Her calm, serene nature was incapable of such jealousies.

Valentine could never be jealous or mean, but she could understand the torture that had made shy, gentle Dora both.
"Jealous of me, poor child!" said Valentine to herself.

"Nothing but ignorance can excuse her.

As though I, with half Florence at my feet, cared for her husband, except as a dear and true friend." So the little villa was deserted; the gaunt, silent servant found a fresh place.

Ronald's pictures were eagerly bought up; the pretty countess, after looking very sentimental and sad for some days, forgot her sorrow and its cause in the novelty of making the acquaintance of an impassive unimpressionable American.