, for that matter!”