The ballroom opened into a large conservatory, which led to a fernery, and from the fernery one passed to the grounds. Leone felt embarrassed; she longed to praise the beautiful place, yet it seemed to her if she did so it would be like reminding him that it ought to have been hers; while he, on the contrary, did not dare to draw her attention to picture, flower, or statue, lest she should remember that they had been taken from her by a great and grievous wrong. "We are not very cheerful friends," he said, trying to arouse himself. "I begin to think we have done wrong in ever thinking of friendship at all," she replied. Lord Chandos turned to her suddenly. "Leone," he said, "you have quite made a conquest of my mother--you do not know how she admires you!" A bitter smile curled the beautiful lips. "It is too late," she said sadly. "It does not seem very long since she refused even to tolerate me." Lord Chandos continued: "She was speaking about you yesterday, and she was quite animated about you; she praised you more than I have ever heard her praise any one." "I ought to feel flattered," said Leone; "but it strikes me as being something wonderful that Lady Lanswell did not find out any good qualities in me before." "My mother saw you through a haze of hatred," said Lord Chandos; "now she will learn to appreciate you." A sudden glow of fire flashed in those superb eyes. "I wonder," she said, "if I shall ever be able to pay my debt to Lady Lanswell, and in what shape I shall pay it?" He shuddered as he gazed in the beautiful face. "Try to forget that, Leone," he said; "I never like to remember that you threatened my mother." "We will not discuss it," she said, coldly; "we shall never agree." Then the band began to play the quadrilles. Lord Chandos led Leone to her place. He thought to himself what cruel wrong it was on the part of fate, that the woman whom he had believed to be his wedded wife should be standing there, a visitor in the house which ought to have been her home. CHAPTER XLVII. THE COMPACT OF FRIENDSHIP. The one set of quadrilles had been danced, and Leone said to herself that there was more pain than pleasure in it, when Lady Marion, with an unusual glow of animation on her face, came to Leone, who was sitting alone. "Madame Vanira," she said, "it seems cruel to deprive others of the pleasure of your society, but I should like to talk to you. I have some pretty things which I have brought from Spain, which I should like to show you. Will it please you to leave the ballroom and come with me, or do you care for dancing?" Leone smiled sadly; tragedy and comedy are always side by side, and it seemed to her, who had had so terrible a tragedy in her life, who stood face to face with so terrible a tragedy now, it seemed to her absurd that she should think of dancing.