Meanwhile, Helen and Harley seated themselves a little apart, and were both silent--the first from timidity; the second, from abstraction. At length the door opened, and Harley suddenly sprang to his feet--Violante and Jemima entered. Lady Lansmere's eyes first rested on the daughter, and she could scarcely refrain from an exclamation of admiring surprise; but then, when she caught sight of Mrs. Riccabocca's somewhat humble, yet not obsequious mien--looking a little shy, a little homely, yet still thoroughly a gentlewoman, (though of your plain rural kind of that genus)--she turned from the daughter, and with the _savoir vivre_ of the fine old school, paid her first respects to the wife; respects literally, for her manner implied respect,--but it was more kind, simple, and cordial than the respect she had shown to Riccabocca;--as the sage himself had said, here "it was Woman to Woman." And then she took Violante's hand in both hers, and gazed on her as if she could not resist the pleasure of contemplating so much beauty. "My son," she said softly, and with a half sigh--"my son in vain told me not to be surprised. This is the first time I have ever known reality exceed description!" Violante's blush here made her still more beautiful; and as the Countess returned to Riccabocca, she stole gently to Helen's side. "Miss Digby, my ward," said Harley pointedly, observing that his mother had neglected her duty of presenting Helen to the ladies. He then reseated himself, and conversed with Mrs. Riccabocca; but his bright quick eye glanced ever at the two girls. They were about the same age--and youth was all that, to the superficial eye, they seemed to have in common. A greater contrast could not well be conceived; and, what is strange, both gained by it. Violante's brilliant lovelieness seemed yet more dazzling, and Helen's fair gentle face yet more winning. Neither had mixed much with girls of her own age; each took to the other at first sight. Violante, as the less shy, began the conversation. "You are his ward--Lord L'Estrange's?" "Yes." "Perhaps you came with him from Italy?" "No, not exactly. But I have been in Italy for some years." "Ah! you regret--nay, I am foolish--you return to your native land. But the skies in Italy are so blue--here it seems as if nature wanted colors." "Lord L'Estrange says that you were very young when you left Italy; you remember it well. He, too, prefers Italy to England." "He! Impossible!" "Why impossible, fair skeptic?" cried Harley, interrupting himself in the midst of a speech to Jemima. Violante had not dreamed that she could be overheard--she was speaking low; but, though visibly embarrassed, she answered distinctly-- "Because in England there is the noblest career for noble minds."