men do not fight duels; and if murder is not yet out of date in Sicily, it is quite inadmissible in other parts of Europe. You are pleased to assert that I have saved your life; so you may imagine how disconsolate I should be if you were to recompense me for my trouble by making a present of it to the hangman. Pray do not run away with the idea that I am disconsolate because I have a husband who is no more inconsolable than I am; my sole object in wearying you with a commonplace narrative was to persuade you that I did not, after all, leave my husband and my adopted country without some excuse. From the moment that you admit that, there is no more to be said upon the subject—and we will say no more.'

The subject was dropped for the moment; but, of course, it was resumed, and was dwelt upon at great length in subsequent conversations which might be found a trifle tedious if reported, but which were full of interest to the two persons engaged in them. These daily and prolonged conversations, although they provoked the sarcastic wit of Dr. Schott, were not in reality of a nature to cause an instant's disquietude to him or to Bickenbach. The latest addition to the list of the Countess's victims was strictly decorous and punctilious in his behaviour towards her; if he betrayed the state of his feelings a dozen times a day, he was at least careful to avoid doing so by word of mouth; while she, on her side, gave him no sort of encouragement. Nevertheless, she liked the man; his sympathy and his championship were pleasant to her, and she was very sorry when the time came for him to quit the shelter of her

roof.

It was necessary that he should go as soon as he could safely be moved; that tribute to the prejudices of a censorious world could hardly be evaded, and the Countess told him candidly that, situated as she was, she felt unable to offer him the hospitality which she would fain have offered. She thought, however, that -since he was ordered to be as much as possible in the open air and to avoid exertion-there could be no harm in his driving up from his hotel whenever he felt disposed to do so and resting for a while in her garden. Thus it came to pass that the Marchese di Leonforte continued to spend his afternoons with her, and that the little world which was watching them with eager and inquisitive eyes began to look forward cheerfully to a scandal.

CHAPTER XVIII.

DOUGLAS'S CONFIDANTS.

EVERY adult is aware-because every adult has been made acquainted with the fact by more or less painful experience-that there exists some subtle difference between the sexes which precludes the one from ever arriving at a full or confident understanding of the other. We know, or think we know, broadly speaking, what feminine characteristics are; women also probably flatter themselves that our own foibles and peculiarities are not hidden from them; yet when complications arise, the old insuperable difficulty does not fail to present itself, nor can conflicts be averted or harmony restored save by concessions on both sides of which neither side can really perceive the reasonableness. Douglas Colborne was humble enough to acknowledge that he had been guilty of stupidity and mismanagement in his relations with his wife; but he had offered to concede all that he could possibly concede, and he would have been too proud to stoop to entreaties even if he had believed that entreaties were likely to be of the slightest avail. What he said to himself was that he must make up his mind to a future of quasi-celibacy and remember that a man may do good work and enjoy himself tolerably well in the world without the solace of domestic sympathies. What he secretly and unconsciously hoped was that his mother's correspondence with Hélène (to reports of which he absolutely declined to listen) might eventually bring about a reconciliation towards which it was out of the question for him to make the first step.

Meanwhile, life at Stoke Leighton was desperately dull and lonely. His mother offered to come and keep him company; but he begged her not to leave London, declaring that he was better alone for the present, and being, in fact, actuated by a strong wish to keep the true state of affairs secret as long as might be. It had been announced that the Countess had gone abroad for her health; the existence of a quarrel was perhaps not suspected; at any rate, no questions were put to him upon the subject, so that he was spared the painful necessity of making veracious statements. Veracious statements, however, must needs be made to somebody by a distressed man, unless he be also an abnormally reticent man, and Douglas did not scruple to relieve his mind by

making a frank confession of his troubles to so trustworthy a friend and neighbour as Miss Peggy Rowley. Indeed, if he had wanted to hold his tongue, he would have been unable to do so; for it did not take her long to guess what had happened, nor did she allow herself to be restrained by any sentiments of false delicacy from taxing him with a lack of dexterity to which he was fain to plead guilty.

It will all come right in the end,' she assured him more than once; but the end isn't quite yet. If you hadn't been rather a goose, this catastrophe would never have occurred; only, since it has occurred, you can do nothing except submit and possess your soul in patience. By all means let her see that you can get on pretty well without her; a day may come when she will find that she can't get on so very well without you.'

And when Douglas shook his head, remarking that his wife had given ample evidence of her ability and desire to lead her own life in her own way, this skilled adviser of his laughed and asked whether he had expected that evidence of a contrary description would be submitted to him. Peggy was not precisely sympathetic, but she was kindly and shrewd and she seemed to him to be just; so that it was a comfort to him to converse with her. It may be hoped that he would have been even more grateful to her than he was, had he for a moment surmised that she was in reality strongly and indignantly on his side and that she thought the Countess Radna a thoroughly detestable woman; but she gave utterance to no words which could be interpreted in that sense. She was, as he often said to himself, without knowing all the excellent reasons that he had for saying so, a true friend; she gave him the best of good advice; she did what she could to enliven his solitude; she took care to keep him up to the mark in the matter of his political duties, and it was at her instance that he invited young Frank Innes to come down and stay with him soon after Christmas.

Peggy Rowley had found out-it is what we are all destined to find out in the long run, though it takes some of us a lifetime to make the discovery-that there is no better way of escape from the contemplation of one's own misfortunes than to get up an interest in the fortunes or misfortunes of other people; and as Frank Innes was very young, very fresh and very full of himself, it was not difficult for Douglas Colborne to become interested in him. He had always liked the boy, he had always been anxious to

give him a helping hand, and of late it had several times occurred to him that, in view of possible contingencies, he ought to nominate somebody as his heir. Since he had no son, nor any prospect of having one, Frank seemed to be the person appointed by destiny and propriety to succeed him; but he was not so imprudent as to raise hopes which, after all, might never be realised. He confined himself to executing the necessary testament and good-humouredly throwing cold water upon the young fellow's projects, which were imparted to him without reserve, and which struck him as being a trifle fantastic.

'It is all very well to have a pretty voice,' he remarked, and if you care about that sort of thing, I dare say it isn't bad fun to show your voice off at evening parties and to be patted on the back by musical ladies-but from that to obtaining a lucrative engagement at Covent Garden is a longish step. If I were you, I should stick to my Government clerkship, which may easily lead to something better, even if it doesn't hold out a prospect of boundless wealth. Just think of the hundreds and thousands of would-be professionals who are being carefully trained every year and thank your stars that you won't be deprived of bread and butter by remaining a successful amateur.'

'The Countess wasn't of your way of thinking,' returned Frank; 'she said—and I believe she was right-that I should be an awful duffer if I didn't turn my natural gifts to account. And a genuine tenor voice, mind you, is a gift which isn't granted to everybody. Oh, no; the Countess didn't agree with you at all there.'

'The Countess,' observed Douglas drily, didn't agree with me upon a good many points.'

'Well-so they say; and I'll be hanged if I can make out what it's all about! To tell you the truth, that's why I mentioned her. Look here, Douglas; this disagreement isn't going to be serious, is it? Because, you know, it really oughtn't to be; it's bound to be a mistake of some kind.'

"Who told you that there had been a disagreement? Are people talking about it?'

'Well, I have been asked several times whether there hadn't been a row; but I have always said that, as far as I knew, it was all right. I had my doubts, though; so I cross-examined Loo, who more or less let the cat out of the bag. Now I'll tell you what it is; you are both of you too good by a long way to be

allowed to fall out about nothing, and there can't be any sufficient cause for your having fallen out. I wish you wouldn't mind my taking a run to Nice and putting things straight between you.'

'You are a nice, modest youth, I must say!' returned Douglas, laughing. So you think that nothing but your intervention is required to set the most crooked things straight, do you? You will know better when you are a little older; and in the meantime, I won't ask you to undertake a journey to the South of France on my behalf-thanks, all the same.'

Nevertheless, he was not sorry to be provided with another confidant; nor, when pressed to do so, was he very reluctant to state his case to a listener who, if less experienced, was more compassionate and more sympathetic than Peggy Rowley. Frank was of opinion that the Countess had acted in a hasty and reprehensible manner; but he had wit enough to see that there must be something to be said on her side and to realise the difficulty of composing a difference for which no definite cause can be assigned. He, therefore, fell back upon comforting generalities, did what in him lay to divert his host's thoughts from a painful topic and took the first opportunity of walking over to Swinford Manor to pay his respects to Miss Rowley and hold a consultation with her.

On his arrival, he was requested, after a brief delay, to join Miss Rowley in the conservatory, where he found her engaged in a vehement altercation with her head gardener.

'How do you do?' said she. 'I am very glad to see you, and I shall be still more glad if you happen to possess an elementary knowledge of horticulture. Even if you don't, I am sure you will agree with me that one ought to have some flowers out of all one's acres of glass.'

'You seem to have a pretty good show,' remarked Frank, glancing at the camellias and gardenias by which he was surrounded.

'Oh, we have got plenty of these things-who hasn't? But, if you will believe me, I haven't a single rose-literally not one! And when I ask Peter what is the use of a winter rose-house, he only sniffs and looks at me with pitying contempt.'

'Them roses is making fine wood, miss,' observed Mr. Chervil composedly.

You never would dare to say such a thing as that, Peter, if you didn't hope to expose my ignorance. As if roses made wood