He watched her now as she reclined, a small slim figure in white, with the red glow of the sun playing on the gold uptwisted coil of her hair,--a few people of the neighbourhood had joined her at dinner, and these were seated about, sipping coffee and chatting in the usual frivolous way of after-dinner guests--one or two of them were English who had made their home in Sicily,--the others were travelling Americans.
"I guess you're pretty satisfied with your location, Miss Royal"-- said one of these, a pleasant-faced grey-haired man, who for four or five years past had wintered in Sicily with his wife, a frail little creature always on the verge of the next world--"It would be difficult to match this place anywhere! You only want one thing to complete it!" Morgana turned her lovely eyes indolently towards him over the top of the soft feather fan she was waving lightly to and fro.
"One thing?
What is that ?" she queried.
"A husband!" She smiled.
"The usual appendage!" she said--"To my mind, quite unnecessary, and likely to spoil the most perfect environment! Though the Marchese Rivardi DID ask me to-day what was the use of my pretty 'palazzo' and gardens without love! A sort of ethical conundrum!" She glanced at Rivardi as she spoke--he was rolling a cigarette in his slim brown fingers and his face was impassively intent on his occupation.
"Well, that's so!"-- and her American friend looked at her kindly--"Even a fairy palace and a fairy garden might prove lonesome for one!" "And boresome for two!" laughed Morgana--"My dear Colonel Boyd! It is not every one who is fitted for matrimony--and there exist so many that ARE,--eminently fitted--we can surely allow a few exceptions! I am one of those exceptions.

A husband would be excessively tiresome to me, and very much in my way!" Colonel Boyd laughed heartily.
"You won't always think so!" he said--"Such a charming little woman must have a heart somewhere!" "Oh, yes, dear!" chimed in his fragile invalid wife, "I am sure you have a heart!" Morgana raised herself on her cushions to a sitting posture and looked round her with a curious little air or defiance.
"A heart I MUST have!" she said--"otherwise I could not live.

It is a necessary muscle.

But what YOU call 'heart'-- and what the dear elusive poets write about, is simply brain,--that is to say, an impulsive movement of the brain, suggesting the desirability of a particular person's companionship--and we elect to call that 'love'! On that mere impulse people marry." "It's a good impulse"-- said Colonel Boyd, still smiling broadly--"It founds families and continues the race!" "Ah, yes! But I often wonder why the race should be continued at all!" said Morgana--"The time is ripe for a new creation!" A slow footfall sounded on the garden path, and the tall figure of a man clad in the everyday ecclesiastical garb of the Roman Church ascended the steps of the loggia.
"Don Aloysius!" quickly exclaimed the Marchese, and every one rose to greet the newcomer, Morgana receiving him with a profound reverence.

He laid his hand on her head with a kindly touch of benediction.
"So the dreamer has come to her dream!" he said, in soft accents--"And it has not broken like an air-bubble!--it still floats and shines!" As he spoke he courteously saluted all present by a bend of his head,--and stood for a moment gazing at the view of the sea and the dying sunset.
He was a very striking figure of a man--tall, and commanding in air and attitude, with a fine face which might be called almost beautiful.