The Countess pondered over the matter deeply. She lived a retired life herself; she had few friends; her establishment was on a very moderate scale. There were those who said she was not a Countess, that her title was merely an assumed one. This was unfair, as most of the ladies one meets in Naples are Countesses, and the presumption therefore was in favour of her ladyship’s claims. Countess or no Countess, she was in a very troubled state. She had seen a face that reminded her of old times in London—of her intrigue with Sir Watkin Strahan—of her worming herself into the confidence of his lady—of her participation in the abduction of the heir—in fact, of her revenge; and she sighed as she thought how little good she had gained by it. Her ladyship’s maid was alarmed. What had come to the Countess it was beyond her power to imagine. ‘Have you anything on your mind?’ said her old Italian priest as he sat in the first-floor of one of the villas that looked over Naples on to its lovely bay and the sea beyond, whilst Vesuvius on the left was indicating, in its usual way, that it was suffering a good deal in its inside. The old priest lunched with her ladyship every day. ‘Anything on my mind?’ said the lady. ‘Oh, dear father, no. Why talk to me in this way this bright afternoon, when all nature seems so bright and gay? Ah, it is a beautiful world when one is young—the terraces, the gardens, the flowers, the blue sea, the old castle beneath, the streets with the jewellers’ shops, the fine churches with their sacred services and sacred paintings. How I love them all! I could not live away from La Belle Naples. Oh, that I could stay here for ever!’