ms to
keep you. Oh! I could have been so happy if I had known these things in
time!"

"Yes, Morri, but Henry is not--like that. How must I satisfy him?"

Moravia lay back in her chair and discoursed meditatively.

"It is only the very noblest natures in men that women can be perfectly
frank with, and as good and kind and tender as they feel they would like
to be. Lord Fordyce is one of these. You could load him with devotion
and love, and he would never take advantage of you; but just to satisfy
him, Sabine, you need only be you, I expect!" and she looked fondly at
her friend. "Though, darling, I tell you, if you were too nice to him,
even he might turn upon you some day, probably. No woman can afford to
be really devoted to a man; they can't help being mean, and immediately
thinking the poor thing is of less consequence to please than some
capricious cat they cannot obtain!"

Sabine nodded, and Moravia went on: "But you need not fear! Henry will
adore you always--because you really don't care!" and she sighed a
little bitterly at the contrariness of things.

"It is good not to care, then?"

"Yes, I think so; for happiness in a home, the woman ought always to
love a little the less."

"Well, we shall be very happy, then," and Sabine echoed Moravia's sigh,
but much more bitterly.

"You will be good to him, dearest?" Moravia asked rather anxiously. "He
is the grandest character I have ever met in my life."

"Yes, I will be good to him."

"Just think!" Moravia, who had domestic instincts, now went on, in spite
of the personal anguish she was feeling about her own love for Henry.
"You may have the happiness soon of being the mother of a lovely little
son like Girolamo!" and she gave a great sigh as she looked into the
fire.

Sabine stiffened all over, and an expression of horrified repugnance and
dismay grew in her face, and she drew her breath in with a little gasp.
She had not faced this thought before, and she could not bear it now,
and got up quickly, saying she must go off and dress or she would be
late for dinner.

Moravia looked after her, full of wonder and foreboding for Henry. What
happiness could he expect if the woman he adored felt like that!

CHAPTER XX

Christmas Eve was particularly frosty and bright. The sun poured through
Sabine's windows high up when she woke, but her heart was heavy as lead.
She had not had a single word alone with Henry the night before, and
knew the dreaded _