for a moment a little agitated, yet, it must be confessed, as much pleased.  She seized this occasion of speaking to him about his verses, for hitherto she had only been able to acknowledge the receipt of them by a word.  While she expressed without affectation the emotions they had occasioned her, she complained of his injustice to her mother:  this was the cause of an interesting conversation of which her father was the subject, and for which she had long sighed.  With what deep, unbroken attention she listened to her companion’s enthusiastic delineation of his character and career!  What multiplied questions did she not ask him, and how eagerly, how amply, how affectionately he satisfied her just and natural curiosity!  Hours flew away while they indulged in this rare communion.

‘Oh, that I could see him!’ sighed Venetia.

‘You will,’ replied Plantagenet; ’your destiny requires it.  You will see him as surely as you beheld that portrait that it was the labour of a life to prevent you beholding.’

Venetia shook her head; ‘And yet,’ she added musingly, ’my mother loves him.’

‘Her life proves it,’ said Cadurcis bitterly.

‘I think it does,’ replied Venetia, sincerely.

‘I pretend not to understand her heart,’ he answered; ’it is an enigma that I cannot solve.  I ought not to believe that she is without one; but, at any rate, her pride is deeper than her love.’

‘They were ill suited,’ said Venetia, mournfully; ’and yet it is one of my dreams that they may yet meet.’

‘Ah, Venetia!’ he exclaimed, in a voice of great softness, ’they had not known each other from their childhood, like us.  They met, and they parted, alike in haste.’

Venetia made no reply; her eyes were fixed in abstraction on a handscreen, which she was unconscious that she held.

‘Tell me,’ said Cadurcis, drawing his chair close to hers; ’tell me, Venetia, if—­’

At this moment a thundering knock at the door announced the return of the Countess and her sister-in-law.  Cadurcis rose from his seat, but his chair, which still remained close to that on which Venetia was sitting, did not escape the quick glance of her mortified mother.  The Countess welcomed Cadurcis with extreme cordiality; Lady Annabel only returned his very courteous bow.

‘Stop and dine with us, my dear lord,’ said the Countess.  ’We are only ourselves, and Lady Annabel and Venetia.’

‘I thank you, Clara,’ said Lady Annabel, ‘but we cannot stop to-day.’

‘Oh!’ exclaimed her sister.  ’It will be such a disappointment to Philip.  Indeed you must stay,’ she added, in a coaxing tone; ’we shall be such an agreeable little party, with Lord Cadurcis.’

‘I cannot indeed, my dear Clara,’ replied Lady Annabel; ’not to-day, indeed not to-day.  Come Venetia!’

CHAPTER XIV.