y, shy
wife. Then the trial of Ronald Earle began in earnest. Had he lived
always away from the world, out of society, the chances are that his
fate would have been different; but invitations began to pour in upon
him and Dora, and Ronald, half tired of his solitude, although he never
suspected it, accepted them eagerly.

Dora did not like the change; she felt lonely and lost where Ronald was
so popular and so much at home.

Among those who eagerly sought Ronald's society was the pretty
coquette, the Countess Rosali, an English lady who had married the
Count Rosali, a Florentine noble of great wealth.

No one in Florence was half so popular as the fair countess. Among the
dark, glowing beauties of sunny Italy she was like a bright sunbeam.
Her fair, piquant face was charming from its delicate bright coloring
and gay smiles; her hair, of the rare color painted by the old masters,
yet so seldom seen, was of pure golden hue, looking always as though
the sun shone upon it.

Countess Rosali, there was no denying the fact, certainly did enjoy a
little flirtation. Her grave, serious husband knew it, and looked on
quite calmly. To his grave mind the pretty countess resembled a
butterfly far more than a rational being. He knew that, though she
might laugh and talk to others, though she might seek admiration and
enjoy delicate flattery, yet in her heart she was true as steel. She
loved bright colors, and everything else that was gay and brilliant.
She had gathered the roses; perhaps some one else had her share of
thorns.

The fair, dainty lady had a great desire to see Mr. Thorne. She had
seen one of his pictures at the house of one of her friends a simple
little thing, but it had charmed her. It was merely a bouquet of
English wild flowers; but then they were so naturally painted! The
bluebells looked as though they had just been gathered. One almost
fancied dew drops on the delicate wild roses; a spray of pink hawthorn,
daisies and golden buttercups mingled with woodbine and meadow-sweet,
told sweet stories of the English meadows.

"Whoever painted that," said the fair countess, "loves flowers, and
knows what English flowers mean."

The countess did not rest until Ronald had been introduced to her, and
then she would know his wife. Her grave, silent husband smiled at her
evident admiration of the handsome young Englishman. She liked his
clear, Saxon face and fair hair; she liked his simple, kindly manner,
s