"Indeed!" said Mr. Frost, looking at
her for an instant with his old searching
keenness. "Fortunately for me," he added,
"your influence over Prince Barletti is
unbounded. I remember noting that."

"Do you?"

"Yes. If I have your promise, I am
secure about the prince. But he may
require more explanations than you have
asked for. You have been generous in
refraining from questioning me. I feel it.
I shall not forget it. But he will say
perhaps, 'Why did not this man apply
elsewhere? to his partner, for example?
to those connected with him by business
ties?' I reply that in certain circumstances
to be seen to need a thing is fatal. The very
urgency of the case excites mistrust and
apprehension. And the small sum which
divides ruin from security cannot be
obtained, because it is so essential to obtain
it. But I will see the prince. I will speak
with him. I will give him any guarantee
in my power. Only let me have your
promise. That is sufficient. One word
more! I rely on your generosity and
honour to keep this application a secret."

"If I can do this thing, I will," said
Veronica once more.

Then Mr. Frost took his leave, scarcely
daring to believe in his success; and yet
feeling as though a mantle of lead, such as
Dante gives to certain wretched souls in
purgatory, had been lifted from his head
and shoulders since entering that house.

Cesare returned late in the afternoon
from his ride. Cesare's riding, though
better than his driving, was yet not
altogether satisfactory to insular eyes. There
was a wooden rigidity about his legs, and a
general air of being keenly alive to the
possibility of his horse having the best of it in
case of any difference of opinion arising
between them inimical to grace. Nevertheless
as he had good horses, and was willing to
lend one of them now and then to a friend,
he found companions content to join him
in equestrian excursions to places in the
neighbourhood of London; or even—
though of this his friends were more shy—
in a canter in the Row. On the present
occasion he had been honoured by the society
of two ladies, in addition to that of his
friend Count Polyopolis, a Greek gentleman
of very varied accomplishments, which
were apparently not duly appreciated in
his own country, but for the exercise of
which he found a favourable field in London,
after having exhausted Paris and
Vienna. They had all been very merry,
and Cesare entered in high good humour.

"You were wrong not to come, ma belle
princesse," said he, gaily. "It was very
pleasant. We alighted at a village inn,
and had beer! Figurati? And there was
a garden to the inn, where there was a
target. We shot at the target with bows
and arrows. Nobody could hit the mark.
It was immensely amusing!"

Veronica's headache had apparently
passed off. She was dressed with care
and elegance. Her voice was gentle, and
her manner conciliating, as she said to him,

"Come here and sit down by me, Cesare
mio! I have a word to say to you."

"Must I not dress for dinner?"

"There is time enough. Come here for
a moment."

He obeyed. Seating himself beside her,
he pressed her hand to his lips. It was
very thin, and burnt with a feverish heat.

"Cara!" he said, touched with a vague
pity as he looked at the wasted little
fingers on which the sparkling rings sat so
loosely. "If you would always be kind to
me, I would rather stay here with you,
than divert myself with those others!"

"Ah, you would get tired of staying
here with me, Cesare! and I do not wish
you to do so. But I like to hear you say
so. Do you really love me, Cesare?"

"Ma si!"

"I had a visitor whilst you were out
this afternoon; an unexpected visitor."

"II Vicario? No? It was not that
accursed doctor?"

"Oh, Cesare! Why should you speak
so of poor Mr. Plew? What reason on
earth have you to dislike him?"

"How can I tell? It is an antipathy, I
suppose. With his insipid face, and his eyes
like your English sky, neither blue nor grey!
He attacks my nerves. Well it was not he?"

Veronica made an effort to suppress an
angry reply.

"It was Mr. Frost," she answered,
shortly, not trusting her self-control to say
more at that instant.

"Mr. Frost! Davvero!—Mr. Frost!
Ah il povero Frost! He was très bon
enfant at Naples; and what was better, a
very good lawyer!"

"He is in trouble."

"Si, eh?" said Cesare, whose interest in
this announcement did not appear to be
keen.

"And I have promised to help him."

"Oh! that was very kind of you,"
observed Cesare, with a shade of surprise,
that yet was not lively enough to rouse
him to any great demonstration of caring
about what Veronica was saying.