about her thinking her husband's writings "objectionable." I had been so very sorry to hear it, had thought of it constantly, and wondered whether it were not possible to make her change her mind. Mrs. Ambient gave me rather a cold stare; she seemed to be recommending me to mind my own business. I wish I had taken this mute counsel, but I did not. I went on to remark that it seemed an immense pity so much that was beautiful should be lost upon her.
"Nothing is lost upon me," said Mrs. Ambient. "I know they are very beautiful."
"Don't you like papa's books?" Dolcino asked, addressing his mother, but still looking at me. Then he added to me, "Won't you read them to me, American gentleman?"
"I would rather tell you some stories of my own," I said. "I know some that are very interesting."
"When will you tell them? To-morrow?"
"To-morrow, with pleasure, if that suits you."
Mrs. Ambient was silent at this. Her husband, during our walk, had asked me to remain another day; my promise to her son was an implication that I had consented, and it is not probable that the prospect was agreeable to her. This ought, doubtless, to have made me more careful as to what I said next; but all I can say is that it did n't. I presently observed that just after leaving her the evening before, and after hearing her apply to her husband's writings the epithet I had already quoted, I had, on going up
