delicacy and reserve. I knew all the while that I
might be wasting chances, and I endured a good deal of trouble on that
account. But four whole weeks went by before I ventured to obey her
invitation to call, and by that time I was sore afraid that she had
forgotten all about me.

It was Lady Rollinson herself who received me; a fat and comfortable
lady of something more than fifty, as I should judge, though it is a
perilous thing for a man to be meddling with guesses at a lady's age.
She looked as if she could enjoy a good dinner, and as if she liked to
have things soft and cosey about her; but in spite of that, she wore a
countenance of pronounced kindliness, and received me, so to speak, with
open arms. Her son, Jack, had inspired her with all manner of absurd
beliefs about me, and she praised me to my face about my courage until
I felt inclined to prove it by running away from an old woman. I
assured her of what was actually the fact, that Jack's rescue was a very
ordinary business, and accompanied by very little danger to myself; but
this set her praising my modesty (which has never been my strong point),
and I thought it best to turn the conversation. I ventured to hope that
Miss Rossano was well.

"I am very sorry to tell you," said Lady Rollinson, "that Miss Rossano
is very unwell indeed. She has been greatly upset this morning. We have
had the strangest news, and I don't know whether we ought to believe it
or not. I don't think I have ever been so flustered in my life; and as
for Violet, poor dear, it's no wonder that she's disturbed by it, for
she's one of the tenderest-hearted girls in the world, and the idea that
she has been happy all the time is quite enough to kill anybody, I am
sure."

Lady Rollinson rambled in this wise, and if I had had nothing to go
on beforehand I should not have been able to make head or tail of her
discourse; but Brunow's story flashed into my mind in a second, and I
was sure that in some fashion it had reached Miss Rossano's ears. She
gave me no time to offer a question, even if I had been disposed to do
it, but started off again at once, and put all chance of doubt to rest.

"Poor Violet doesn't remember her father, for he has been supposed to be
dead this twenty years; but he was the Conte di Rossano, a very handsome
and charming young Italian gentleman, and I remember his courting
Violet's mother as if it were only yesterday. The poor dear girl has the
right to call hersel