“Only for the sake of our sweet Alexie I could not tolerate Alys and her aunt. They are both scheming and deceitful creatures for whom I have neither liking nor respect.” She could not forget that they had both pretended to believe in her son’s guilt, and she thought it was now too late for repentance. She was not uneasy on the score of Alys, however, for she knew well where her son’s heart was fixed. All that troubled her was Italy’s fixed coldness. Why had the girl’s heart turned from her son? She knew that she cared for no one else, although she had so many admirers. But while she doubted, the pretty little play went on before her eyes, the devotion of Francis to the shy girl who accepted his attentions so coyly, sometimes even with studied indifference. “He is not bold enough. He ought to speak to her and press his suit,” she thought impatiently, but she did not know that he feared his fate too much. He thought himself unworthy of the beautiful, brave girl who was the heroine of the hour, who had fought such a valiant battle for her mother’s good name and peace of mind when strong men had tried to strike down her little, aggressive sword. * * * * * A month had passed away, and March was coming in. Soon the long and weary winter would be over. Ralph Allen and his bride were coming home from their charming Southern tour. The Breakers, their beautiful new home in Winthrop close to The Lodge, was all ready for their reception. Emmett Harlow, too, was building a beautiful home in Winthrop, and Madam Rumor hinted that it was for a bride. Certainly Emmett began to wear a happier look, and could meet Italy more cordially than of yore. She knew that he admired Mrs. Severn very much. He had brought her to The Lodge twice to see them all, and it was noticed that the young widow began to wear a brighter, happier look. Perhaps the knowledge of her husband’s treachery had proved an antidote to her sorrow. Italy cherished a secret, happy consciousness that dark-eyed Isabel would soon supplant her in Emmett’s heart. The Gardners were frequent visitors. They adored Italy, and thought her the greatest heroine in the world. To Mr. Gardner, Mrs. Vale confided her desire to purchase a home for herself in Winthrop. “I love the sea and want my home beside it. Ronald loved it, too,” she said, in that plaintive voice like saddest music. “There are plenty of charming sites in Winthrop,” said the lawyer. “But, my dear madam, why not wait a while before you settle on anything? Are you not very pleasantly situated here?” “I love Winthrop and The Lodge, but Italy thinks we ought to be settled in a home of our own,” she answered gently. “So then it is you, Italy, who are trying to break up our happy little party,” cried Mrs. Murray, shaking a reproachful finger at the girl.