“Thank you.  In future you must never walk to see Mrs. Mason, always go in the carriage; and I am unwilling that you should be out as late as this, unless Mrs. Palma accompanies you, or I am with you.  You need not ask my reasons; it is sufficient that I wish it, and it is my caprice to be obeyed without questions.  One thing more:  I do not at all like your name—­never did.  Latinity is not one of my predilections, and Regina, Reginae, Reginam, wearily remind me of the classic-slough of declensions and conjugations of my Livy, Sallust, Tacitus.  In my mind you have always been associated with the white lilies that you held at the convent the first time I saw you, that you held to your heart while asleep on the cars; and hereafter when only you and I are present, I intend to indulge the caprice of calling my ward—­Lily.”

CHAPTER XVIII.

“Yonder they come!  They have just left the carriage, and as usual she is escorted by her body-guard; those grim old fogies, who watch her like a pair of grey owls.  Now, Doctor, you must contrive an introduction.”

General Rene Laurance raised his gold eyeglass, and looked curiously toward a group of three persons who were walking amid the ruins of Pozzuoli.

His companion Dr. Plymley, who was examining an inscription, turned around and looked in the direction indicated.

“Are you sure?  I am quite near-sighted.”

“Very sure, for no other figure could be mistaken for hers.  By all the gods ever worshipped here, she is the loveliest woman I ever saw, but as coy as a maid of fifteen.  The fact that she secludes herself so rigidly only stimulates curiosity, and I have sworn a solemn oath to make her acquaintance; for it is something novel in my experience to have my overtures rejected, my courtesies ignored.”

“Come this way, General.  This encounter must appear purely accidental, for Madame Orme is very peculiar, very suspicious; and if she imagines we planned this excursion to meet her, or left Naples with the intention of joining her party, the chances are that I as well as you would be snubbed.  In her desire to avoid society and personal attention, one might suppose her an escaped abbess from some convent, instead of a popular actress.  It was with much difficulty that I prevailed on her to receive my son and wife one afternoon; as she remarked that her object in coming here was to secure health, not acquaintances.  In treating her professionally, I was called upon to prescribe for what in her case is more than ordinary sleeplessness, is veritably pervigilium; and when she refused opiates, I asked if there were not some trouble weighing upon her mind which prevented her from sleeping.  Her reply was singular:  ’Many years have passed since I became a widow and was forced to leave my only child in America, and the power of sound healthy sleep has deserted me.’  Even in Naples her beauty attracts attention wherever she is seen.”