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CHAPTER VII. Then it is enchanting to watch the petit soins, the delicate little attentions that the women in a carefully suppressed fashion lavish upon the bride-elect,—as she already is to them. There is nothing under heaven so dear to a woman's heart as a happy love-affair,—except, indeed, it be an unhappy one. Just get a woman to understand you have broken or are breaking (the last is the best) your heart about any one, and she will be your friend on the spot. It is so unutterably sweet to her to be a confidante in any secret where Dan Cupid holds first place. "The will—but are you sure—sure?" says Lady Rodney, feebly. She tries to rise, but sinks back again in her chair, feeling faint and overcome..

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"To Rome," says Mona. "But do you mean it? Can you afford it? Italy seems so far away." Then, after a thoughtful silence, "Mr. Rodney——" "So stupid of your uncle to leave you a property in such a country!" says Lady Rodney, discontentedly. "But very like him, certainly. He was never happy unless he was buying land in some uninhabitable place. There was that farm in Wallachia,—your cousin Jane nearly died of chagrin when she found it was left to her, and the lawyers told her she should take it, whether she liked it or not. Wallachia! I don't know where it is, but I am sure it is close to the Bulgarian atrocities!" "Then I don't believe you!" breaks out Geoffrey, angrily. "I am positive you want to marry me; and just because of some wretched fad you have got into your head you are determined to make us both wretched." "There is no need for regret, darling," says he. "I am heart-whole, and I know no woman that loves me, or for whose affection I should ask, except yourself.".