rley suddenly sprang to his
feet,--Violante and Jemima entered. Lady Lansinere's eyes first rested
on the daughter, and she could scarcely refrain from an exclamation of
admiring surprise; but then, when she caught sight of Mrs. Riccabocca's
somewhat humble, yet not obsequious mien,--looking a little shy, a
little homely, yet still thoroughly a gentlewoman (though of your plain,
rural kind of that genus), she turned from the daughter, and with the
savoir vivre of the fine old school, paid her first respects to the
wife; respects literally, for her manner implied respect,--but it
was more kind, simple, and cordial than the respect she had shown to
Riccabocca; as the sage himself had said, here "it was Woman to Woman."
And then she took Violante's hand in both hers, and gazed on her as if
she could not resist the pleasure of contemplating so much beauty. "My
son," she said softly, and with a half sigh,--"my son in vain told me
not to be surprised. This is the first time I have ever known reality
exceed description!"

Violante's blush here made her still more beautiful; and as the countess
returned to Riccabocca, she stole gently to Helen's side.

"Miss Digby, my ward," said Harley, pointedly, observing that his
mother had neglected her duty of presenting Helen to the ladies. He then
reseated himself, and conversed with Mrs. Riccabocca; but his bright,
quick eye glanced over at the two girls. They were about the same
age--and youth was all that, to the superficial eye, they seemed to have
in common. A greater contrast could not well be conceived; and, what is
strange, both gained by it. Violante's brilliant loveliness seemed yet
more dazzling, and Helen's fair, gentle face yet more winning. Neither
had mixed much with girls of her own age; each took to the other at
first sight. Violante, as the less shy, began the conversation.

"You are his ward,--Lord L'Estrange's?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps you came with him from Italy?"

"No, not exactly; but I have been in Italy for some years."

"Ah! you regret--nay, I am foolish--you return to your native land.
But the skies in Italy are so blue,--here it seems as if Nature wanted
colours."

"Lord L'Estrange says that you were very young when you left Italy; you
remember it well. He, too, prefers Italy to England."

"He! Impossible!"

"Why impossible, fair sceptic?" cried Harley, interrupting himself in
the midst of a speech to Jemima.

Violante had not dreamed that she could