aughing at some one, but this time I don't think it's at me."

"I didn't mean to laugh," said Isabel. "I laugh very seldom. Now you had
better go away."

"I feel very safe!" Rosier declared without moving. This might be; but
it evidently made him feel more so to make the announcement in rather
a loud voice, balancing himself a little complacently on his toes and
looking all round the Coliseum as if it were filled with an audience.
Suddenly Isabel saw him change colour; there was more of an audience
than he had suspected. She turned and perceived that her two companions
had returned from their excursion. "You must really go away," she said
quickly. "Ah, my dear lady, pity me!" Edward Rosier murmured in a voice
strangely at variance with the announcement I have just quoted. And then
he added eagerly, like a man who in the midst of his misery is seized by
a happy thought: "Is that lady the Countess Gemini? I've a great desire
to be presented to her."

Isabel looked at him a moment. "She has no influence with her brother."

"Ah, what a monster you make him out!" And Rosier faced the Countess,
who advanced, in front of Pansy, with an animation partly due perhaps
to the fact that she perceived her sister-in-law to be engaged in
conversation with a very pretty young man.

"I'm glad you've kept your enamels!" Isabel called as she left him. She
went straight to Pansy, who, on seeing Edward Rosier, had stopped short,
with lowered eyes. "We'll go back to the carriage," she said gently.

"Yes, it's getting late," Pansy returned more gently still. And she
went on without a murmur, without faltering or glancing back. Isabel,
however, allowing herself this last liberty, saw that a meeting had
immediately taken place between the Countess and Mr. Rosier. He had
removed his hat and was bowing and smiling; he had evidently introduced
himself, while the Countess's expressive back displayed to Isabel's eye
a gracious inclination. These facts, none the less, were presently lost
to sight, for Isabel and Pansy took their places again in the carriage.
Pansy, who faced her stepmother, at first kept her eyes fixed on her
lap; then she raised them and rested them on Isabel's. There shone out
of each of them a little melancholy ray--a spark of timid passion which
touched Isabel to the heart. At the same time a wave of envy passed over
her soul, as she compared the tremulous longing, the definite ideal
of the child with her own dry despair. "Po