Somebody tricked you back yonder—baited you for spite. After the day in the library, he constantly demonstrated his affections; Gianfrancesco had never done that. He was smiling under his heavy mustache, and his head was a little on one side as he looked at her. "Lend a hand with the ruffles, Blueskin!" he shouted, as that personage, who had just recovered from the stunning effects of the blow, contrived to pick himself up. Yet every now and then, during the progress of the meal, his attention apparently wandered, and leaning forward he glanced covertly at Anna with a curious mixture of expressions on his face. We can love on a snow cornice, we can love over a pail of whitewash.
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