lightness of touch, that it left great things as it found them, for great
things lay lightly on her soul. She told everybody she had been to Rome;
but imagination simply, refused to picture Mrs. Nevill Tyson in Rome. Her
presence in the Eternal City seemed something less than her footprint in
its dust or her shadow on its walls. Nothing is more irritating than to
have your dream of a place destroyed by the light-hearted gabble of some
idiot who has seen it; but Mrs. Nevill Tyson spared your dreams. The most
delicate ideal would have been undisturbed by the soft sweep of her
generalities, or the graceful flight of her fancy from the matter in
hand.

"There are a great many beautiful statues in the Vatican," said Sir Peter
in his dream.

"Oh, no end. And, talking of beautiful statues, we were introduced to the
most beautiful woman in Rome, the Countess--Countess--Countess--Nevill,
what _was_ that woman's name? Oh--I forget her name, but she was the
loveliest woman I ever saw in my life. Everybody was in love with
her--down on their knees groveling, you couldn't help it. Fancy, she
was engaged to ten people at once! I suppose she had ten engagement
rings--one for each finger, one for each man. I should never have known
which was which. But oh! I oughtn't to have told you. My husband said I
wasn't to talk about her. I don't see why--everybody was talking about
her!"

There was a chorus of protestation.

"And why shouldn't they talk about her, and why shouldn't she be engaged
to ten gentlemen at once? The more the merrier."