"Leonard Fairfield," cried Violante, who had conquered, or felt ashamed of her short-lived anger. "Fairfield!" repeated Lady Lansmere. "I thought, Harley, you said the name was Oran." "He has assumed the latter name. He is the son of Mark Fairfield, who married an Avenel. Did you recognize no family likeness?--none in those eyes--mother?" said Harley, sinking his voice into a whisper. "No," answered the Countess, falteringly. Harley, observing that Violante was now speaking to Helen about Leonard, and that neither was listening to him, resumed in the same low tone. "And his mother--Nora's sister--shrank from seeing me! That is the reason why I wished you not to call. She has not told the young man _why_ she shrank from seeing me; nor have I explained it to him as yet. Perhaps I never shall." "Indeed, dearest Harley," said the Countess, with great gentleness, "I wish you too much to forget the folly--well, I will not say that word--the sorrows of your boyhood, not to hope that you will rather strive against such painful memories than renew them by unnecessary confidence to any one: least of all to the relation of--" "Enough! don't name her; the very name pains me. As to the confidence, there are but two persons in the world to whom I ever bare the old wounds--yourself and Egerton. Let this pass. Ha!--a ring at the bell--that is he!" CHAPTER XI. Leonard entered on the scene, and joined the party in the garden. The Countess, perhaps to please her son, was more than civil--she was markedly kind to him. She noticed him more attentively than she had hitherto done; and, with all her prejudices of birth, was struck to find the son of Mark Fairfield, the carpenter, so thoroughly the gentleman. He might not have the exact tone and phrase by which Convention stereotypes those born and schooled in a certain world; but the aristocrats of Nature can dispense with such trite minutiæ. And Leonard had lived, of late, at least, in the best society that exists, for the polish of language and the refinement of manners--the society in which the most graceful ideas are clothed in the most graceful forms--the society which really, though indirectly, gives the law to courts--the society of the most classic authors, in the various ages in which literature has flowered forth from civilization. And if there was something in the exquisite sweetness of Leonard's voice, look, and manner, which the Countess acknowledged to attain that perfection in high breeding, which, under the name of "suavity," steals its way into the heart, so her interest in him was aroused by a certain subdued melancholy which is rarely without distinction, and never without charm. He and Helen exchanged but few words. There was but one occasion in which they could have spoken apart, and Helen herself contrived to elude it. His face brightened at Lady Lansmere's cordial invitation, and he glanced at Helen as he accepted it; but her eyes did not meet his own.