daughter, and she could scarcely refrain from an exclamation of admiring
surprise; but then, when she caught sight of Mrs. Riccabocca's somewhat
humble, yet not obsequious mien,--looking a little shy, a little homely,
yet still thoroughly a gentlewoman (though of your plain, rural kind of
that genus), she turned from the daughter, and with the /savoir vivre/ of
the fine old school, paid her first respects to the wife; respects
literally, for her manner implied respect,--but it was more kind, simple,
and cordial than the respect she had shown to Riccabocca; as the sage
himself had said, here "it was Woman to Woman." And then she took
Violante's hand in both hers, and gazed on her as if she could not resist
the pleasure of contemplating so much beauty. "My son," she said softly,
and with a half sigh,--"my son in vain told me not to be surprised. This
is the first time I have ever known reality exceed description!"

Violante's blush here made her still more beautiful; and as the countess
returned to Riccabocca, she stole gently to Helen's side.

"Miss Digby, my ward," said Harley, pointedly, observing that his mother
had neglected her duty of presenting Helen to the ladies. He then
reseated himself, and conversed with Mrs. Riccabocca; but his bright,
quick eye glanced over at the two girls. They were about the same age--
and youth was all that, to the superficial eye, they seemed to have in
common. A greater contrast could not well be conceived; and, what is
strange, both gained by it. Violante's brilliant loveliness seemed yet
more dazzling, and Helen's fair, gentle face yet more winning. Neither
had mixed much with girls of her own age; each took to the other at first
sight. Violante, as the less shy, began the conversation.

"You are his ward,--Lord L'Estrange's?"