“What a jolly fan,” said John.

“Well, well,” said Lady Blanchemain, reconciling herself.  Then, after an instant of pensiveness, “So you’re already laid low by her beauty.  But you haven’t found out yet who she is?”

“Who who is?” said John, looking all at sea.

“Tut.  Don’t tease.  Your woman at the castle.”

“My woman at the castle appeared to leave you cold,” he complained.  “I arrived full of her, and you wouldn’t listen.”

“So you’re already in love with her?” said Lady Blanchemain.

“No—­not yet,” said he.  “As yet I merely recognize in her admirable material for a painting, and regret that such material should go begging for the lack of a painter.  But by this time to-morrow—­who can tell?”

“Have you found out who she is?” asked Lady Blanchemain.

“No—­not yet,” said he.  “As yet I’ve merely found out that she’s visiting an Austrian Signora Brandi, who lives (I can’t think why) in the pavilion beyond the clock.  But by this time to-morrow!” His gesture spoke volumes of prospective information.

“She looked like a gentlewoman,” reflected his friend.

“For all the world,” said he.

“Yet, if she’s an Austrian—­” She paused and pondered.

“Why?  What’s the difficulty?” said he.

“To know whether she is born,” said Lady Blanchemain.  “Among Austrians, unless you’re born, you’re impossible, you’re nowhere.  Brandi doesn’t sound born, does it?  We mustn’t let you become enamoured of her if she isn’t born.”

“Brandi sounds tremendously unborn,” assented John.  “And if like visits like, Signora Brandi’s visitor will probably be unborn too.  But to me that would rather add an attraction,—­provided she’s bred.  I’m not an Austrian.  I’m a Briton and a democrat.  I feel it is my destiny, if ever I am to become enamoured at all, to become enamoured of the daughter of a miller,—­of a rising miller, who has given his daughter advantages.  ’Bred, not Born:  or the Lady of the Mill’—­that shall be the title of my humble heart-history.  If this woman could prove to me that she was the daughter of a miller, I’m not sure I shouldn’t become enamoured of her on the spot.  Well, I shall know to-morrow.  By this time to-morrow I shall possess her entire dossier.  It may interest you to learn that I am employing a detective to investigate her.”

“A detective?  What do you mean?” said Lady Blanchemain.

“A private detective, a female detective, whom, the next time you come to Sant’ Alessina, I’ll introduce to you,” said John.

“What on earth do you mean?” said Lady Blanchemain.

“The most amusing, the most adorable little detective unhung,” said he.  “People are all love and laughter whenever they look at her.  She’ll worm its inmost secrets from my sphinx’s heart.”

“What pleasure can you take in practising upon a poor old woman who only by a sort of fluke isn’t your grandmother?” said she.