difficult of adjustment. I have never entered
into them. But I hope we may be friends."

She said the words with such an air of
infinite condescension—of almost protecting
good nature, that Sir Matthew felt himself
obliged to reply, "Oh, thank you, ma'am
—I mean my lady!"

Mr. Davis was lost in admiration of this
young woman's talents. "Why she might
have been a duchess, or anything else she
liked!" thought he, marking the impression
that her manner was producing on Sir
Matthew.

"My feeling on the matter," said Mr.
Davis, "is that we should try to avoid
litigation."

"Litigation!" echoed Veronica, turning
pale. "Oh, yes, yes. Litigation would be
terrible!"

The word represented to her imagination
brow-beating counsellors, newspaper
scurility, and the publicity of that "fierce light
that beats upon" a court of law. She had
all along shrunk from the idea of going to
law. She had relied on Mr. Frost's dictum,
that if her marriage could be proved
to be valid, there would be no further question
of the will. And she rested all her
hopes on this point.

"I shan't litigate," said Sir Matthew,
quickly. "I don't see what I've got to
litigate about. The bit of money that
would come to me wouldn't be worth it.
For there's lots of second, and third, and
may be fourth cousins, for what I know,
that'll turn up to divide the property if it
is to be divided. And my motto always
has been, 'Keep out of the way of the law.'
You'll excuse me, Mr. Davis!" And Sir
Matthew laughed with a dim sense of
having made a joke, and having in some
way got the better of his attorney.

"The only person that has anything to go
to law about, as far as I can see," said Sir
Matthew, after a minute's pause, "is the
person that inherits the property under the
will! This Miss Desmond. I don't know
why my cousin John should have gone and
left all his money to his wife's niece. He
was none so fond of her family nor of her,
during his lifetime! And I fancy they
looked down on him. I suppose he did it
just to spite his own relations."

Veronica was silent.

"Oh, by the way," pursued Sir Matthew,
"there's some one else that wouldn't much
like the will to be set aside—that's Mr.
Lane. He's executor, and a legatee besides
to the tune of a couple of thousand
pounds."

"Mr. Lane appears to be an honest,
upright person," said Veronica. " I have seen
him once or twice. And he speaks very
reasonably."

Mr. Davis glanced piercingly at Veronica.

"Oh," said he, "your ladyship finds Mr.
Lane reasonable?"

At this moment the door was opened,
and Cesare walked into the room. He
stared a little at the two men, neither of
whom he had ever seen before. But
Veronica hastily informed him in Italian who
the visitors were, and turning to Sir
Matthew, presented Cesare to him as "My
cousin, Prince Cesare de' Barletti."

Cesare bowed, and said, "Ow-dew-doo?"

Sir Matthew bowed, and said nothing;
but he was considerably impressed by
Cesare's title.

"Oh, I didn't know," he stammered, "I
was not aware—-I mean I had never heard
that you were—-connected with foreigners,
ma'am, so to speak."

"My mother," said Veronica, with graceful
nonchalance, "was a daughter of the
house of Barletti. The principality is in
the south of the Neapolitan district."

"Oh, really!" said Sir Matthew.

"Mr. Simpson informed me that he was
to have an interview with Miss Desmond's
guardian, to-day," said Mr. Davis, addressing
Veronica.

"Her—-guardian?" said Veronica,
breathlessly. The word had sent a shock through
her frame. Maud's guardian! Why that
was her father! "Is he—is he here?" she
asked quickly.

"Oh yes. Did you not know? It is a
Mr. Lovegrove, of Frost and Lovegrove. A
very well-known firm."

"Ah! Oh, yes, I understand."

"Mr. Lovegrove acts for Miss Desmond
I understand. Do you know if Mr.
Simpson has been at the Admiralty since
I saw him? I read the other day that the
Furibond was paid off at Portsmouth last
week."

"I believe he has," answered Veronica,
faintly.

"Then, madam, I make bold to say that
unless the other side are determined to
litigate at all hazards, you will soon be put
out of suspense."

Cesare's ear had caught the faint tones
of Veronica's voice, and Cesare's anxious
eye had marked her pallor and agitation
as the prospect of a speedy verdict on her
fate was placed before her. He came
immediately to her side. "Thou art not well,
dearest," he said, in his own language.