"It is long, my lord," said she, still speaking Italian, "since I have heard sentiments like those you address to me; and if I do not feel myself wholly unworthy of them, it is from the pleasure I have felt in reading sentiments equally foreign to the language of the world in which I live." She took a book from the table as she spoke: "Have you seen this work?" Harley glanced at the title-page. "To be sure I have, and I know the author." "I envy you that honor. I should so like also to know one who has discovered to me deeps in my own heart which I had never explored." "Charming Marchesa, if the book has done this, believe me that I have paid you no false compliment--formed no overflattering estimate of your nature; for the charm of the work is but in its simple appeal to good and generous emotions, and it can charm none in whom those emotions exist not!" "Nay, that cannot be true, or why is it so popular?" "Because good and generous emotions are more common to the human heart than we are aware of till the appeal comes." "Don't ask me to think that! I have found the world so base." "Pardon me a rude question; but what do you know of the world?" Beatrice looked first in surprise at Harley, then glanced round the room with significant irony. "As I thought; you call this little room 'the world.' Be it so. I will venture to say, that if the people in this room were suddenly converted into an audience before a stage, and you were as consummate in the actor's art as you are in all others that please and command--" "Well?" "And were to deliver a speech full of sordid and base sentiments, you would be hissed. But let any other woman, with half your powers, arise and utter sentiments sweet and womanly, or honest and lofty--and applause would flow from every lip, and tears rush to many a worldly eye. The true proof of the inherent nobleness of our common nature is in the sympathy it betrays with what is noble wherever crowds are collected. Never believe the world is base;--if it were so, no society could hold together for a day. But you would know the author of this book? I will bring him to you." "Do." "And now," said Harley rising, and with his candid winning smile, "do you think we shall ever be friends?" "You have startled me so, that I can scarcely answer. But why would you be friends with me?" "Because you need a friend. You have none?" "Strange flatterer!" said Beatrice, smiling, though very sadly; and looking up, her eye caught Randal's. "Pooh!" said Harley, "you are too penetrating to believe that you inspire friendship _there_. Ah, do you suppose that, all the while I have been conversing with you, I have not noticed the watchful gaze of Mr. Randal Leslie? What tie can possibly connect you together I know not yet; but I soon shall."