o
the best advantage, then she took her seat, never even looking in that
direction, and saying nothing to her son.

It was just like laying a trap for a bird--he fell into it with the same
helplessness.

Lady Lanswell neither looked at Lady Erskine nor her son, yet she knew
exactly the moment when his eyes first fell on her. She saw him start;
then she sat quite still, waiting for the question she knew must follow.

It came at last.

"Mother," he said, "who is that beautiful girl?"

My lady looked at him with languid eyes.

"What beautiful girl, Lance? There are so many."

"An English girl, I am sure. She has a string of pearls in her hair. Who
can she be?"

Still Lady Lanswell feigned ignorance. She looked on the wrong side of
the room, and she affected not to understand where he meant, and when
she could affect no longer, she said:

"Do you mean Lady Marion Erskine, the young lady near Princess Golza?"

"Yes, it must be Lady Erskine," he replied. "How beautiful she is,
mother. She shines like a fair pearl with that background of dark
tapestry. I heard some one say yesterday that she was in Rome. What a
perfect face."

My lady looked at it coldly.

"Do you think so, Lance?" she said. "I thought that you gave the
preference to dark beauties."

His heart went back for one moment to the beautiful, passionate face he
had seen by the mill stream. The gorgeous _salon_, the beautiful women,
the peerless face of Lady Marion, the exquisite music, all floated away
from him, and he was once more by the mill-stream, with Leone's face
before him. So strong, so vivid was the memory, that it was with
difficulty he refrained from calling the name aloud.

My lady guessed by the sudden expression of pain on his face where his
thoughts had gone. She recalled them.

"Tastes differ so greatly," she said. "Do you really consider Lady
Marion beautiful, Lance?"

"Yes, I have seen no one more lovely," he answered.

Then the countess dismissed the subject--too much must not be said at
once. She did not mention Lady Marion's name again that evening, but she
saw that her son looked often at her, and she smiled to think the bait
had taken.

Again they were walking through the vast gardens of one of the Roman
palaces, when the whole party met. Lady Cambrey was with her niece; Lord
Chandos was near the countess, but not close by her side. The ladies
met, exchanged a few words, then parted, the countess not having made
the le