trifling consequence to her. She had
married Cesare because he was devoted to
her, and because she was grateful and
really—yes, really—attached to him. No
one knew the real facts of her story. Those
were between herself and one who was gone
for ever. If she revealed them the world
would understand and forgive much that
it had judged harshly. No matter. She
was incapable of stooping to make such an
appeal to those whom her heart did not
value. With a true friend it was different.
She had never yet spoken to any one as she
was speaking then to Mr. Plew.

He took his leave in a state of bewilderment,
out of which only three clear convictions
arose, namely, that Veronica
Levincourt had been more unhappy than
culpable, that her beauty was the least of
her attractive and lovable qualities, and
that few of her sex would be capable of her
magnanimous candour.

As he stood for an instant, hat in hand,
in the doorway, Veronica resolved to put
the crowning spell on her enchantments.

"Do you know what I mean to do, Mr.
Plew?" said she, with a smile of mingled
sweetness and melancholy. "I mean to
drive over to-morrow afternoon and see
your good mother. She must not think I
have forgotten her."

Mr. Plew almost staggered. If a reservoir
of ice-cold water had been opened
above his head, he could scarcely have been
for the moment more disconcerted.

"Oh, no, no, you mustn't!" he exclaimed,
with as hasty an impulse of fright and
apprehension as though the Princess de'
Barletti had been about to transport herself
into his cottage that instant.

"Mustn't!" echoed Veronica, thinking
he had misunderstood her. "I must not
do what?"

"I don't mean 'must not,' of course.
And it is very good and kind of you to
think of it. But, I think—I believe—I
should advise—in fact you had better not."

"Why?" demanded Veronica, more
puzzled than offended by the unceremonious
rejection of her proffered condescension.

"Because—Well—my mother is a dear,
good woman. No son ever had a better
mother, and I love her and respect her with
all my heart. But—she is old; and old
people are not easily persuaded. And she
has some notions and prejudices which
cannot be overcome; and I should be sorry
to treat them roughly. I would it were
otherwise: but—I think you had better
not come to see us."

Veronica understood it all now.

"Poor dear old soul!" said she, with a
compassionate smile. "I did not know
she had grown too feeble to see people."

"She did not comprehend—she
misunderstood my meaning about mother,"
thought Mr. Plew, as he walked slowly
and meditatively out of the inn-yard.
"Perhaps it is all the better. It would
only have hurt her to know the truth."

Meanwhile the subject of his reflections
was pondering with knit brows, flushed
cheek, and tightly-closed lips, on the
incredible and infuriating circumstance that
"that ignorant, low-born, idiotic old
woman" should dare to refuse to receive
the Princess Cesare de' Barletti!

When Cesare returned that evening from
Hammick Lodge, and gave his wife an
account of Lord George's dinner-party,
which he said had been exceedingly pleasant,
he appealed to her for enlightenment as to
an English phrase which had puzzled him.

"English!" said Veronica, conveying
into her voice and manner a skilful mingling
of insolence and indifference—for Mr.
Plew's revelation had galled her unspeakably,
and she was by no means in an
amiable mood. "You don't mean to say
that you tried to speak English?"

"Yes, I tried!" answered Cesare simply.
"But Lorgiorgio speaks French pretty well,
and so did some of the others. So I was
not embarrassed to make myself understood.
And, do you know, signora mia, that I
make progress in my English! Per Bacco,
I shall soon be an accomplished Cockanì!"

"An accomplished what?—Cockney?
How ineffably absurd you are, Cesare!"

"Tante grazie! You don't spoil one
with compliments! But listen: what do
they mean when they say that one wears a
tight corset?"

"How can I guess what you have in your
head? Who says so? I suppose that if
any one says so, he means simply what the
words convey."

"Niente! Not at all! There is another
meaning. You shall judge. There was a
young man at dinner named Sn?. I
remembered that name—Signor Neve! What
a comical patronymic! Well, Signor Sn?
asked me if we had seen much of your
friend Miss Desmond since we had been in
this place. He spoke in French. And I
told him no; we had not had that pleasure,
for she was visiting in the house of some
friends. Then a man—a great hunter of
the fox, Lorgiorgio told me—laughed, and
said to Sn? in English, 'No, no. They