Netta repaired to the drawing-room, and threw herself on to the
uncomfortable sofa, struggling with her tears. For about a fortnight
after her marriage she had imagined herself in love with Melrose; then
when the personal illusion was gone, the illusion of position and wealth
persisted. He might be queer, and behave queerly in Italy. But when they
returned to England she would find herself the wife of a rich English
gentleman, and the gingerbread would once more be gilt. Alack! a few
weeks in a poor London Lodging with no money to spend on the shops which
tempted her woman's cupidity at every step; Edmund's final refusal, first
laughing, then stubborn, to present her to "my devilish relations"; the
complete indifference shown to her wishes as to the furnishings of the
Tower; these various happenings had at last brought her to an unwelcome
commerce with the bare truth. She had married a selfish eccentric, who
had chosen her for a caprice and was now tired of her. She had not a
farthing, nor any art or skill by which to earn one. Her family was as
penniless as herself. There was nothing for it but to submit. But her
temper and spirits had begun steadily to give way.

_Firenze!_ As she sat in her cheerless drawing-room, hating its ugly
shabbiness, and penetrated with the damp chill of the house, there swept
through her a vision of the Piazza del Duomo, as she had last seen it on
a hot September evening. A blaze of light--delicious all-prevailing
warmth--the moist bronzed faces of the men--the girls with the look of
physical content that comes in hot countries with the evening--the sun
flooding with its last gold, now the new marbles of the _facciata_,
now the alabaster and bronze of the Baptistery, and now the moving
crowds--the flowers-baskets--the pigeons--

She lifted her eyes with a sobbing breath, and saw the gray
cloud-curtain--the neglected garden--the solitary pony in the