r for no hard replies. With him near her she would have
enjoyed the soft air, and would have sat happy, without trouble,
lapped in the delight of loving. It was thus that Fornarina sat. And
why should not such a lot have been hers? Her Raphael would have
loved her, let them say what they would about his cruelty.

Poor, wretched, overburthened child, to whom the commonest lessons of
life had not yet been taught, and who had now fallen into the hands
of one who was so ill-fitted to teach them! Who would not pity her?
Who could say that the fault was hers? The world had laden her with
wealth till she had had no limb free for its ordinary uses, and then
had turned her loose to run her race!

"Have you written to your cousin?" her husband asked her the next
morning. His voice, as he spoke, clearly showed that his anger was
either over or suppressed.

"Yes; I have asked her to come and drive, and then to stay for
dinner. I shall send the carriage for her if she can come. The man is
to wait for an answer."

"Very well," said Mr Palliser, mildly. And then, after a short pause,
he added, "As that is settled, perhaps you would have no objection to
ask Mrs Marsham also?"

"Won't she probably be engaged?"

"No; I think not," said Mr Palliser. And then he added, being ashamed
of the tinge of falsehood of which he would otherwise have been
guilty, "I know she is not engaged."

"She expects to come, then?" said Lady Glencora.

"I have not asked her, if you mean that, Glencora. Had I done so,
I should have said so. I told her that I did not know what your
engagements were."

"I will write to her, if you please," said the wife, who felt that
she could hardly refuse any longer.

"Do, my dear!" said the husband. So Lady Glencora did write to Mrs
Marsham, who promised to come,--as did also Alice Vavasor.

Lady Glencora would, at any rate, have Alice to herself for some
hours before dinner. At first she took comfort in that reflection;
but after a while she bethought herself that she would not know
what to tell Alice, or what not to tell. Did she mean to show that
letter to her cousin? If she did show it, then,--so she argued with
herself,--she must bring herself to endure the wretchedness of her
present lot, and must give up for ever all her dreams about Raphael
and Fornarina. If she did not show it,--or, at any rate, tell of
it,--then it would come to pass that she would leave her husband
under the protection of another man