Mr. Levincourt was favourably impressed
by his son-in-law at once. He warmly
returned the grasp of Cesare's hand; and
said to his daughter, "Tell Prince Barletti
that although my Italian has grown rusty
on my tongue, I fully understand what he
says, and thank him for it."

"Oh, Cesare speaks a little English,"
returned Veronica, smiling. She was growing
more at her ease every moment. The
reaction from her brief trepidation and
depression sent her spirits up rapidly. She
recovered herself sufficiently to observe her
father's face closely, and to think, "Papa
is really a very handsome man still. I
wonder if Cesare expected to see a person
of such distinguished appearance." Then
in the next instant she noticed that the
vicar's dress was decidedly less careful than
of yore; and she perceived in his bearing—
in the negligence of his attitude—some
traces of that subtle, general deterioration
which it had so pained Maud to discover.
But she was seeing him under a better
aspect than any Maud had yet witnessed
since her return to Shipley. The vicar was
not so far changed from his former self as
to be indifferent to the impression he was
making on Prince Barletti. They all three
sat and talked much as they might have
done had Veronica parted from her father
to go on a wedding tour with her bridegroom,
and was meeting him for the first
time after a happy honeymoon. They sat
and talked almost as though such a being as
Sir John Gale had never crossed the threshold
of Shipley vicarage. In Cesare, this
came about naturally enough. But
Veronica, despite her languid princess air, was
ceaselessly on the watch to turn his indiscreet
tongue from dangerous topics.

And so things went on with delightful
smoothness. The vicar, being pressed,
consented to remain and dine with his
daughter and son-in-law, and to be driven
home by them in the evening. Downstairs
the united conclaves were greatly
interested in this new act of the drama,
and criticised the performers in it with
considerable vivacity.

CHAPTER VI. HOME, SWEET HOME!

"AND how long do you purpose remaining
here?" asked the vicar, addressing his
son-in-law, as they sat at table. "I
presume this is merely on the way to some
other place. Do you go northward? It
is too early for the Lakes, and still more so
for the Highlands."

Cesare looked at his wife.

"Well, how long we remain will depend
on several things," answered Veronica. "We
were not en route for any special destination.
I did not know that Shipley Magna
could be en route for any place. No; we
came down here to see you, papa."

"Yet you have had a carriage sent down,
you say?"

"Ah, yes; an' 'orses," put in Cesare,
"I-a, want-a, to guide-a."

"Don't be alarmed, papa. Cesare is not
going to drive us this evening. We have
a pretty good coachman, I believe."

"Then you had some intention of making
a stay here?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so. But really
I don't think I ever have what you would
call an intention. That suggests such a
vigorous operation of the mind. We shall
stay if it suits us. If not—not; don't you
know?"

Veronica uttered these words with the
most exaggerated assumption of languid
fine-ladyism. The time had been when
such an affectation on her part would not
have escaped some caustic reproof from the
vicar's tongue. As it was, he merely
looked at her in silence. Cesare followed
his glance, and shook his head
compassionately. "Ah," said he, in his own
language,"she is not strong, our dearest
Veronica. She has certain moments so
languid, so depressed."

The vicar was for a second uncertain
whether Barletti spoke ironically or in good
faith. But there was no mistaking the
simplicity of his face.

"Is she not strong?" said the vicar.
"She used to be very healthy."

"Oh, I am quite well, papa. Only I get
so tired," drawled out the princess.

Her father looked at her again more
attentively. Her skin was so artificially
coloured that there was small indication of
the real state of her health to be drawn
from that. But the dark rings round her
eyes were natural. Her figure had not
grown thinner, but her hands seemed
wasted, and there was a slight puffy
fullness about her cheeks and jaw.

"She does not look very strong," said
the vicar, "and—I have observed that she
eats nothing."

"No! Is it not true? I have told her
so, have I not, mia cara? You are right,
Signor Vicario; she eats nothing. More
champagne? Don't take it. Who knows
what stuff it is made of?"

"Cesare, I beg you will not be absurd,"
returned Veronica, with a frown, and an