became conscious again, her misery was
terrible to witness."

"May I ask what was the occasion of
the lady's agitation? Did they permit her
to see the scene which so affected you?
That was injudicious!"

"Oh, yes! She saw it all. She has not
yet been able to give me a connected account
of it, but from what she said, and from
what Paul said—Paul was that man's valet
—I have ascertained that the scene must
have been appalling."

Mr. Frost was secretly very much
surprised at Barletti's acknowledgment that the
beautiful young woman whose position in
Sir John Gale's household could not be
doubtful, was his cousin. The young
prince's visits to Palazzo Dinori, and his
devotion to the lovely woman who inhabited
it, were well-known and much-discussed
topics of gossip in Naples; as they had been
at Florence: a fact of which Barletti was
as innocent as a child. For there are
minds which although shrewd enough to
judge their neighbours, can never
conceive that the same standard is naturally
applied to measure them. Some breath of
this gossip had floated by Mr. Frost, and
had remained in his memory. Veronica
was usually spoken of as " La Gale;" a
mode of designating her which conveyed no
idea of wifehood to Mr. Frost's ears. Mr.
Frost was not unacquainted with foreign
life. He had lived in Paris, and called
himself a man of the world. But he did
not quite understand Italian manners; nor
was he aware that their social morality is
presided over by a stern goddess called
Decorum: to outrage whose laws is a
blasphemy condemned by all well-bred
persons. It would not sting an Italian man of
quality to talk to him about " whited
sepulchres." There must be sepulchres, and
the least you can do is to whitewash them!

"Well," said Mr. Frost, shrugging his
shoulders, " the poor signora ought not to
have been allowed to witness such a scene.
But I suppose it will pass away. Did Sir
John make any provision for her?"

"It is on that point," said Barletti,
changing colour, " that we wish to consult
you.  She has been the victim of a base
deception. But I believe that Providence
has not forsaken her. This man, in his
will leaves everything absolutely—— "

"His will!" cried the lawyer, suddenly
on the alert " He left a will? Are you
sure?"

"Most sure. I saw it only last evening."

"Last evening! You read it?"

"No: I cannot say that I read it. I should
not have understood it all, being in English,
though I might have made out a word or
two. But he told us the contents in
presence of one of the witnesses: Paul, the
valet I spoke of just now."

"And this will leaves everything
absolutely you say, to——?"

"To his wife."

"To— his— wife!"

"'To his beloved wife.' Those are the
words."

"By Jove!" breathed out Mr. Frost in a
whisper of amazement. " Why then your
cousin will not get a penny, not a soldo, not a
centime! Unless— stop! was there a codicil?
Any other legacies?"

"There was nothing more. And it was
all meant for Veronica. She must have it!
She was his wife when he died."

"My dear prince," said Mr. Frost, in a
low, steady voice, laying his hand on the
other man's arm, "you had best be frank
with me. It is useless to call in a doctor
unless you will tell him all your symptoms.
Some folks try to cheat even the doctor!
But that is not found to result in a cure very
often. This lady, for whom as your relative,
I profess every respect, was not, according
to English law, the wife of Sir John Gale.
And English law is terribly inflexible and
unromantic. I don't think Phryne herself
would have a chance in the Court of
Chancery:—which is not without its good
side when you don't happen to be Phryne!"

"Phryne! What do you mean, sir?
What are you talking of? I say that my
cousin Veronica is Lady Tallis Gale, and can
be proved to be so in any court in Europe.
She was married on board the English
Queen's ship Furibond, on Tuesday morning."

"What!" shouted Mr. Frost, springing
to his feet. " He did that? Then he was
a bigamist. I tell you his lawful wife is
living. I know her well!"

"No, you are wrong!" said a low voice
which startled them both.

The door communicating with the adjoining
room, which was "miladi's" dressing-
room, was opened, and Veronica stood in
the doorway. She was as white as the
muslin wrapper that was folded round her.
Her hair fell in disorder over her shoulders.
Her eyes were swollen and heavy. But in
the midst of her very real absorption in the
trouble that had fallen on her, she was not
altogether indifferent to the effect she should
produce by her appearance. And it was as
striking as she could have desired it to be.