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Rome, she was spending but three days in Florence, and yet
reminded herself that they must not elapse without her pay-
ing another visit to her favourite work of art. She had a great
sense of beauty in all ways, and it involved a good many
intellectual obligations. She was about to turn into the Tri-
bune when a gentleman came out of it; whereupon she gave
a little exclamation and stood before Caspar Goodwood.
‘I’ve just been at your hotel,’ she said. ‘I left a card for
you.’
‘I’m very much honoured,’ Caspar Goodwood answered
as if he really meant it.
‘It was not to honour you I did it; I’ve called on you be-
fore and I know you don’t like it. It was to talk to you a little
about something.’
He looked for a moment at the buckle in her hat. ‘I shall
be very glad to hear what you wish to say.’
‘You don’t like to talk with me,’ said Henrietta. ‘But I
don’t care for that; I don’t talk for your amusement. I wrote
a word to ask you to come and see me; but since I’ve met you
here this will do as well.’
‘I was just going away,’ Goodwood stated; ‘but of course
I’ll stop.’ He was civil, but not enthusiastic.
Henrietta, however, never looked for great professions,
and she was so much in earnest that she was thankful he
would listen to her on any terms. She asked him first, none
the less, if he had seen all the pictures.
‘All I want to. I’ve been here an hour.’
‘I wonder if you’ve seen my Correggio,’ said Henrietta. ‘I
came up on purpose to have a look at it.’ She went into the

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