so much for love; and there were times, after some brilliant fete
or soiree, when the remembrance of home, Dora, hard work, narrow
means, would come to him like a heavy weight or the shadow of a
dark cloud.

Not that he loved her less--pretty, tender Dora; but there was
not one feeling or taste in common between them. Harder men
would have tired of her long before. They never cared to speak
much of home, for Dora noticed that Ronald was always sad after a
letter from Lady Earle. The time came when she hesitated to
speak of her own parents, lest he should remember much that she
would have liked him to forget.

If any true friend had stepped in then, and warned them, life
would have been a different story for Ronald Earle and his wife.

Ronald's story became known in Florence. He was the son of a
wealthy English peer, who had offended his father by a "low"
marriage; in time he would succeed to the title. Hospitalities
were lavished upon him, the best houses in Florence were thrown
open to him, and he was eagerly welcomed there. When people met
him continually unaccompanied by his young wife they smiled
significantly, and bright eyes grew soft with pity. Poor, pretty
Dora!

Ronald never knew how the long hours of his absence were spent by
Dora. She never looked sad or weary to him, he never saw any
traces of tears, yet Dora shed many. Through the long sunny
hours and far into the night she sat alone, thinking of the home
she had left in far-off England--where she had been loved and