an be dreamed of, when they are passing _through_ the
furnace fires. They come after--or before."

Osmonde did not speak. He raised his eyes and met those of his
illustrious companion squarely, and for a short space each looked into
the soul of the other, it so seemed, though not a word was spoke.

"You did not say the thing before," the Duke commented at last. "You
will not say it after."

"No, I shall not," answered Osmonde, and somewhat later he added, with
flushed cheek, "I thank your Grace for your comprehension of an
unspoken thing."

Distant as he was from Gloucestershire there seemed a smiling fortune
in the chances by which his thought was fed. What time had wrought he
heard as time went on--that her graces but developed with opportunity,
that her wit matched her beauty, that those who talked gossip asked
each other in these days, not what disgrace would be her downfall, but
what gentleman of those who surrounded her, paying court, would be most
likely to be smiled upon at last. From young Tantillion he heard such
things, from talkative young officers back after leave of absence, and
more than once from ladies who, travelling from England to reach
foreign gayeties, brought with them the latest talk of the country as
well as of the town.

From the old Lady Storms, whom he encountered in Vienna, he heard more
than from any other. She had crossed the Channel with her Chaplain, her
spaniel, her toady, and her parrot, in search of enlivenment for her
declining years, and hearing that her Apollo Belvidere was within
reach, sent a message saying she would coax him to come and make love
to an old woman, who adored him as no young one could, and whose time
hung heavy on her hands.

He went to her because she was a kindly, witty old woman, and had
always avowed an affection for him, and when he arrived at her lodgings
he found her ready to talk by the hour. All the gossip of the Court she
knew, all the marriages being made or broken off, all the public
stories of her Grace of Marlborough's bullyings of her Majesty and
revilings of Mrs. Masham, and many which were spiced by being private
and new. And as she chattered over her dish of chocolate and my lord
Duke listened with the respect due her years, he knew full well that
her stories would not be brought to a close without reaching
Gloucestershire at last--or Warwickshire or Worcester, or even Berks or
Wilts, where she would have heard some romance she would repea