Cesare's quickness of perception was
rapidly bringing him to the conviction that
it was a far finer thing to be a "prince" in
England than in Naples. Veronica, in
bestowing her wealth and herself upon him,
had not then made an entirely one-sided
bargain. The consideration was not an
unpleasant one.

He drove over to Hammick Lodge more
than once after his first visit to Lord
George, and met several guests there, mostly
bachelors, and, with few exceptions, active
patrons of that noble institution—the Turf.
Cesare found these gentlemen pleasant and
unaffected; entirely devoid of the insular
stiffness which he had kept continually
looking for since his arrival in Great Britain,
and had found up to the height of his
expectation in only one individual—the
accomplished Mr. Dickinson.

The "turfy" gentlemen, on their part,
found Barletti a charming fellow, and were
delighted to make his acquaintance. But
the "turfy" gentlemen were greatly
disappointed at discovering one singular blemish
in Barletti' s moral nature, he steadily
refused to "speculate " on any coming event
whatever, on the extraordinarily naïve plea
that he did not understand betting.

"My dear fellow," said one tall, thin
gentleman, with a long, sharp chin and
dull, fishy eyes, " It's as simple as A, B, C."

"Ah, già!" returned the prince, with
much suavity. "But A-a, B-a, C-a is not
simple until you have learned it."

Nevertheless, despite this deplorable lack
of enterprise on Cesare's part, he was very
popular at Hammick Lodge. He played
an uncommonly good game at écarté, a
very fair one at whist, and that he was no
match for his host at billiards did not
certainly operate against him in Lord George's
good graces.

He had no formal reconciliation with his
wife; but the coolness between them
which, in fact, had only existed on her side
passed away in a day or two. Cesare
never knew how much it cost Veronica
to condone his violent behaviour, without
an expression of the deepest penitence
on his part. And his ignorance of the
sacrifice her haughty spirit was forced to
make, rendered that sacrifice, perhaps, a
little less difficult than it would otherwise
have been. At least there was in his mind
no perception of what she deemed a bitter
humiliation.

In her loneliness, and she was very
lonely—but, as Cesare said, it was she who
had desired to come to Shipley; and could
he help it if the people would not call on
her?—she had recourse to the only human
being on whose entire devotion she could
rely. She took to writing letters to Mr.
Plew. The letters, at first, were short;
mere notes, written with the excuse of
asking his advice upon this or that trifling
point of regimen. She would follow his
advice. She had been thinking over it, and
she really believed that exercise would be
good for her. Could he not come to see
her? Why had he not been? The first
note brought, not Mr. Plew, but a brief
professional recapitulation of the points
he had urged upon her consideration. In
the second note, she asked again why
he had not been to see her. Was it true,
as had been whispered to her, that the
attractions of a certain meek dove had
succeeded in engrossing him altogether?
No sooner had she despatched this note
than she wished to recal it. She was
ashamed of it. It was too familiar-- too
condescending.

The answer to it, however, contained no
allusion to her hint; neither denial nor
confirmation. It merely stated that Mr. Plew
would willingly go over to Shipley Magna
if he could be of real service to her; but
that, unless she had need of his presence,
he must refrain from doing so. His mother
was ill, and required all the care and
attention he could give her.

This reply of the surgeon reached Veronica
on a rainy afternoon. She was dull
and dispirited. Her husband was at
Hammick. The quiet sorrow in the tone of
Mr. Plew's letter chimed in with Veronica's
mood at the moment of receiving
it. A few slow tears trickled down her
cheeks, as she sat with her head leaning on
her hand, looking down on the note. She
must have some sympathy! She must
dissipate somewhat of the weight of sadness
that oppressed her soul, by confiding to
another human heart a few, at least, of her
sorrows.

She sat down to write to Mr. Plew.
As she wrote on, the half revelations she
had intended became whole revelations.
She found a relief in the depiction of her
feelings—even in that of her faults. She
would rather speak evil of herself than not
speak of herself at all. She poured forth her
complaints and her disappointments with-
out reserve.

Here was one who would listen patiently;
who would sympathise sincerely; who
would feel her sorrows as his own. Here
was a heart that might be trusted to beat