nd grieved, and grew sick at
heart as the days went on. He had let his political ambitions slide, and
lingered there as being nearer his adored one, instead of going home.

Now love was playing his sad pranks with all of them, and the Princess
Torniloni was receiving her share. The constant companionship of Henry
had not made her feelings more calm. She was really in love with him
with all that was best and greatest in her sweet nature, and it was
changing her every idea. She was even getting a little vicarious
happiness out of being a sympathetic friend, and as he grew sad and
restless, so she became more gentle and tender, and watched over him
like a fond mother with a child. She would not look ahead or face the
fact that he had grown too dear; she was living her Indian summer, she
told herself, and would not see its end.

"How awfully good you are to me, Princess," he told her one afternoon,
as they walked together in the bright frosty air about a week after
Sabine had left them. "I never have known so kind a woman. You seem to
think of gentle and sympathetic things to say before one even asks for
your sympathy. How greatly I misjudged your nation before I knew you and
Sabine!"

"No, I don't think you did misjudge us in general," she replied. "Lots
of us are horrid when we are on the make, and those are the sorts you
generally meet in England. We would not go there, you see, if it was not
to get something. We can have everything material as good, if not
better, in our own country, only we can't get your repose, or your
atmosphere, and we are growing so much cleverer and richer every year
that we hate to think there is something we can't buy, and so we come
over to England and set to work to grab it from you!"

"How delightful you are!"

"I am only echoing Sabine, who has all the quaint ideas. In that pretty
young baby's head she thinks out evolution, and cause and effect, and
heredity, and every sort of deep tiresome thing!"

"Have you heard from her to-day, Princess?" Henry's voice was a little
anxious. She had not written to him.

"Yes."

"She seems to be in rather a queer mood. What has caused it, do you
know, dear friend?"

"I have not the slightest idea--it has puzzled me, too," and Moravia's
voice was perplexed. "Ever since the ball at your sister's she has been
changed in some way. Had you any quarrel or--jar, or difference of
opinion? Don't think I am asking from curiosity--I am really concerned."