a husband’s temporal and spiritual welfare, had claims rivalling her devotion to her brother.  She could not explain a devotion that instigated her to an insensate course.  It seemed a kind of enthusiasm; and it was coldly spoken; in the tone referring to ’her husband’s honour.’  Her brother’s enterprise had her approval because ’her mother’s prayer was for him to serve in the English army.’  By running over to take a side in a Spanish squabble? she was asked and answered:  ’He will learn war; my Chillon will show his value; he will come back a tried soldier.’

She counted on his coming back?  She did.

’I cannot take a step forward without counting on success.  We know the chances we are to meet.  My father has written of death.  We do not fear it, so it is nothing to us.  We shall go together; we shall not have to weep for one another.’

The strange young woman’s avoidance of any popular sniffle of the pathetic had a recognized merit.

‘Tell me,’ Lady Arpington said abruptly; ’this maid of yours, who is to marry the secretary, or whatever he was—­you are satisfied with her?’

‘She is my dear servant Madge.’  A cloud opened as Carinthia spoke the name.  ‘She will be a true wife to him.  They will always be my friends!’

Nothing against the earl in that direction, apparently; unless his countess was blest with the density of frigidity.

Society’s emissary sketched its perils for unprotected beautiful woman; an outline of the London quadrille Henrietta danced in; and she glanced at Carinthia and asked:  ‘Have you thought of it?’

Carinthia’s eyes were on the great lady’s.  Their meaning was, ’You hit my chief thought.’  They were read as her farthest thought.  For the hint of Henrietta’s weakness deadened her feelings with a reminder of warm and continued solicitations rebutted; the beautiful creature’s tortures at the idea of her exile from England.  An outwearied hopelessness expressed a passive sentiment very like indifference in the clear wide gaze.  She replied:  ’I have.  My proposal to her was Cadiz, with both our young ones.  She will not.’

And there is an end to that part of the question!  Lady Arpington interpreted it, by the gaze more than the words, under subjection of the young woman’s character.  Nevertheless, she bore away Carinthia’s consent to a final meeting with the earl at her house in London, as soon as things were settled at Croridge.  Chillon, whom she saw, was just as hard, unforgiving, careless of his country’s dearest interests; brother and sister were one heart of their one blood.  She mentioned the general impression in town, that the countess and only she could save the earl from Rome.  A flash of polite laughter was Chillon’s response.  But after her inspection of the elegant athlete, she did fancy it possible for a young wife, even for Henrietta, to bear his name proudly in his absence —­if that was worth a moment’s