a simple little thing, but it had charmed her. It was merely a
bouquet of English wild flowers; but then they were so naturally
painted! The bluebells looked as though they had just been
gathered. One almost fancied dew drops on the delicate wild
roses; a spray of pink hawthorn, daisies and golden buttercups
mingled with woodbine and meadow-sweet, told sweet stories of the
English meadows.

"Whoever painted that," said the fair countess, "loves flowers,
and knows what English flowers mean."

The countess did not rest until Ronald had been introduced to
her, and then she would know his wife. Her grave, silent husband
smiled at her evident admiration of the handsome young
Englishman. She liked his clear, Saxon face and fair hair; she
liked his simple, kindly manner, so full of chivalry and truth.
She liked pretty Dora, too; but there were times when the dainty,
fastidious countess looked at the young wife in wonder, for, as
she said one evening to her husband:

"There is something in Mrs. Thorne that puzzles me--she does not
always speak or look like a lady--"

Few days passed without bringing Ronald and Dora to the Villa
Rosali. It would have been better for Ronald had he never left
his pretty home on the banks of the Arno.


Chapter X