The true facts in the big international marriage question are used as a theme upon which Mrs. Post has woven a charming romance, told so skillfully that it is apparently merely a story of a fascinating American girl enjoying a winter at the Roman Court.
too easy for me--but for you!--Ah, Leonora, no admiration, no new interest! no amusement! a year of your beauty wasted on only me."
"Be still; you know very well that I care nothing for all that. It is always this horrible fear of your leaping before you look. Sandro, Sandro! can you really see that one more plunge--and we are done? Now we can give up our savings, and the jewels; another time--don't let there ever be another time!"
He looked up the road and down; there was not even a peasant in sight. He put his arm about her and drew her to him. "Look at me, Leonora! On the name of my family and on that which I hold most sacred in the world I swear it: you will never again have to suffer from such a cause."
She inclined toward his kiss, and love dominated the sadness in her eyes. Who could be angry with him--impulsive, affectionate, warm-hearted child of the Sun, or Italy--since both are the same.
A turn in the road, around a high wall topped with orange trees, brought them into t