Stella found absolutely no answer to this.  She only felt a sudden, wild longing to cry out that the idea of being a curate’s wife—­ even the Bishop’s junior young gentleman with eight hundred a year of his own—­had never appeared a thrilling picture, and was now causing her a feeling of loathing.  She thought she ought to talk no longer to this stranger, and half rose from her seat.

He put out a protesting hand, both had been clasped idly over the Times until then without a movement.

“No—­do—­not go—­I have disturbed you—­I am sorry,” he pleaded.  “Listen, there is a great reception at your Embassy to-morrow night—­for one of our Royal Family who is here.  You will go, perhaps.  If so, I will do so also, although I dislike parties—­and there I will be presented to you with ceremony—­it will appease that English convention in you, and after that I shall say to you a number of things—­but I prefer to sit here and speak behind the Times.”

At this instant he raised the paper, and appeared again the stranger almost entirely hidden from view.  And Stella saw that her Uncle Erasmus was rapidly approaching her with an envelope in his hand.  She seized her pen again and continued her broken sentence to Eustace—­her betrothed.  Canon Ebley viewed the Times and its holder with suspicion for an instant, but its stillness reassured him, and he addressed his niece.

“Very civil of the Embassy to send us a card for the reception to-morrow night, Stella; I am glad we wrote names when we arrived.  Your Aunt Caroline bids you accept, as her spectacles are upstairs.”

Miss Rawson did as she was bid, and her uncle waited, fidgeting with his feet.  He wished the stranger to put down the Times, which he wanted himself—­or, at all events, remove his long legs and hidden body from such a near proximity to his niece; they could not say a word that he could not overhear, Canon Ebley mused.

However, the unknown remained where he was, and turned a page of the paper with great deliberation.

“Your aunt will be ready to go out again now,” the Uncle Erasmus announced, as Stella placed her acceptance in the envelope.  “You had better go up and put your hat on, my dear.”

The Times rustled slightly—­and Stella replied a little hurriedly:  “I was just finishing a letter, uncle, then I will come.”

“Very well,” said Canon Ebley, not altogether pleased, as he walked away with the note.

The newspaper was lowered a few inches again, and the wise blue eyes beneath the saintly parted hair twinkled with irresistible laughter, and the deep voice said: 

“He would greatly disapprove of our having conversed—­the uncle—­ is it not so?  How long are you going to stay in Rome?”

Stella smiled, too—­she could not help it.

“A week—­ten days, perhaps,” she answered, and then rapidly addressed an envelope to the Rev. Eustace Medlicott.

“Perhaps, in that case, I can afford to wait until to-morrow night; unless it amuses you, as it does me, to circumvent people,” Count Roumovski said.  “We are all masters of our own lives, you know, once we have ceased to be children—­it is only convention which persuades us to submit to others’ authority.”