“For one’s self,” said Donati, “it is—well—not much; but for the sake of those belonging to one it certainly does carry a sting. But every one who serves the public in a public capacity is in the same boat. Statesmen, artists, authors, actors, all must endure this plague of tongues. And, after all, it merely affects one’s reputation, not one’s character. It doesn’t make one immoral to be considered immoral, and it doesn’t make you a thief to be considered dishonest. But now I want to hear about this accusation of Mr. Horner’s. When did it all happen?” In the dim light Frithiof told his story; it was a relief to tell it to sympathetic ears; Donati’s faith in him seemed to fill him with new life, and though the strange events of that miserable Monday did not grow any clearer in the telling, yet somehow a rope began to dawn in his heart. “It certainly is most unaccountable,” said Donati, as the carriage drew up before a pretty little villa in Avenue Road. He paused to speak to the coachman. “We shall want the carriage in time to go to the 9.40 train at Charing Cross, Wilson; good-night.” “But if you start so early,” said Frithiof, “I had better not hinder you any longer.” “You do not hinder me; I am very much interested. You must certainly come in to supper, and afterward I want to hear more about this. How unlucky it was that the five-pound note should have been changed that day by Sardoni!” At this moment the door was opened; Frithiof caught a vision of a slim figure in a pale rose-colored tea gown, and the loveliest face he had ever seen was raised to kiss Donati as he entered. “How nice and early you are!” exclaimed a fresh, merry voice. Then, catching sight of a stranger, and blushing a little, she added, “I fancied it was Jack and Domenica you were bringing back with you.” “Let me introduce you to my wife, Herr Falck,” said Donati, and Frithiof instantly understood that here lay the explanation of the Italian’s faultless English, since, despite her foreign name, it was impossible for a moment to mistake Francesca Donati’s nationality. The house was prettily, but very simply, furnished, and about it there was that indefinable air of home that Frithiof had so often noticed in Rowan Tree House. “You must forgive a very unceremonious supper, Herr Falck,” said Francesca, herself making ready the extra place that was needed at table. “But the fact is, I have sent all the servants to bed, for I knew they would have to be up early to-morrow, and they feel the traveling a good deal.” “Much more than you and I do,” said Donati. “We have grown quite hardened to it.” “Then this is not your regular home?” asked Frithiof. “Yes, it is our English home. We generally have five months here and five at Naples, with the rest of the time either at Paris, or Berlin, or Vienna. After all, a wandering life makes very little difference when you can carry about your home with you.”