"You have been singularly fortunate," said Leone, half enviously.
And the fair face of the Queen of Blondes grew troubled.
"Perhaps," she said, "all my troubles are to come. I should not like to believe that."
She was quite silent for some few minutes, then, with a sigh, she said:
"You have made me feel nervous, and I cannot tell why. What trouble could come to me? So far as I see, humanly speakingly, none. No money troubles could reach me; sickness would hardly be a trouble if those I loved were round me. Ah, well, that is common to every one." A look of startled intelligence came over her face. "I know one, and only one source of trouble," she said; "that would be if anything happened to Lord Chandos, to—to my husband; if he did not love me, or I lost him."
She sighed as she uttered the last words, and the heart of the gifted singer was touched by the noblest, kindest pity; she looked into the fair, flower-like face.
"You love your husband then?" she said, with a gentle, caressing voice.
"Love him," replied Lady Chandos, her whole soul flashing in her eyes—"love him? Ah, that seems to me a weak word! My husband is all the world, all life to me. It is strange that I should speak to you, a stranger, in this manner; but, as I told you before, my heart warms to you in some fashion that I do not myself understand. I am not like most people. I have so few to love. No father, no mother, no sisters, or brothers. I have no one in the wide world but my husband; he is more to me than most husbands are to most wives—he is everything."
Leone looked down on that fair, sweet face with loving eyes; the very depths of her soul were touched by those simple words; she prayed God that she might always remember them. There was infinite pathos in her voice and in her face when she said:
"You are very happy, then, with your husband, Lady Marion?"