was like Desdemona, and did not believe that there were such women. She
thought it was "fun," such fun as she sometimes saw in the newspapers,
and considered as vulgar as it was foolish. Such words could not be used
in respect to anything Sir Tom said, but even in her husband it was not
good taste, Lucy thought. She smiled at the reference to Mrs. Williams
with a kind of quiet disdain, but it never occurred to her that she too
might require to be kept in the dark.

"I dare say most of what you are talking is nonsense," she said; "but if
Madame Forno ----"--Lucy was not very sure of the name, and
hesitated--"is really very tired, perhaps it may be kindness not to
disturb her. I hope she will go to bed, and get a thorough rest. Did she
not get your second letter, Tom? and what a thing it is that dear baby
is so much better, and that we can really pay a little attention to
her."

"Either she did not get my letter, or I didn't write, I cannot say which
it was, Lucy. But now we have got her we must pay attention to her, as
you say. You will have to get up a few dinner parties, and ask some
people to stay. She will like to see the humours of the wilderness while
she is in it."

"The wilderness--but, Tom, everybody says society is so good in the
county."

"Everybody does not know the Forno-Populo," cried Sir Tom; and then he
burst out into a great laugh. "I wonder what her Grace will say to the
Contessa; they have met before now."

"Must we ask the Duchess?" cried Lucy, with awe and alarm, coming a
little nearer to her husband's side.

But Sir Tom did nothing but laugh. "I've seen a few passages of arms,"
he said. "By Jove, you don't know what war is till you see two ---- at
it tooth and nail. Two--what, Lucy? Oh, I mean fine ladies; they have no
mercy. Her Grace will set her claws into the fair countess. And as for
the Forno-Populo herself----"

"Dear Tom" said Lucy with gentle gravity, "Is it nice to speak of ladies
so? If any one called me the Randolph, I should be, oh, so----"

"You," cried her husband with a hot and angry colour rising to his very
hair, and then he perceived that he was betraying himself, and paused.
"You see, my love, that's different," he said. "Madame di Forno-Populo
is--an old stager: and you are very young, and nobody ever thought of
you but with--reverence, my dear. Yes, that's the word, Lucy, though you
are only a bit of a girl."

"Tom," said Lucy with great dignity, "I have you to take