dy
Chandos a beautiful costume of pale-blue velvet, the long train of which
was fastened with white, shining pearls.

It was like the meeting of rival queens. Leone's face flushed, Lady
Marion's grew deadly pale. Leone held out her hand; Lady Marion declined
to see it. They looked at each other for a brief space of time, then
Leone spoke.

"Lady Marion," she said, in a low, pained voice, "have I displeased
you?"

"Yes, you have," was the brief reply.

"You will not touch my hand?" said Leone.

"No, I decline to touch your hand," said Lady Marion; "I decline to
speak to you after this."

"Will you tell me why?" asked Leone.

Lady Marion's face flushed crimson.

"Since you ask me, I will tell you. You have been seeking my husband,
and I do not approve of it. You spent a day with him on the river--he
never told me about it. I am not a jealous wife, but I despise any woman
who would seek to take the love of a husband from his wife."

Conscience, which makes cowards of us all, kept Leone silent.

Lady Chandos continued:

"What is there between my husband and you?"

"True friendship," answered Leone, trying to speak bravely.

"I do not believe it," said Lady Chandos; "true friendship does not hide
itself, or make mystery of its actions. Madame Vanira, I loved you when
I first saw you; I take my love and my liking both from you. Now that I
find that you have acted treacherously I believe in you no more."

"Those are strong words, Lady Chandos," said Leone.

"They are true; henceforth we are strangers. My friends are honorable
women, who would seek to steal my jewels rather than seek to steal from
me my husband's love."

Leone could have retaliated; the temptation was strong; she could have
said:

"He was my husband, as I believed, before he was yours; you stole him
from me, not I from you."

The temptation was strong, the words leaped in a burning torrent from
her heart to her lips; she repressed them for his sake and bore the
crushing words without reply.

"I have always heard," she said, "that there was ample reason that
singers, even though they be queens of song, should not be admitted into
the heart of one's home; now I see the justice of it; they are not
satisfied with legitimate triumphs. You, Madame Vanira, have not been
contented with my liking and friendship, with the hospitality of my
home, but you must seek to take my husband's interest, time, affection."

"Are you not judging me harshly,