lent scorn, the manner in which she flung her needle
through the canvas, working out her rage, were full of entertainment to
the Contessa. She was not irritated by the girl's resentment; it even
took off her thoughts from the primary matter to watch this exhibition
of feeling. She gave vent to a little laugh as she noted how the needle
flew.

"Cara! I was nasty when I said that. I did not mean it. I suffered
myself to talk as one talks in the world. You are not of the world--it
is not applicable to you."

"Yes, Madama, I am of the world," cried Bice. "What have I known else?
But I did not mean to become Milady's friend, as you say. It was by
accident. I was in the gallery only to amuse myself, and she came--it
was not intention. I think that Milady is----"

Here Bice stopped, looked up from the sudden fervour of her working,
threw back her head, and said nothing more.

"That Milady is--what?" the Contessa cried.

A laugh so joyous, so childish, that no one could have refused to be
sympathetic, burst from Bice's lips. She gave her patroness a look of
merriment and derision, in which there was something tender and sweet.
"Milady is--sorry for me," she said.

This speech had a strange effect upon the Contessa. She coloured, and
the tears seemed to flood in a moment to her eyes. "Poor child!" she
said--"poor child! She has reason. But that amuses you, Bice mia," she
said, in a voice full of the softest caressing, looking at her through
those sudden tears. The Contessa was an adventuress, and she had brought
up this girl after her own traditions; but it was clear as they looked
at each other that they loved each other. There was perfect confidence
between them. Bice looked with fearless laughing eyes, and a sense of
the absurdity of the fact that some one was sorry for her, into the face
of her friend.

"She thinks I would be happier if I worked. To give lessons to little
children and be their slave would be better, she thinks. To know nothing
and see nothing, but live far away from the world and be independent,
and take no trouble about my looks, or, if I please--that is Milady's
way of thinking," Bice said.

The Contessa's face softened more and more as she looked at the girl.
There even dropped a tear from her full eyes. She shook her head. "I am
not sure," she said, "dear child, that I am not of Milady's opinion.
There are ways in which it is better. Sometimes I think I was most happy
when I was like that--with