dead. And he thought he was preparing
an overwhelming disappointment for Cesare
too! Oh, it was devilish!"

Mr. Frost declined to enter into the
question of Sir John's devilry.

"It is one of the strangest stories
altogether that ever came under my notice,"
said he. " And we lawyers, of course,
come in the way of strange stories; or they
come in ours."

Veronica had had much to learn as well
as to narrate. It will be remembered that
she had received no communication from
her old home since her flight. And almost
the bitterest drop in her cup was the
discovery of the identity of Sir John's
forsaken wife, with Maud's aunt, Lady Tallis.

It was so intolerably galling to her to
think that her story must now be known
and canvassed by all the people she knew!
Had Sir John left a lawful wife in Spain,
or Algiers, or Australia, there might (or so
Veronica fancied) have been some hope
that the world she cared to shine in, would
never have been made acquainted with the
real circumstances. By skilful management
they might have been kept back. But
now there was no hope of that. Lady
Tallis had belonged to a well-known family.
People like Miss Betsy Boyce, whose after-
dinner gossip at Lowater now came back
vividly to Veronica's mind, would recal
all the old story and industriously piece it
on to the new one. It would be the town
talk! The thought was distracting. For
in proportion as Veronica could never be
entirely happy without an audience to
witness her happiness, so was the idea that
she must have spectators of her humiliation
and misfortune, intolerable to her.

Evil that could be hidden, did not seem
so evil, to Veronica.

She had clung during so many months
to the hope of some day returning to
England as Lady Gale; throughout the
gradual progress of Sir John's illness, she
had suffered such fluctuations of hope and
fear, that she felt as though some
compensation were due to her.

Had she not been injured? Had she
not suffered? As to others—what had
others done for her? The good people
had drawn off from her. (And were they
so much better than she was, pray?—
except Maud? Maud was good! She
understood now, how it was that Maud had
seemed to desert her, and had never
answered her letter. But then Maud was
different from any one else. Her aunt must
have prevented her from writing.) And as
for the bad people, they had been
desperately bad to her.

These thoughts passed through her brain
as she sat with her hands clasped before
her, leaning back in the easy chair wherein
Cesare's care had placed her. And she
looked full of a noble melancholy, with her
dark eyes fixed abstractedly on vacancy,
and her rich lips apart.

If Mr. Frost had seen her portrait
faithfully reproducing that look and attitude,
he would have formed all kinds of exalted
ideas about the original. But Mr. Frost
had fathomed her nature, as he flattered
himself. She could cast no sorcery over
him! And yet—and yet it is certain that
he would not have behaved to her quite in
the same manner if she had been fat, or
freckled, or had lost her front teeth.

"Veronica!" said Cesare, timidly
entering the room, " you promised to send for
me. It is so long ago. I have been so
anxious. Let me stay with you. You see,
Mr. Frost, how exhausted she is. Ought
she not to take some rest?"

"I had been resting since two o'clock,
until Mr. Frost came," she answered,
languidly. " It is not bodily rest I want!"

"You understand, my friend,"
pursued Barletti, addressing Mr. Frost, " that
I am Miladi Gale's nearest male relative in
Italy; and that I am, therefore, the proper
person to give her every assistance and
protection in the position in which she is so
unexpectedly placed."

"Oh, undoubtedly, prince. Ahem! Your
cousin naturally looks on you as standing
in the place of a brother to her."

The most subtle of mocking smiles
lurked about the lines of Mr. Frost's
mouth as he spoke.

Cesare, with a grave bow, accepted the
position assigned to him by the
Englishman's phrase: wholly unconscious of its
irony. But Veronica answered at once
with disdainful frankness:

"Not so, Mr. Frost. I do not look on
Prince Cesare de' Barletti as a brother.
My cousin he is truly, and as such I have
a claim on his protection. But it will be
as well for you to understand at once, that
he is, moreover, my promised husband;
and that our interests are identical. It
will, doubtless, not surprise you that I do
not think it necessary to condescend to any
hypocrisy of grief at my widowhood. The
prince and I do not hesitate to repose full
confidence in you as our legal adviser."

Cesare took her hand and kissed it
gratefully, but he was a little startled, and