erfectly suitable to its
wearer. Her gloves, her shoes, were no less perfect; from head to foot
nothing was to be found that did not become her, that was not faultless
in its kind.

At the same time, nothing that suggested idle expense or vanity. To
dwell at all upon the subject would be a disproportion, but for the
note of contrast that was struck. In an assembly of well-dressed
people, no one would have remarked Cecily's attire, unless to praise
its quiet distinction. In the Spences' sitting-room it became another
matter; it gave emphasis to differences of character; it distinguished
the atmosphere of Cecily's life from that breathed by her old friends.

"We are going to read together Goethe's 'Italienische Reise,'"
continued Mrs. Lessingham. "It was of quite infinite value to me when I
first was here. In each town I _tuned_ my thoughts by it, to use a
phrase which sounds like affectation, but has a very real significance."

"It was much the same with me," observed Spence.

"Yes, but you had the inestimable advantage of knowing the classics.
And Cecily, I am thankful to say, at least has something of Latin; an
ode of Horace, which I look at with fretfulness, yields her its
meaning. Last night, when I was tired and willing to be flattered, she
tried to make me believe it was not yet too late to learn."

"Surely not," said Eleanor, gracefully.

"But Goethe--you remember he says that the desire to see Italy had
become an illness with him. I know so well what that means. Cecily will
never know; the happiness has come before longing for it had ceased to
be a pleasure."

It was not so much affection as pride that her voice expressed when she
referred to her niece; the same in her look, which was less tender than
gratified and admiring. Cecily smiled in return, but was not wholly
attentive; her eyes constantly turned to Miriam, endeavouring, though
vainly, to exchange a glance.

Mrs. Lessingham was well aware of the difficulty of addressing to Mrs.
Baske any remark on natural topics which could engage her sympathy, yet
to ignore her presence was impossible.

"Do you think of seeing Rome and the northern cities when your health
is established?" she inquired, in a voice which skilfully avoided any
presumption of the reply. "Or shall you return by sea?"

"I am not a very good sailor," answered Miriam, with sufficient
suavity, "and I shall probably go back by land. But I don't think I
shall stop anywhere."

"It wil