oman to appeal to Marco with the threefold lure of
spirit, mind, and flesh. Though he had spoken much of Sophy to his
mother, since his return from England, with frank admiration and
compassion for her sad fate in being married to such a man as Chesney,
he had not given the slightest impression of being _amoureux d'elle_.
But there came over the Marchesa a strong prescience of danger--of
something to be guarded against. Should Marco see too much of Mrs.
Chesney, should he become "in love" with her, why, then there was here
no passing _liaison_ to be considered, but something of the nature of
tragedy. Not only was Marco bound by his disastrous marriage, but here
was a woman doubly bound--not only by marriage, but by motherhood. A bad
mother may make an enchanting mistress, but a bad mother will never make
a true wife. The Marchesa knew her Marco well. She knew that, should he
love a woman of Sophy's type, he would not want her for a mistress, but
for a wife. That was what love--the one big, crowning love--would mean
to Marco. Now if in future he should love this woman and she him, and
should give up her son for him--she would not be what his love had
imagined. If she should not give up her son--his love must burn out in
bitterness.

Yes, she must watch; she must be wise as many serpents and harmless as a
flock of doves; but she must also be prepared, at the first sign of real
danger, to give Marco a word of serious warning. This action on her part
would have all the more weight with him as she rarely, almost never,
interfered in his personal affairs.

And all the time that she was thus reflecting, she smoked Sophy's
gold-tipped cigarettes and chatted pleasantly.

Sophy heard with delight that the Marchesa was returning to the Lake the
next afternoon by the same train on which she also was going.

* * * * *

She was early at the station. It thrilled her to read the placards with
such lovely, well-known names on them. _Como!_--They passed that sign on
their way to the carriages bound for Lago Maggiore. It seemed very odd
to see that name of romance written upon a railway carriage.

Amaldi and his mother joined her shortly. As they settled down
comfortably in the queer little carriage, Amaldi bought copies of the
leading Milan papers and handed them in through the window. To Sophy's
surprise, when he entered the carriage a few minutes later, he laid a
fresh copy of _Harper's_ on the seat