le
directly," she had said, in her dry tones.

Cecilia had departed, crest-fallen, mortified, with some vague
remembrance of a father who had not thus dismissed her. To be sure,
the count had sent her, later in the day, a gift of bonbons as
atonement for mamma's snubbing--one of those white satin boots,
mounted on a gilded rink skate, from Spillman's, in the Via Condotti.
_He_ was never cross, only a big playfellow, all amiability, little
clever tricks, frolic, easily tyrannized over, and serenely content
to spin balls or sift cards all day long for a child's amusement. They
had known him two or three years; he was their oldest friend abroad;
he came and went at all hours. The count was a great gentleman, too,
of princely lineage, easy, graceful, and elegant. How kind he was to
interest himself in the Denvils, when they were strangers in a foreign
land! The young girl had ample leisure for these reflections in her
hiding-place. She whispered to the image, demanding what it thought of
these croakers. The world was so beautiful, and people so kind. Then
the two visitors were replaced by a bevy of ladies, and amid the
rustlings of more silken draperies on the floor and the taps of heeled
shoes, Cecilia heard her mother exclaim:

"What a horrid man! I am always relieved when he departs, and yet one
meets him everywhere. He told me that frightful scandal about Lady
B---- (and no doubt it is true, unfortunately) as if he enjoyed the
recital."

A moment before Mrs. Denvil had said:

"Going so soon, Major Kettledrum? I am always delighted to see you."

Now the sofa creaked beneath the weight of two dowagers.

"How soon they lose their republican simplicity over here!" said one,
sipping a cup of tea.

"Oh, and they say the husband in America would not be presentable--a
common sort of man; a carpenter, I believe," retorted the other.

"Hush! A little more sugar, dear Mrs. Denvil. Thanks."

Finally the rustling of dresses and murmur of voices ceased; Cecilia
crept out of her retreat unperceived. She no longer sought a niche
for San Donato in the salon. It seemed to her that the statue did
not belong there. Mademoiselle had a headache; Cecilia ate her
supper alone. Heaven had given her the precious gift of a thoughtful
consideration for others. She took her own cologne flask to
mademoiselle's room and bathed the sufferer's temples.

"Mademoiselle, did St. Cecilia despise the world?"

"Surely. She was a holy woman."