care of me, and
I have never been known in the world. But, dear, if this poor lady has
no one--and I suppose she is a widow, is she not, Tom?"

He had been listening to her almost with emotion--with a half-abashed
look, full of fondness and admiration. But at this question he drew back
a little, with a sort of stagger, and burst into a wild fit of laughter.
When he came to himself wiping his eyes, he was, there could be no
doubt, ashamed of himself. "I beg you ten thousand pardons," he cried.
"Lucy, my darling! Yes, yes--I suppose she is a widow, as you say."

Lucy looked at him while he laughed, with profound gravity, without the
slightest inclination to join in his merriment, which is a thing which
has a very uncomfortable effect. She waited till he was done, with a
mixture of wonder and disapproval in her seriousness, looking at his
laughter as if at some phenomenon which she did not understand. "I have
often heard gentlemen," she said, "talk about widows as if it were a
sort of laughable name, and as if they might make their jokes as they
pleased. But I did not think you would have done it, Tom. I should feel
all the other way," said Lucy. "I should think I could never do enough
to make it up, if that were possible, and to make them forget. Is it
their fault that they are left desolate, that a man should laugh?" She
turned away from her husband with a soft superiority of innocence and
true feeling which struck him dumb.

He begged her pardon in the most abject way; and then he left her for a
moment quietly, and had his laugh out. But he was ashamed of himself all
the same. "I wonder what she will say when she sees the Forno-Populo,"
he said to himself.

CHAPTER XVII.

FOREWARNED.

Lucy did not see her visitors till the hour of dinner. She had expected
them to appear in the afternoon at the mystic hour of tea, which calls
an English household together, but when it was represented to her that
afternoon tea was not the same interesting institution in Italy, her
surprise ceased, and though her expectations were still more warmly
excited by this delay, she bore it with becoming patience. There was no
doubt, however, that the arrival had made a great commotion in the
house, and Lucy perceived without in the least understanding it, a
peculiarity in the looks which various of the people around her cast
upon her during the course of the day. Her own maid was one of these
people, and Mrs. Freshwater, the house