"I have begun to live for the first time," he declared one day. "I only existed before." As for Stella, the days went by in a sort of ecstatic dream, and only a little cloud lined the golden sky--the earl and countess still hardened their hearts. Though not a week passed without bringing a letter full of love and longing from Lilian, the old people made no sign. In the proud countess' eyes her son's wife was still Stella Etheridge, the painter's niece, and she could not forgive her for--making Leycester happy. It would have made Stella miserable if anything could have done so, but Leycester's love and watchful care often kept the cloud back--for a time. They stayed in Paris until a little bijou place in Park Lane was ready, then they went home and took quiet possession. It was the most charming of little nests--Leycester had given Jackson and Graham _carte blanche_--and formed a fitting casket for the beautiful young viscountess. "After all, Ley," she said, as she sat upon his knee on their first evening and looked round her exquisite room, "it is almost as good as the little laborer's cottage I used to picture for myself." "Yes, it only needs that I should sit in my shirt sleeves and smoke a long pipe, doesn't it?" he said, laughing. For some weeks they did almost lead an isolated life; they were always together, never tired or wearied of each other. Of Stella, with her exquisite variety, with her ever changing mirth and rare, delicate wit, it would certainly have been difficult for any man to tire, and what woman would have wearied of the devoted attention of such a man as Leycester! They lived quietly for a little time, but as the season commenced people got scent of them, and soon the world swooped down upon them. Stella protested at first, but she was powerless to resist, and soon the names of Lord and Lady Trevor appeared in the fashionable lists. Then came a surprise. Like Lord Byron, she woke one morning to find herself famous; the world had pronounced her a beauty, and had elected her to one of its thrones. Men almost fought for the honor of inserting their names upon her ball-cards; women copied her dress, and envied her; the photographers would have hung her portraits in their windows if she had not been too wary to have one taken. She had become a reigning queen. Leycester did not mind; he knew her too well to be afraid that it would spoil her, and it amused him to find that the world was rowing in the same boat with him--had gone mad over his little Stella. Now it was a gay time, but still the countess made no sign. The Wyndwards were away on the continent in the winter, and in the spring they went down to the Hall. Letters came from Lilian regularly, and she grew more pathetic as time rolled on, she was pining for Leycester. Stella urged him to sink his pride and go down to the Hall, but he would not. "Where I go I take my wife," he said, in his quiet way, and Stella knew that it was useless to urge him.