nothing roused her:  she remained persistently dull and weary through it all.  In this frame of mind and body, she was in no humour to receive Henry’s ill-timed addresses with favour, or even with patience:  she plainly and positively refused to listen to him.  ’Why do you remind me of what I have suffered?’ she asked petulantly.  ’Don’t you see that it has left its mark on me for life?’

‘I thought I knew something of women by this time,’ Henry said, appealing privately to Lady Montbarry for consolation.  ’But Agnes completely puzzles me.  It is a year since Montbarry’s death; and she remains as devoted to his memory as if he had died faithful to her—­ she still feels the loss of him, as none of us feel it!’

‘She is the truest woman that ever breathed the breath of life,’ Lady Montbarry answered.  ’Remember that, and you will understand her.  Can such a woman as Agnes give her love or refuse it, according to circumstances?  Because the man was unworthy of her, was he less the man of her choice?  The truest and best friend to him (little as he deserved it) in his lifetime, she naturally remains the truest and best friend to his memory now.  If you really love her, wait; and trust to your two best friends—­ to time and to me.  There is my advice; let your own experience decide whether it is not the best advice that I can offer.  Resume your journey to Venice to-morrow; and when you take leave of Agnes, speak to her as cordially as if nothing had happened.’

Henry wisely followed this advice.  Thoroughly understanding him, Agnes made the leave-taking friendly and pleasant on her side.  When he stopped at the door for a last look at her, she hurriedly turned her head so that her face was hidden from him.  Was that a good sign?  Lady Montbarry, accompanying Henry down the stairs, said, ’Yes, decidedly!  Write when you get to Venice.  We shall wait here to receive letters from Arthur and his wife, and we shall time our departure for Italy accordingly.’

A week passed, and no letter came from Henry.  Some days later, a telegram was received from him.  It was despatched from Milan, instead of from Venice; and it brought this strange message:—­’I have left the hotel.  Will return on the arrival of Arthur and his wife.  Address, meanwhile, Albergo Reale, Milan.’

Preferring Venice before all other cities of Europe, and having arranged to remain there until the family meeting took place, what unexpected event had led Henry to alter his plans? and why did he state the bare fact, without adding a word of explanation?  Let the narrative follow him—­and find the answer to those questions at Venice.

CHAPTER XVII

The Palace Hotel, appealing for encouragement mainly to English and American travellers, celebrated the opening of its doors, as a matter of course, by the giving of a grand banquet, and the delivery of a long succession of speeches.