e blue shadows in the crowded
streets. The Countess Fortiguerra was pleasantly aware that every man
under seventy turned to look after her daughter, from the smart old
colonel of cavalry in his perfect uniform to the ragged and haggard
waifs who sold wax matches at the corners of the streets. She was not in
the least jealous of her, as mothers have been before now, and perhaps
she was able to enjoy vicariously what she herself had never had, but
had often wished for, the gift of nature which instantly fixes the
attention of the other sex.

"Why did you not tell me?" asked Cecilia, after a silence that had
lasted five minutes.

The Countess pretended not to understand, coloured a little, and tried
to look surprised.

"Why did you not tell me that you and the Princess wish me to marry her
nephew?"

This was direct, and an answer was necessary. The Countess laughed
soothingly.

"Dear child!" she cried, "it is impossible to deceive you! We only
wished that you two might meet, and perhaps like each other."

"Well," answered Cecilia, "we have met."

The answer was not encouraging, and she did not seem inclined to say
more of her own accord, but her mother could not restrain a natural
curiosity.

"Yes," she said, in a conciliatory tone, "but how do you like him?"

Cecilia seemed to be hesitating for a moment.

"Very much," she answered, unexpectedly, after the pause.

The Countess was so much pleased that she coloured again. She had never
been able to hide what she felt, and she secretly envied people who
never blushed.

"I am so glad!" she said. "I was sure you would like each other."

"It does not follow that because I like him, he likes me," answered
Cecilia, quietly. "And even if he does, that is not a reason why we
should marry. I may never marry at all."

"How can you say such things!" cried the Countess, not at all satisfied.

Cecilia shrank a little in her corner of the deep phaeton and
instinctively drew the edges of her little silk mantle together over her
chest, as if to protect herself from something.

"You know," she said, almost sharply.

"I shall never understand you," her mother sighed.

"Give me time to understand myself, mother," answered the young girl,
suddenly unbending. "I am only eighteen; I have never been into the
world, and the mere idea of marrying----"

She stopped short, and her firm lips closed tightly.

"No, I do not understand," said the Countess. "The thought of marria