"As you once did at White Littleham when they forbade your going to a concert, thinking you were too ill!" laughed Mr. Ravensworth. "Dressed myself up in my best frock, and surprised them in the room. I had ten pages of Italian translation for that escapade." "Do you like Italy?" he inquired, after a pause. "No, I hate it!" And the animus in Lady Level's answer was so intense that the husband and wife exchanged stolen glances. _Something_ must be out of gear. "What parts of Italy did you stay in?" "Chiefly at Pisa--that is not far from Florence, you know; and a few days at Florence. Lord Level took a villa at Pisa for a month--and why he did so I could not tell, for it was not the season when the English frequent it: no one, so to say, was there. We made the acquaintance of a Mrs. Page Reid, who had the next villa to ours." "That was pleasant for you--if you liked her." "But I did not like her," returned Lady Level, her delicate cheeks flushing. "That is, I did and I did not. She was a very pleasant woman, always ready to help us in any way; but she told dreadful tales of people--making one suspect things that otherwise would never have entered the imagination. Lord Level liked her at first, and ended by disliking her." "Got up a flirtation with her," thought Mr. Ravensworth. But in that he was mistaken. And so they talked on. It appeared that the mail passed through the village at night time; and the following morning a letter lay on the breakfast-table for Lady Level. MY DEAR BLANCHE,--I have met with a slight accident, and must again postpone coming to you for a few days. I dare say it will not detain me very long. Rely upon it I shall be with you as soon as I possibly can be.--Ever affectionately yours, LEVEL. "Short and sweet!" exclaimed Blanche, in her bitter disappointment, as she read the note at the window. "Arnold, when you and your wife leave to-morrow, what will become of me, alone here? If----" Suddenly, as Lady Level spoke the last word, she started, and began to creep away from the window, as if fearing to be seen. "Arnold! Arnold! who do you think is out there?" she exclaimed in a timid whisper. "Why, who?" in astonishment. "Not Lord Level?" "It is Captain Cross," she said with a shiver. "I would rather meet the whole world than him. My behaviour to him was--was not right; and I have felt ashamed of myself ever since." Mr. Ravensworth looked out from the window. Captain Cross, seated on the bench in the inn yard, was solacing himself with a cigar. "I would not meet him for the world! I would not let him see me: he might make a scene. I shall stay in my rooms all day. Why does my husband leave me to such chances as these?" That Captain Cross had not been well used was certain; but the fault lay with Major Carlen, not with Blanche. Mr. Ravensworth spoke.