ionships!" he murmured, and joined his sister at the brilliant
window, through which, from the distance, the many-voiced uproar of
Naples came in.

"He married first my sister Dora, and she died five years ago. Then he
married _her_," and Mrs. Percival nodded at the princess.

Benyon's eyes went back to the portrait; he could see what she meant--it
stared out at him. "Her? Georgina?"

"Georgina Gressie. Gracious, do you know her?"

It was very distinct--that answer of Mrs. Percival's, and the question
that followed it as well. But he had the resource of the picture; he
could look at it, seem to take it very seriously, though it danced up
and down before him. He felt that he was turning red, then he felt that
he was turning pale. "The brazen impudence!" That was the way he
could speak to himself now of the woman he had once loved, and whom he
afterwards hated, till this had died out, too. Then the wonder of it was
lost in the quickly growing sense that it would make a difference
for him,--a great difference. Exactly what, he didn't see yet; only a
difference that swelled and swelled as he thought of it, and caught up,
in its expansion, the girl who stood behind him so quietly, looking into
the Italian garden.

The custodian drew Mrs. Percival away to show her another princess,
before Benyon answered her last inquiry. This gave him time to recover
from his first impulse, which had been to answer it with a negative;
he saw in a moment that an admission of his acquaintance with Mrs. Roy
(Mrs. Roy!--it was prodigious!) was necessarily helping him to learn
more. Besides, it needn't be compromising. Very likely Mrs. Percival
would hear one day that he had once wanted to marry her. So, when he
joined his companions a minute later he remarked that he had known Miss
Gressie years before, and had even admired her considerably, but had
lost sight of her entirely in later days. She had been a great beauty,
and it was a wonder that she had not married earlier. Five years ago,
was it? No, it was only two. He had been going to say that in so long a
time it would have been singular he should not have heard of it. He had
been away from New York for ages; but one always heard of marriages and
deaths. This was a proof, though two years was rather long. He led Mrs.
Percival insidiously into a further room, in advance of the others,
to whom the cicerone returned. She was delighted to talk about her
"connections," and she supplied him wi