Wilfrid was peculiarly adept in the idle game he played.  One who is intent upon an evil end is open to expose his plan.  But he had none in view; he lived for the luxurious sensation of being near the woman who fascinated him, and who was now positively abashed when by his side.  Adela suggested to him faintly—­she believed it was her spontaneous idea —­that he might be making his countess jealous.  He assured her that the fancy sprang from scenes which she remembered, and that she could have no idea of the pride of a highborn Austrian girl, who was incapable of conceiving jealousy of a person below her class.  Adela replied that it was not his manner so much as Emilia’s which might arouse the suspicion; but she immediately affected to appreciate the sentiments of a highborn Austrian girl toward a cantatrice, whose gifts we regard simply as an aristocratic entertainment.  Wilfrid induced his sister to relate Vittoria’s early history to Countess Lena; and himself almost wondered, when he heard it in bare words, at that haunting vision of the glory of Vittoria at La Scala—­where, as he remembered, he would have run against destruction to cling to her lips.  Adela was at first alarmed by the concentrated wrathfulness which she discovered in the bosom of Countess Anna, who, as their intimacy waxed, spoke of the intruding opera siren in terms hardly proper even to married women; but it seemed right, as being possibly aristocratic.  Lena was much more tolerant.  “I have just the same enthusiasm for soldiers that my Wilfrid has for singers,” she said; and it afforded Adela exquisite pleasure to hear her tell how that she had originally heard of the ‘eccentric young Englishman,’ General Pierson’s nephew, as a Lustspiel—­a comedy; and of his feats on horseback, and his duels, and his—­he was very wicked over here, you know;” Lena laughed.  She assumed the privileges of her four-and-twenty years and her rank.  Her marriage was to take place in the Spring.  She announced it with the simplicity of an independent woman of the world, adding, “That is, if my Wilfrid will oblige me by not plunging into further disgrace with the General.”

“No; you will not marry a man who is under a cloud,” Anna subjoined.

“Certainly not a soldier,” said Lena.  “What it was exactly that he did at La Scala, I don’t know, and don’t care to know, but he was then ignorant that she had touched the hand of that Guidascarpi.  I decide by this—­he was valiant; he defied everybody:  therefore I forgive him.  He is not in disgrace with me.  I will reinstate him.”

“You have your own way of being romantic,” said Anna.  “A soldier who forgets his duty is in my opinion only a brave fool.”

“It seems to me that a great many gallant officers are fond of fine voices,” Lena retorted.

“No doubt it is a fashion among them,” said Anna.

Adela recoiled with astonishment when she began to see the light in which the sisters regarded Vittoria; and she was loyal enough to hint and protest on her friend’s behalf.  The sisters called her a very good soul.  “It may not be in England as over here,” said Anna.  “We have to submit to these little social scourges.”