jealous of his society, and no matter how glibly she was talking when I entered, or how indifferent the subject, she would quickly become silent, showing me very plainly by her manner that she would vastly prefer my room to my company.
Still, I was not displeased when I perceived this fresco drawing near to its completion.
"You are getting on apace," says I, very cheerfully one day. "I reckon you will soon have done."
"Yes," answers he, "in a week I shall have nought to do but to pack up my tools and go."
There was an accent of sorrow in his voice, despite himself, which did not escape me nor Moll neither, for I saw her cast her eyes upon his face, as if to read if there were sadness there. But she said never a word.
However, in the afternoon she comes to me, and says she:
"I am resolved I will have all the rooms in the house plastered, if Signer Dario will consent to paint them."
"All the rooms!" says I, in alarm. "Surely you have not counted the cost of what you propose."
"I suppose I have enough to keep my house in suitable condition."
"Without doubt, though I expect such work as Signer Dario's must command a high price."
"All I ask of you, then," says she, "is to bid my steward have five thousand pounds ready for my uses, and within a week, lest I should need it suddenly. Should he raise objections—"
"As assuredly he will," says I, who knew the crafty, subtle character of old Simon full well by this time. "A thousand objections, and not one you can pick a hole in."
"Then show him this and tell him I accept Mr. Good-
