When Caroline Spalding perceived how direct an attempt had been made by her sister to take the poetess away, in order that she might thus be left alone with Mr Glascock, her spirit revolted against the manoeuvre, and she took herself away amidst the crowd.  If Mr Glascock should wish to find her again he could do so.  And there came across her mind something of a half-formed idea that, perhaps after all her friend Wallachia was right.  Were this man ready to take her and she ready to be taken, would such an arrangement be a happy one for both of them?  His high-born, wealthy friends might very probably despise her, and it was quite possible that she also might despise them.  To be Lady Peterborough, and have the spending of a large fortune, would not suffice for her happiness.  She was sure of that.  It would be a leap in the dark’ and all such leaps must needs be dangerous, and therefore should be avoided.  But she did like the man.  Her friend was untrue to her and cruel in those allusions to tinkling cymbals.  It might be well for her to get over her liking, and to think no more of one who was to her a foreigner and a stranger, of whose ways of living in his own home she knew so little, whose people might be antipathetic to her, enemies instead of friends, among whom her life would be one long misery; but it was not on that ground that Miss Petrie had recommended her to start for Rome as soon as Mr Glascock had reached Florence.  ’There is no reason,’ she said to herself, ’why I should not marry a man if I like him, even though he be a lord.  And of him I should not be the least afraid.  It’s the women that I fear.’  And then she called to mind all that she had ever heard of English countesses and duchesses.  She thought that she knew that they were generally cold and proud, and very little given to receive outsiders graciously within their ranks.  Mr Glascock had an aunt who was a Duchess, and a sister who would be a Countess.  Caroline Spalding felt how her back would rise against these new relations, if it should come to pass that they should look unkindly upon her when she was taken to her own home; how she would fight with them, giving them scorn for scorn; how unutterably miserable she would be; how she would long to be back among her own equals, in spite even of her love for her husband.  ‘How grand a thing it is,’ she said, ’to be equal with those whom you love!’ And yet she was to some extent allured by the social position of the man.  She could perceive that he had a charm of manner which her countrymen lacked.  He had read, perhaps, less than her uncle knew, perhaps, less than most of those men with whom she had been wont to associate in her own city life at home, was not braver, or more virtuous, or more self-denying than they; but there was a softness and an ease in his manner which was palatable to her, and an absence of that too visible effort of the intellect which is so apt to mark and mar the conversation of Americans.  She almost wished that she had been English, in order that the man’s home and friends might have suited her.  She was thinking of all this as she stood pretending to talk to an American lady, who was very eloquent on the delights of Florence.