The title had formerly been held by Gianfrancesco’s brother, Alessia, now dead of plague. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. ’ ‘The word of whom?’ came scoffingly from the pretty lips. There was—a service. Gerald sympathised with his friend’s irritation. ’ Jack blinked at her. You can give up thinking and leave all the brain work to her. “What?” He replied. I wonder if I should have locked you up if I’d been your father. .
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