f remark and gossip had taken a new turn. Indeed, Beatrice had
made an effort to change it.

"It is long, my Lord," said she, still speaking Italian, "since I have
heard sentiments like those you address to me; and if I do not feel
myself wholly unworthy of them, it is from the pleasure I have felt in
reading sentiments equally foreign to the language of the world in which
I live." She took a book from the table as she spoke: "Have you seen
this work?"

Harley glanced at the title-page. "To be sure I have, and I know the
author."

"I envy you that honour. I should so like also to know one who has
discovered to me deeps in my own heart which I had never explored."

"Charming marchesa, if the book has done this, believe me that I have
paid you no false compliment,--formed no overflattering estimate of your
nature; for the charm of the work is but in its simple appeal to good
and generous emotions, and it can charm none in whom those emotions
exist not!"

"Nay, that cannot be true, or why is it so popular?"

"Because good and generous emotions are more common to the human heart
than we are aware of till the appeal comes."

"Don't ask me to think that! I have found the world so base."

"Pardon me a rude question; but what do you know of the world?"

Beatrice looked first in surprise at Harley, then glanced round the room
with significant irony.

"As I thought; you call this little room 'the world.' Be it so. I will
venture to say, that if the people in this room were suddenly converted
into an audience before a stage, and you were as consummate in the
actor's art as you are in all others that please and command--"

"Well?"

"And were to deliver a speech full of sordid and base sentiments, you
would be hissed. But let any other woman, with half your powers,
arise and utter sentiments sweet and womanly, or honest and lofty, and
applause would flow from every lip, and tears rush to many a worldly
eye. The true proof of the inherent nobleness of our common nature is
in the sympathy it betrays with what is noble wherever crowds are
collected. Never believe the world is base; if it were so, no society
could hold together for a day. But you would know the author of this
book? I will bring him to you."

"Do."

"And now," said Harley, rising, and with his candid, winning smile, "do
you think we shall ever be friends?"

"You have startled me so that I can scarcely answer. But why would you
be friends with me?"