That was all; but as the signora—as the elder princess was called—always said what she meant, and never more than she meant, it was a good deal. She had scanned Margaret's face when she had been presented to her, and had listened to her voice, and was convinced that Margaret was a lady, and a fit companion for the princess, and she had said so in a sentence to her daughter.
"I like your friend, Florence, and I can understand the charm she exerts over you. It is a very lovely face, a——"
"Is it not, mamma?" exclaimed Florence enthusiastically.
"—But it is a very sad one. I am afraid Miss Leslie has had some great trouble, one of those sorrows which set their mark upon the heart, as a fell disease brands the face."
"But you will not like her the less for that, mamma?" Florence had said, and the signora had replied with a sigh:
"No, rather the more, my dear," for the signora had suffered also in her life.
So the princess had her wish gratified, and Margaret came to the villa, and the princess, instead of growing tired of her, as one would be tempted to prophesy, seemed to grow more attached and devoted as the days rolled into weeks, and the weeks threatened to glide into months.
If it had not been for the experience of the grandeur of Leyton Court, Margaret might have been rather overwhelmed by the splendor of Capri Villa, for the Rivanis were great people, of the best blood in Italy, and lived in a state befitting their rank.
The villa was not so large as the Court—that Court which Blair had often told her she would one day be mistress of—but it was exquisitely situated, and the interior was replete with the refined splendor of a palace.
The suit of rooms allotted to Margaret were large and grand enough for a duchess, but when she murmured something in deprecation of such sumptuous apartments, the princess had opened her blue eyes wide and smiled with surprise.