the eyes of ladies who tabooed the name of the Casino. But there was no
gossip, no scandal: for somehow in "St. George" Winter's house one felt
warmly disposed even to one's enemies; and no unkind words were spoken
by any one except General Caradine. He, who had a habit of mumbling his
secret thoughts aloud unconsciously, was heard to mutter: "Same old
crew: same dull lot, year after year, world without end. Damned tired of
'em!"

This party cleared the air for Mary. Engaged to Prince Vanno Della
Robbia, approved by his elder brother, and the guest of the popular
Winters, those who counted in the great world were quite ready to forget
that she had been "rather talked about," or else to like her all the
better for that reason. It was only the people who were on the fringe of
things, like Mrs. Cayley-Binns, or beyond the pale, like Mrs. Holbein or
Lady Dauntrey, who bitterly remembered her eccentricities.

The day after Rose's "At Home" for Miss Grant was Mary's last as the
Winters' guest. Princess Della Robbia wanted her at the Villa Mirasole,
and Vanno wished her to go. He had written to tell the Duke of his
engagement; and as his father begged him to come home and talk it over,
he thought of leaving soon, for three or four days. He felt that, if he
must part from Mary, he would like her to be at his brother's house.

While Rose's maid obligingly packed her things, Mary went out on that
last afternoon for a walk with Vanno. He had a special object in view,
it seemed, but intended it to be a surprise.

First, he took her to the rock of the tablet, "Remember eternal at my
heart." It was early, and fashionable folk were still lingering over
their luncheons at the restaurants, therefore the two had the long road,
in curve after curve of dusty whiteness, all to themselves, as if hour
and place were both their own.

"It was here we first spoke to each other," Vanno said, "here where
another man of Italy who loved a girl of your country had the great
moment of his life to remember. Something made me speak to you at this
spot. Perhaps where love has been--everlasting love--it leaves an
influence always, something stronger and more eternal and far more
subtle than words carved in a tablet of marble or stone. Who can tell
about such things in life, things that are in life yet beyond and behind
it, where we can catch only whispers of a message and a mystery?
Perhaps it was the influence of that other love which made me speak i