things like that."

But Domenica continued to rest her hand on the top of the case.

"Come now, Tony, are you going to follow the advice of your sister, or

the advice of a stranger? Besides, how could he possibly not like the arrangement?" and she studied the blue fan with mock gravity.

Things are perfect as they are?" asked Tony, mischievously.

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"Yes," she said, gravely restoring to order a lock of hair that had fallen forward over her brother's forehead, Things are quite perfect as they are." Tony reluctantly left his collection, and went out into the garden leaving the French windows open behind him. One could never teach Tony to close doors, Domenica reflected. One could sometimes trace his path throughout the entire house by following the open doors.

Left alone, Domenica experienced the return of a slight sensation of annoyance that, like a querulous and persistent insect, had disturbed her all afternoon. There was little doubt in her mind that she associated the sensation with the man who was to be Tony's guest that evening, but it perplexed her that someone whom she had seen only a few times, and then from a distance, should provoke so distinct a feeling of annoyance.

She had first seen him a few weeks ago, standing in an easy attitude in the garden sunlight and talking with Tony. He was taller than Tony, and slender, while his black hair was in dramatic contrast with Tony's light blond curls. She could see clearly from her upstairs window that he wore a compact, expensive-looking camera on a cord slung about his neck, and that he spoke excitedly while Tony listened,

Since then, he had returned several times to photograph the garden and its statuary, and to talk with Tony. Her brother, after he had carefully gained her permission, invited the stranger to the house for an evening. Domenica, being curious, had given her consent somewhat against her instinct, for she felt an innate distrust of all strangers with cameras, especially when they invaded one's own garden, To Domenica, the camera was the principal weapon of all tourists, and all tourists were barbarians. Expecting Tony and his guest to arrive at any minute, Domenica crossed to the French windows and contemplated the garden at night.

The air in the garden was as deep and green as water, and two voices were carried to her through the current. As Tony and his guest moved into the light, the former laughed in his usual self-conscious manner and greeted his sister.

"This is Adrian," he said.

"How do you do, Adrian?"

"How do you do, Domenica. Your brother has insisted that we go on a first-name basis."

"I thought it would be a good way to begin." Tony fixed a smile of such determined hopefulness on his sister, that despite her disapproval, she smiled also.

"I agree entirely." She politely transferred the smile to Adrian, "The first name is often the more imaginative."

Adrian returned the smile with a pleased, slightly quizzical look, and then moved suddenly to the glass case of fans.

"What a lovely collection!"

Tony gazed wide-eyed at his sister, and followed after Adrian in a subdued panic.

"I'm afraid these aren't very well arranged. I was just rearranging them at the last minute. ..

." But it is a very fine job. An oriental aviary in a glass prison!"

"It simplifies dusting," remarked Domenica, watching him with interest. "Of course." He turned to regard her acutely from under slightly lowered eyelids, an expression of his that she was soon to recognize as characteristic. "Don't you think it is a fine arrangement?"

"Surely, I told him so earlier."

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