"In Rome," said Lady Marion Erskine, to her cousin; "how strange it seems to be really here! Do you know that when I was a little girl and learned Roman history I always thought it a grand fable. I never believed such a place really existed. Rome is a link between the old world and the new."

"Yes," replied Lady Cambrey, "it is quite true, my dear."

She had no notion, even ever so vague, of what her beautiful young kinswoman meant.

Lady Cambrey was not given to the cultivation of ideas, but she was always most amiably disposed to please Lady Marion. It was something very delightful to be the chaperon of a beautiful young heiress like Lady Erskine, and she was always delighted to agree with Lady Marion's words, opinions, and ideas.

Lady Marion was submissive and gentle by nature. She was one of the class of women born to be ruled and not to rule. She could never govern, but she could obey. She could not command, but she could carry out the wishes of others to the last letter.

Lady Cambrey, from motives of her own, wanted her to go to Rome. She had managed it without the least trouble.

"Marion," she said, "have you decided where to spend the winter?"

"No," was the quiet reply, "I have not thought much about it, Aunt Jane; have you?"

The words were so sweetly and placidly spoken.

"Yes, I have thought a great deal about it. I hear that a great many very nice English people have gone to Rome. They say that there will be one of the nicest circles in Europe there."

"In Rome," said Lady Marion, musingly. "Do I know many of those who are going?"

"Yes, some of our own set. One of the great Roman princes, Dorio, has just married a beautiful English girl, so that for this year at least the English will be all the rage in Rome. I should like to go there. I knew some of the Dorio family, but not the one just married."

"Then, if you would like it, we will go there," said Lady Marion; "I shall be pleased if you are."

So without any more difficulty the first part of the programme was carried out, and Lady Marion Erskine, with her chaperon, Lady Jane Cambrey, settled in Rome for the winter. They took a beautifully furnished villa, called the Villa Borgazi, near to some famous gardens. Lady Cambrey took care that, while she reveled in Italian luxuries, no English comfort should be wanting—the Villa Borgazi soon had in it all the comforts of an English home.

She came home one morning, after many hours of shopping, with a look of some importance on her face.

"Marion," she said, "I have heard that the Lanswells are here. I am very pleased. I thought of calling this afternoon; if you are tired, I will go alone."

And from the tone of her voice, rather than her words, Lady Marion fancied that she would prefer to pay her visit alone.

"You remember the Countess of Lanswell; she was la grande dame par excellence in London last summer. She admired you very much, if you recollect."

"I remember her," said Lady Marion; then, with some interest, she added, "It was her son, Lord Chandos, who got himself into such difficulties, was it not?"

Lady Cambrey was slightly taken by surprise; her ward had always shown such a decided distaste for gossip of all kinds that she trusted she had never even heard of this little escapade. However, Lady Marion's question must be answered.

She shook her head gravely.

"It was not his fault, poor boy!" she said; "his mother has told me all about it. I am very sorry for him."

"Why does he deserve so much pity?" she asked.

And Lady Cambrey answered:

"He was but a boy at the time, and she, this person, a dairy-maid, I believe, took advantage of his generosity, and either persuaded him to marry her, or wrung from him some promise of marriage when he should be of age."

"I thought," said straightforward Lady Marion, "that he was married, and his parents had petitioned that the marriage be considered null and void as he was under age."

"I think, my dear," said the diplomatic aunt, "that it would be as well not to mention this. Two things are certain, if Lord Chandos had been properly married, his marriage could never have been set aside; the other is, that the countess can never endure the mention of her son's misfortune."

"Do you know Lord Chandos?" asked Lady Marion, after a time.

"Yes, I know him, and I consider him one of the most charming men I have ever met, a perfect cavalier and chivalrous gentleman."

"That is high praise," said Lady Marion, thoughtfully.

"I know of none higher," said her aunt, and then with her usual tact changed the subject; but more than once that day Lady Marion thought of the man who was a cavalier and a gentleman.

Meanwhile the time passed pleasantly for the countess and her son. They were staying at the grand palace of the Falconis—once the home of princes, but now let by the year to the highest bidder. Lady Lanswell took good care that her son should be well amused; every morning a delicious little sketch of the day's amusement was placed before him; the countess laid herself out to please him as man had never been pleased before.

The countess saw that he received letters from England continually. She was above all vulgar intrigue, or she might have destroyed more than one-half which came, without his seeing them. She would not do that; the war she carried into the enemy's camp was of the most refined and thorough-going kind. She would set aside a marriage on a mere quibble, but she would not destroy a letter. She had said, openly and defiantly to her son's face, that she felt sure he would not remarry Leone in June, but she would stoop to no vulgar way to prevent it.

It often happened that the countess herself opened the letter-bag. When she did so, and there was a letter from Leone, she always gave it to her son with a smile, in which there was just a shade of contempt.

"Another letter," she would say; "my dear Lance, you contribute quite your share to the inland revenue."

She never alluded to Leone, but she did permit herself, at rare intervals, to relate some ludicrous anecdotes of people who had suffered from a severe attack of love.

Lord Chandos found the time pass very pleasantly; he said to himself he might as well remain in Rome and enjoy himself, as go back to England and be miserable. Wherever he went, he could not see Leone. He would not trust himself; he loved her too much, if he were in the same land, not to be near her.

Being in Rome, he did as the Romans did; he amused himself to the very utmost of his power; he seized every golden hour that passed, and though he loved Leone as much as ever, he ceased to feel the keen pain which their separation had caused him at first. One morning, from the Countess of Lanswell to Lady Jane Cambrey, there passed a little note. It said, simply:

"Shall we take the first step to-night? Bring Lady Marion to the Princess Galza's concert, and leave the rest to me."

Lady Cambrey lost no time. She sought her ward and said so much to her about the concert, for which they both had invitations, that Lady Marion was eager to go.

"I must superintend your toilet, Marion; as it is your first appearance in Roman society, you must make a favorable impression."

She selected one of the loveliest toilets that could have been chosen—a white brocade, embroidered with flowers of the palest blue.

"You must wear pearls and pale-blue flowers," she said, "and you will find that to-morrow every one will be talking of the new beauty that has risen over Rome."

Lady Marion looked perfectly beautiful; she was perfect in her style, the very queen of blondes, with her soft, shining hair, and eyes blue as the summer skies. Her face was the purest mixture of rose and white, with the dainty, delicate color described in that one line:

She had a beautiful, fresh mouth, a dimpled chin, a neck and shoulders white as ivory, arms so rounded and white it was a treat to see them. She was of the queenly type—tall, with the promise of a grand womanhood; her white throat was firm, her arms rounded and strong; she was the ideal of an English gentlewoman; her pure, proud face, clear eyes, and sweet lips were beautiful beyond words. When she was dressed that evening for the princess' concert she looked most charming. Lady Cambrey had said truly that among the dark-eyed daughters of Italy she would shine white and fair as a white dove among colored ones.

Her dress was the perfection of taste—it was trimmed with pale-blue forget-me-nots and white heath; a string of pearls was twisted in her fair hair, and another round her white throat.

"If he does not fall in love with her," said Lady Cambrey to herself, "it will be because he has no admiration left in him for any one except his dairy-maid."

Lady Lanswell had been very successful in her diplomacy. She had spoken of the concert before her son, who had received an invitation, but said nothing about his going. He listened in silence, wondering if she would ask him to go with her, saying to himself that he should decline, for he did not like concert-going. Then, as she did not ask him, he began to feel piqued over it and wonder why.

After a short time he volunteered to go, and my lady took it very coolly, reminding him of how often he had grown tired of a hot concert-room. Then he resolved to go and made arrangements accordingly, his mother smiling sweetly all the time. When all was settled, and he had quitted the room, my lady laughed quietly. It was wonderful with what bland sweetness and fine tact she managed men. She could lead her son as though he were deaf, blind, and dumb, yet of all men he believed himself most firm and secure in his opinion.

Heaven help the man who falls helplessly into the hands of a clever woman!